Haunted
X-Men Origins: Wolverine Fan Fiction
Rated PG 13 (a little bit of foul language here)
By Scarlett Burns

Summary: When the past haunts you sometimes you can't ever truly go home...
unless, of course, there is a change in the weather. Sequel to previous
one-shot, Ghosts.

Author's Notes: First, another thanks to Iolanthe for beta reading this for me!
This is a companion to my previous one-shot, Ghosts. If you haven't read that,
this will leave you feeling a bit lost. Movie-wise, this story takes place after
X3, and takes into account some of the backstory revealed in X-Men Origins:
Wolverine. I don't own any recognizable characters. Oh, and feedback is always
appreciated too. ;) Enjoy!

Ghosts is archived at: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5141104/1/Ghosts

Haunted is also archived at: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5452587/1/Haunted

~*~

"Leave me alone," Logan grumbled, closing his eyes and refusing to look at her
as he forced himself to focus on the quiet surrounding him; a strong breeze
rushed past him, dry leaves rustled on the trees, water trickled down a nearby
fountain… and not one single sound of violence or mayhem for as far as his ears
could hear.

Hell, it was almost a perfect moment, save for the lack of activity and the
ghost that seemed determined to disrupt what semblance of peace he could find.

Can't get everything ya wish for.

A hand gently touched his shoulder, and then slid across his back in an all too
familiar touch.

It felt fuckin' real… smelled fuckin' real.

But he knew better.

Opening his eyes to the cold reality of the solid stone monument in front of him
he felt the touch fade away as he squinted into the brightness of the afternoon
sun.

Shit. He couldn't stay here long with that runt around; he had to be nearby,
even now. His close proximity wouldn't be such a nuisance if it weren't for the
fact that he had more ghosts chasing him than trees in the forest.

He'd earned every one of `em, too; ghosts and enemies tended to accumulate,
especially when life was abnormally long and your job was to kill.

Death, torture, pain, betrayal, war, love, hate… it all left its mark. Nearing
two centuries worth of it was certainly enough to drive anyone to solitude.
Wasn't exactly like he'd lived the cushy life.

You will suffer more pain than any man can endure.

Yeah, the life of the privileged.

"Leave me alone," Logan said again, this time to a very alive and real woman
who'd just - unfortunately - saw fit to grace him with her presence.

He silently reminded himself that he didn't need anyone. He'd been alone for
much of his long life. He'd just returned from being alone for several months.
He knew better than anyone that being alone didn't guarantee safety, or
happiness, or peace of mind.

But it sure as hell could prevent collateral damage.

Way he saw it, you couldn't stop nuclear fallout after an atomic bomb, but you
could choose the location that you dropped it. You either drop it on some remote
island, or down a chimney like old Father Christmas in a city teeming with
people.

`Yo fuckin' Ho Ho Ho.'

Logan preferred the former. It was a bitch to regenerate after a nuclear blast.

"So why did you come back if you want to be alone?"

He sighed. Ororo. Did she have to butt in on him today? Normally they kept their
distance from each other; allowed one another their space, their moods, their
secrets, and their silence.

Why did she have to choose now to break their unspoken agreement? Why today,
this moment, when he felt the cage around the beast inside him weaken and groan
under the strain of his thoughts?

"To drop the little runt off," Logan said gruffly, not bothering to face her.

"That doesn't explain why you're here," she stated, settling down into the grass
beside him.

Shit. She's hunkerin' down.

Shooting her a thoroughly pissed off glare, Logan stuffed his cigar back into
his mouth and chomped down on it irritably.

She was right, of course. He could very well have dropped the kid off and jumped
right back into his truck – or even jacked Cyclops' bike to lift his spirits –
and high-tailed it out of there.

Instead here he was, on the Institute grounds, sitting in front of the
Professor's grave and desperately trying to shoo away his relentless and
ever-present ghosts.

If the Government could just see their precious Weapon X now… they'd shit
themselves, then demand their millions back for the failure. Too bad for them he
didn't come with a money back guarantee.

Taking another hit off his cigar and staring straight ahead, his eyes fell from
the Professor's stone bust to his epitaph. He said nothing to `Ro; he had
nothing to say.

He hoped she would just leave him be. Leave him alone and isolated like the
animal he was.

A minute had passed, or maybe fifteen. Who the fuck knew, really? He'd lost
himself in his newly discovered self while staring at the stone bust of the very
man who'd helped – and no doubt, helped hinder – his efforts to discover who he
truly was. Logan couldn't fault him for that; Xavier had shown him more kindness
in the short time they'd known each other than he'd seen for a good chunk of his
life.

Xavier had given him a home.

A home and even a family; something he hadn't experienced in fifteen years… no,
more like twenty now. Damn, maybe longer than that.

Fuck if he knew what to do with a home or family; not since he was a kid and his
claws erupted from his knuckles for the first time. He'd immediately put his
new-found claws to lethal use as they plunged deep into a murderer's chest and
instantly becoming one himself.

He rubbed a tired hand across his face. His joints ached all over; stiff,
weighted, unnatural. He never told anyone how much the adamantium made its
presence known every moment in his life. He hadn't wanted to admit that when he
wasn't fighting he ached like an old geezer… or explain how he tolerated the
constant, dull pain of living with such unnatural additions, tolerated the pain
every time he popped his deadly claws, and barely survived the agony when his
body pulled him back from death and repaired itself one cell and nerve ending at
a time.

Healin' ain't easy. Even for a man like him. Besides, he had no choice in the
matter. He was stuck with the shit in his life more than most, cursed with a
more permanent fate.

Another hit off his cigar; a small breeze became present, shifting directions,
the smoke now drifting heavily to his right.

Xavier's tombstone stood before him, seeming bigger than it was only a minute
ago, the view unobstructed from cigar smoke or casted shadows.

So many questions had plagued him once he'd finished reeling from the shock of
his own memories. Only one question bothered him, though. His whole lifetime now
known and just one solitary question sat on the edge of his tongue, waiting to
be asked.

"Did you know?" Logan whispered; afraid of what the answer would have been,
desperate to hear the reassurance that would never come from his dead friend. He
closed his eyes and ran a hand through his untamed hair. Sadness tinged the sigh
that escaped his lips while gruesome images replayed in his mind; things he'd
done without thought or control… things he'd done with both thought and control.

Worst of it was he wasn't sure he was sorry for any of it. Not the fightin' and
killin'. The fightin' needed to be done and those dead begged for the killin'.

But a good man… a good man doesn't feel a thrill as he kills. A good man would
only kill when necessary and feel regret for the doin' of it.

Even as a part of the X-Men now he was on the good team, but that didn't make
him one of the good guys.

"Did you know what you took into your home, your school, that day?" he asked
quietly, voice gravelly from pent up emotions struggling to break free.

A gust of wind brought her scent to him, and he realized that he'd gotten lost
inside his own head; an occurrence happening with disturbing regularity these
days. Ororo was to his left, still sitting a few feet away. She'd never left.

She'd been sitting there silent as the air around him, listening and watching.

Despite himself, he shivered almost imperceptibly from the sensation. Years of
being a lab rat and test subject and wanted man couldn't be erased overnight and
when someone studied him so thoroughly he couldn't help the chill that danced
down his spine, reminding him of past horrors, and the dangers that could lie
behind such intense scrutiny.

As the edginess began to set in he mentally told himself that this was no
government man, nor mutant hater or enemy out for revenge; it was Ororo Munroe.
He forced himself to let the air out of his lungs, and then sucked in a new
batch of air for good measure and steadier nerves.

"Logan," she started hesitantly, realizing he'd finally remembered her presence,
and no doubt sensing his unease.

He cut her off without a single glance in her direction. "Don't," he said
firmly. "You don't know. Neither did he."

A long silence stretched between them, and it was suddenly a little more windy
then it had been when he'd first come outside.

"Neither did you," Ororo said with renewed interest. There was a clear question
in her tone, and Logan finally met her gaze for the first time since she'd
approached.

"Things change," he said, grinding the cigar between his teeth, now more out of
nervous habit than anger. He really wasn't ready to talk about this... about
himself.

Nothin' to say, really, when it came down to it. Nothin' good anyway.

Her sharp intake of breath told her that she got what he was saying, as well as
the look in her eyes; they were filled with curiosity, excitement and fear.

He was glad to see fear there. He deserved it. He earned it. But the fact of the
matter was, he shouldn't see it on his teammate's face; so the well earned fear
gave him no real satisfaction… just a growing heaviness in the pit of his
stomach.

Ya don't belong here, old man.

He wasn't happy to see her curiosity either. How could he explain the fuck-up –
the curse – that had been his life without her seeing him as a monster? He may
deserve it, but he sure as hell didn't want it. Even worse, he didn't know if he
could take it, at least right now.

Not when everything was so fresh in his mind and his normally buried emotions
were so raw and close to the surface.

Again, they'd lapsed into silence. One thing he respected about Ororo; she could
appreciate silence as much as he. Silence was soothing to his mind and so her
comfort in it was also soothing.

But all good things come to an end – and sooner for him than most – so when she
asked, "Who are you really, Logan?" a great thing had certainly died a pitiful
death.

"What? You want me to go David Copperfield on you? Darlin', I'm a little bit too
old and impatient to make it fit in a book that size… and what I got to write
ain't fit for the little kiddies."

She smiled; rare to see in these days after all the death and fighting. "I
thought maybe your name – your real, full name – would be a good place to
start."

Logan's tense muscles relaxed slightly. His name. It sounded like such an easy
thing to say.

Perhaps that request he could fulfill.

Yet to introduce himself to someone he'd known and worked with for years brought
home the fact that they'd all gone through a lot together without knowing much –
if anything – about each other at all.

Especially when it came to him; they didn't even know his name.

Of course, neither had he.

It took a lot of trust, and a lot of guts on their part, to ask him to be a part
of the team. Especially with someone like him.

Dangerous loners with mysterious pasts and violent tendencies didn't tend to
make good bedfellows, generally speakin'.

He smiled a little. "You all brought me into the X-Men, yet never even knew my
real name." He shook his head, disbelievingly. "Don't know why ya did. Best I
can tell you were needin' the muscle. Scott's not exactly the intimidatin'
type."

Ororo laughed, and he made his decision.

His teammates deserved to know his name, at least. After all, they had entrusted
him with their lives and reputations.

Logan stubbed out his cigar and met her eyes.

"James Howlett," he said with a quick nod.

Her mouth formed an `O' of surprise, then a genuine smile graced her lips.

Well shit, maybe he was ready after all. Old as we was, he could still be
surprised.

"So why Logan?" she asked.

He smiled ruefully and turned back to the Professor's grave. "I was done being
James. Done being a soldier."

Ororo raised a disbelieving eyebrow and he chuckled, but the sound was tinged
with a hint of sadness.

"Been one all my life. At the time I was tired of the killin', tired of war.
Hard to believe comin' from me – I'm not good for much else – but even I need a
little R&R, even if it means cuttin' down trees for a while instead of people.
As for the name, Logan was a reminder of things I didn't want to forget." He
paused, and then added with a smirk, "too bad I forgot that."

Ororo pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them as she studied him
for a minute in silence. She seemed to know he didn't want to explain his name
any more than that, so instead she asked, "So you became Logan to become a new
person?"

"I became Logan `cause I wanted to be a different person than who I was."

There were other reasons as well, of course. He was far older than any man could
naturally live and so he'd had to change his name several times in his life… but
he'd always held on to his first name, until he tried to become a different man;
a better one.

Took him a hundred or so years to try, and even then it was a short ride on the
normal man's bus. Couple years, and then he'd be thrown into it all over again,
with far worse consequences than before.

Turns out, he could change his name as much as he want – could have changed his
name to Mary for all it mattered – he was still the same old son-of-a-bitch
through and through, packaged with a different label.

"Were you?"

He blinked, looking at her again. "What?"

"Were you a different person?"

Shaking his head, Logan shrugged. "Nah, but it sure felt good pretendin' to be
an average Joe."

Ororo, who'd been listening intently, began to crack a smile. When he finished
it split wide open.

"What?" he asked, confused by her reaction.

She laughed out right. "Just the thought of you being an average Joe…"

He found himself chuckling too. It did sound ridiculous… yet, sometimes it was
what he yearned for the most; the unattainable satisfaction of a need fulfilled.

Even before his mutation had activated, he'd been a frail kid unable to play and
act as other kids; he hadn't been normal. Once his mutation had activated he was
unable to die or age as normal people, or even as most mutants. Now there was
the Cure – an option Rogue had taken to end her isolation – yet even that option
was taken from him, thanks to Weapon X.

He could guess how long he'd live with all this adamantium coating his bones
without his mutation. He knew what it was like when men died of lead or metal
poisoning – seen it a time or two in wars – wasn't pretty, and not particularly
quick and painless either.

To live a normal, average life was not an option for him. Hadn't been, never
would be. He knew it better than anyone, but that didn't keep him from longing
for it every day.

Already Xavier, Jean and Scott were gone. Eventually, everyone else would follow
and he would be the one left standin'.

He was always the one left standin'.

Ororo's hand touched his own tentatively; she'd noticed his darkening mood. Damn
it. He pulled his hand away.

"What is it?" she asked.

His eyes shifted from his fidgeting hands, to her, to Xavier's tombstone.
"Xavier, Jean and Scott are the first. One day, it'll be you, another day Rogue,
and another Beast. Me?" His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "I keep
goin', and I keep goin' alone." He looked at her. "Get what I'm saying,
Darlin'?"

Judging by the sadness reflected in her eyes, she understood more than she did a
minute ago, but didn't answer his question directly. "Do you feel alone, now?"

Logan bowed his head and closed his eyes, shaking his head in dismay. He
couldn't answer… how could he say that he felt like family and an outsider at
the same time? She was probably thinking he couldn't get close because of what
he was sayin' but the truth of it was, he only wished for that to be the case.

"You can have a home, James, if you let yourself."

His head snapped up to meet her gaze. There it was. James. Out loud. It had been
a very long time since someone uttered his real, full first name; not Jimmy or
Wolverine or Logan or any of the others.

"I'm not that man anymore," he said quietly.

She shook her head. "You've always been that man, and I don't believe that man
was as horrible as you make him out to be."

"You don't-"

"I don't know what you've done in the past, but a man doesn't change enough to
become good in his heart like you are simply by losing his memory or changing
his name."

She sounded so sure, but so had many others before he'd brought on their deaths.

"I'm far from a good guy."

Her comeback was quick. "I know that you aren't a bad one."

Again, she was so sure; almost made him feel better.

"You're damn annoying when you start talkin'."

"You're a little philosophical for a man who kicks ass for a living."

She smiled, and after a moment he found a smirk to give her in return.
Shrugging, he replied, "Works for the furball."

"Perhaps, but it doesn't suit your bad boy image."

Logan raised an eye at that, and she laughed as she stood up and stretched stiff
muscles. She turned away from him, and looked at Xavier's stone likeness. After
short contemplation she gestured towards his tombstone with an elegant hand,
turning and looking him in the eye.

"Just so you know… he knew."

Then Ororo turned and walked away, not saying another word as she left him alone
with his thoughts.

Funny, the thought of bein' alone didn't sound so great, anymore.

He bit down on his cigar and fished out his lighter. Lighting up his cigar he
tipped his head towards Xavier's tombstone, knowing full well the Professor
hated his cheap cigar habit.

"Well Bub, I hope ya knew, `cause I'm a pain in the ass to get rid of…" he said
ruefully, taking a puff from his cigar. "…once I decide to stick around."

The End

Hey guys! I'm looking for a fic called "Mercy" by Kelly Siegfried it's features
Cyclops and it's really dark and I think it might be Ultimate X-Men fic, but I'm
not sure. Does anyone know where I can find this story?

WS


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

Thank you! I found someone!

WS

--- On Sun, 8/16/09, Water-Soter <watersoter@...> wrote:

From: Water-Soter <watersoter@...>
Subject: [NCISGenFanfiction] OT: Need a beta
To: NCISGenFanfiction@yahoogroups.com, x-fiction@yahoogroups.com,
xmenmoviefanfic@yahoogroups.com, "SGA Yahoo List" <sgahc@yahoogroups.com>,
jumperbay@yahoogroups.com
Date: Sunday, August 16, 2009, 8:35 PM






 





                   Hey guys, sorry to bother you, but my regular betas are
unavailable and I'm a little desperate. I need a beta for a ficathon entry the
needs to be posted by the 20th. Just someone to look at pacing, setting,
narration, characterization (if you're an NCIS fan), grammar, sentence
structure, plot, et al. I want this story to be as perfect as I can make it.
It's a NCIS fic, but if you're not a fan, it's not a must. Can anyone help me?
Please contact me off list.

WS

























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

Hey guys, sorry to bother you, but my regular betas are unavailable and I'm a
little desperate. I need a beta for a ficathon entry the needs to be posted by
the 20th. Just someone to look at pacing, setting, narration, characterization
(if you're an NCIS fan), grammar, sentence structure, plot, et al. I want this
story to be as perfect as I can make it. It's a NCIS fic, but if you're not a
fan, it's not a must. Can anyone help me? Please contact me off list.

WS


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

Ghosts
X-Men Origins: Wolverine Fan Fiction
Rated PG 13 (a little bit of foul language here)
By Scarlett Burns

Summary: It's not every day that Logan meets a man from his past; especially one
who helped turn him into Weapon X.

Author's Notes: This story takes place after X3, and takes into account the
backstory revealed in X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Feedback is greatly appreciated!
A big thank you to Iolanthe for beta reading this for me.

Archived at: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5141104/1/Ghosts (just in case this
doesn't come through right, you can read it here.)

~*~

“You know, there’s no point to this,” the older man said. His voice shook
as he spoke, belying the nonchalant attitude he was trying to convey.

Sticking a cigar firmly between his lips, he sat down on the barstool next to
the old man, not needing an invitation. He took his time answering – he had a
lot more time left in this world than the man seated next to him – and took a
slow puff off his cigar.

“Sure there is, Bub. Revenge is always a good enough reason for me,” Logan
said gruffly. There was no amusement on his face; it was a simple fact. It
seemed at times that revenge was the fuel that moved his life forward, yet
ironically left him hopelessly caught in the past.

The man gulped; his hand shaking as he lifted his beer and took a long pull. The
shaking could have been caused by fear, old age, or a combination of the two.
“I bet it seems like a good idea,” he muttered after a moment.

Logan looked at the man, his eyes hard. “What’s that?”

“Killing me,” he stated. His voice had lost some of its initial unease, but
Logan knew the man was still scared shitless; he positively stunk of fear.

“Eh,” Logan shrugged. “Thought had crossed my mind.”

The man laughed dryly. “Of course it did. That’s what you do.”

Logan’s frown deepened into a scowl.

I’m the best at what I do, and what I do isn’t very nice.

Simple words; ones he’d said many times. They were true, too. Couldn’t deny
that.

Yet, for this man to sit there like he’d done nothing wrong – to have lived
his whole life normally after what they’d done to him – made a hot rage burn
from deep inside him.

They’d taken what life he’d made for himself – they’d taken his wife,
his hope, and his mind away. They’d lived their lives while he searched for
answers; searched for who he was, what he was, and what he’d done.

At least he’d gotten one thing back; his memories.

It made all the difference in the world… yet, none at all.

He flexed his fingers out and took a deep, calming breath in an effort to
contain his rage… and lethal adamantium claws. He summoned the bartender with
a gesture, and ordered a full-bodied Canadian beer.

They both sat there silently as the bartender went to fetch his beer, returning
only a few seconds later. Logan nodded in thanks and took a long swig. Setting
the bottle down heavily, he finally returned his gaze to the man beside him.

The son of a bitch sat there like he hadn’t been a part of turning him into
the most successful human weapon the military had ever seen.

He’d certainly outlived the others, thanks to his damn healing factor. A
curse. A blessing. It depended on the day.

“You wanted a weapon, General,” he finally said, and the anger in his voice
colored his words a bit more than he would have wished. “You got one.”

At his words, the General turned to look at him – truly look at him – for
the first time since he’d arrived. He frowned, then turned back to his beer
and looked deep into the dregs. “I’m not so sure.”

“You were there.” How could he not be sure?

“I watched you die.”

Logan, who had been reaching for his beer, nearly tipped it over in his
surprise. He saved it before the bottle tipped completely, righting it again.
“Huh?”

The man didn’t seem to hear him, and continued as if Logan hadn’t said
anything. “… then I watched everyone else die.”

Logan knew what the man was referring to now. He’d killed many, and spared
few, in his rage.

In his fear. He could admit that. At least to himself.

Yet even after everything they’d done to him, he still felt something
resembling guilt when he thought of those soldier’s faces as he tore through
them in a mindless rage.

He picked up his beer as if looking at it, but really he was thinking back to a
single day twenty years ago. “Shit, least you could’ve done was do me a
favor and do the job right.”

The man beside him was silent.

Logan downed more of his beer.

The General did the same, before setting down his empty beer glass and turning
towards him.

No, not towards him; he was preparing to come face to face with the Wolverine.

The General’s expression was that of acceptance, and nothing more.

This man was a soldier, through and through.

Logan of all people should have understood. He’d fought more wars than any one
person had a right to fight, and had been a soldier almost his entire life; even
before Weapon X.

Yet it bothered him that this man didn’t truly understand what he’d helped
take from his life forever. He expected nothing from Stryker when he tied him up
and left him for dead at Alkali Lake. So why was it so important that the
General who’d approved of the Weapon X program understand? Why did he even
expect him too?

“Somehow I knew I hadn’t seen the last of you, Weapon X,” he said at last,
quietly, so no one around could hear.

Logan set down his beer.

So that was it. This man still thought of him as nothing more than their
creation. But he’d escaped that fate. He’d fought that instinct and rage and
against all odds he hadn’t turned out a cold-blooded killer… a fate that his
brother had befallen.

Quicker than the General could comprehend, Logan grabbed him by his shirt collar
and yanked him close, pulling him off the barstool he’d been sitting on so
that they were practically nose to nose.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Bub. My name is James,” he growled. He
wasn’t sure why he didn’t use Logan, other than Logan was just another lie,
and he wanted this man to know the truth. No… he needed him to know the truth.
“You call me Weapon X again, and I will gut you,” he added.

The statement held more truth than he cared to admit.

He shoved the man back into his barstool with so much force the old man almost
went over the top of it and off the back. Logan turned away and stubbed out his
cigar on the bar. Everything seemed louder now, his senses heightened from the
rush of adrenaline. He flexed his hands again, then picked up his beer and
finished it off.

Maybe they were right. Maybe he was a killer, because right now he wanted
nothing more to tear this man’s throat out.

He could too, and it would take no more effort than breathing, and no more time
than a single second. This man could be dead before he even knew he was being
attacked.

His hands became fists, and his knuckles turned white. The old fool next to him
tensed at the action, but Logan had no intension of killing the man right here
and now, and no interest in proving the man right.

He closed his eyes, breathing through his nose and exhaling through his mouth,
forcing himself to calm down. When he opened his eyes and looked at the General
again, he saw a new expression there; surprise.

So the General wasn’t without feeling after all.

Rage was once again replaced by the incredible urge for this man to know what
he’d done… and who – not what – he’d done it to.

Now of all times he was in a position to tell the General. He remembered it all
now – courtesy of Jean Grey mere seconds before her death – or had his
stolen memories been a gift from the Phoenix?

It certainly would be a gift worthy of the Phoenix’s rage. But ironically
enough, it could have been worthy of Jean’s caring as well.

It just all depended on the way one looked at it. Even he had a different take
on it, depending on the day; his memories were both a blessing and a burden. He
had a lot of bad stuff locked up in his mind, but it was all a part of him just
the same, and he felt more complete for knowing.

Life was the biggest bitch, and he didn’t know it any other way. Perhaps it
was childish of him, or perhaps it was just borne of desperation, but he needed
someone to see that he wasn’t just an animal. That he wasn’t something less
than human.

Even if he wasn’t so sure of the fact himself.

The bartender interrupted his thoughts, asking if he would like another beer.
Logan nodded, and was quickly rewarded with a fresh bottle.

He spoke quietly to the General, then, and let his emotion show through. “You
tried to ruin my life – to take away my memories and turn me into nothin’
more than a weapon. Did you even know my name? Who I was?”

The General didn’t look up. “Stryker called you Logan. That’s all I
knew.” After a moment, he added, “It was easier that way.”

“Easier to sleep at night, General?” Logan asked with a grim smile, taking a
swig from his fresh beer.

The General looked at him, but there was something in his expression, a new
fear. After a moment, Logan thought he understood.

He was afraid Logan would tell him.

If he wasn’t the revenge-driven type, he’d walk away right now. The General
was right, after all. There was no point to this.

No point but to dig up past pain, and deal a new dose of it, if for the last
time. If he wasn’t the revenge-driven type – if he could let go of the past
– he’d just get up right now, and walk out of the bar.

But in over one hundred and seventy years he’d never known the meaning of just
“letting it go”. At this point, he doubted that would ever change. It was an
instinct ingrained into him since he was a young boy, driving his newly
discovered claws into his drunken father’s chest.

His mind reverted back to the eighteen hundreds, when he was a young boy in a
small manor set deep into the Canadian woods. “I was a sickly boy. Bedridden
most of the time,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Odd.”

He shook his head, then turned his attention back to the General. “I had a
wife, a house, a job… you not only took that away from me, you made sure I
wouldn’t remember it.”

The man looked a little confused. “We never succeeded in taking away your
memory. You escaped first.”

Logan cocked an eyebrow. “Stryker finished the job.”

The General switched the subject. “You volunteered,” he said, but didn’t
sound completely convinced of the fact.

“I volunteered to have the strength to take down my brother, only to find out
the whole thing had been a fucking setup. I didn’t volunteer to be an
experiment – to become Weapon X – with no memory of who I was. I didn’t
volunteer to become your killing machine.”

Logan smiled slowly, and it wasn’t a pleasant smile. “I fought to keep my
mind. You remember that.” It wasn’t a question.

The General nodded. “Hard to forget something like that,” he whispered.

Logan drank more beer, but never knew what it was to feel its mind altering
effects. He wished that someday he’d know, that someday his healing factor
wouldn’t deny him the ability to dull his senses and slip into a blissfully
unaware stupor.

“Even after Stryker an’ Weapon X, after one hundred and seventy years of
fightin’ came and went, James Howlett couldn’t be destroyed.” He looked
the General dead in the eye. “Guess I got the last laugh, eh?”

The old man looked up, clearly shocked by his true age. He’d told no one that
he remembered, and consequently no one knew how old he really was. Even those at
the Xavier Institute were kept in the dark about that. Those who would have
known telepathically were dead and the ones left like Ororo and Beast knew not
to pry when he was so clearly busy cutting himself off from the world.

They’d thought it was because of Jean.

Perhaps he’d be ready to tell them soon. Perhaps it was time to tell them who
they’d been living with for the past few years. It was unfair to keep it from
them, yet, he hadn’t been ready to tell; he had to come to terms with it
first, before he could ask others too.

Oddly enough, sharing as little as he was with this man who’d worked hard to
destroy him was bringing him a step closer to that.

“Yeah, I guess you do, James,” the man said with a sad chuckle that held no
humor. “We spent half a billion dollars making you indestructible, tried to
destroy you as soon as you escaped, and only succeeded in making it impossible
for us to do so. How’s that for poetic justice?”

“Fuckin’ poetry at its finest, if you ask me.” It was ridiculous, and
rather funny, when he thought of it.

The General stood up slowly. “My name’s Michael. I can’t say it was a
pleasure meeting you, James… but it was enlightening.”

“Sounds like a good description if you ask me.”

Michael put some money down on the bar to cover both tabs. At Logan’s hitched
up eyebrow, the man explained. “Figured a drink is about the most
insignificant thing I can do for you.” Then, he walked straight out of the
bar.

Logan had to admit that he was taken aback by the General’s abrupt departure.
He sat there for a moment, before chugging the rest of the beer and following
after him.

Michael was waiting for him outside, underneath a street lamp, not far from the
entrance of the bar.

“How did you find me?” he asked as Logan walked up to him. The night was
cold, and the bar was not very full on a Tuesday, so they were practically alone
as they regarded one another.

“Didn’t,” Logan grudgingly admitted, having totally stumbled upon the
General by chance. He took out another cheap cigar and lit up. He inhaled it
deeply, and exhaled long and slow. The anger towards this man still stirred in
him – he was no saint – but he felt somehow… relieved by their encounter.

“For what it’s worth – which is probably nothing – I tried to stop
him,” Michael said, looking out into the parking lot. “Found out about his
son; everything that had happened to his family. It had warped him. Compromised
the operation. It was too personal, and he’d taken it too far. After he
ordered the doctor to wipe your memory… I knew there was more to it than what
he’d told us. Unfortunately, by that time he’d almost completed Weapon
XI.”

“Wade,” Logan muttered, and Michael gave him a hard look.

“Not anymore.” Logan nodded almost imperceptibly, and Michael gave him a
curious look. “I heard that Stryker’s dead.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you have anything to do with that?”

Logan exhaled a deep drag; smoke surrounded them both, reminding him of a
battlefield. “What do you think?” he asked after a moment, choosing to keep
his eyes trained on the battered Chevy in front of him rather than looking into
the General’s questioning gaze.

They both lapsed into silence once more, neither one having anything else to
say.

Logan turned to the General to say just that, only to discover the General was
gone.

He blinked before completing a full three-sixty.

Gone. It was like he’d vanished into thin air.

Logan shook his head. No one got past his senses with such stealth. Could the
General have been a mutant too? That wasn’t possible, was it?

He took another hit off his cigar, dumbfounded, before he headed towards his
truck parked along the side of the bar.

He only made it a few steps when he noticed a kid standing at the corner of the
building. Approaching a bit slower than before, he saw it was a young boy –
about ten years old – with odd eyes that seemed to catch the light like a wild
animal; only these eyes were a strange electric blue.

A mutant.

“Sorry, Mister,” the boy all but whispered, his head looking down at the
concrete.

Logan stopped in front of the kid, frowning. “What are you sorry for, kid?”

The boy rung his hands nervously, not daring to look up as he answered. “The
man.”

Thoroughly confused, Logan looked back towards the spot where he’d been
talking to the General a minute ago. No one was there.

“I can’t control it real well,” the kid said, as if trying to explain.

Furrowing his brow, he returned his gaze to the boy. “You make him
disappear?”

He may have looked a bit more intimidating than he’d meant too, because the
boy’s eyes widened. “I-I made him appear,” he stuttered, clearly scared of
Logan’s less than friendly demeanor.

Logan chomped down on his cigar and kneeled in front of the boy. “Can you
teleport people?” he asked, trying to be a little less intimidating.

The kid shook his head again. “No, Mister.”

“What then?” he asked, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

The kid finally looked up at him. “Did you like that man?”

“Not really,” Logan admitted. “We just had a score to settle.”

The boy’s lips trembled slightly, and he shivered in the cold. Grumbling about
kids and their fragile nature he took off his leather jacket and hung it over
the kid’s shoulders.

“That’s good. I mean, that you weren’t friends or anything,” the kid
continued. “’Cause he isn’t around no more.”

Logan took the cigar out of his mouth, confusion written across his face. “Eh?
What’s that, kid?”

The kid’s eyes shifted around nervously, as if looking for anyone who might be
listening. “He’s dead, Mister,” he finally said, and Logan could smell the
kid’s fear. He wasn’t sure if the boy was afraid of his power, or of what
Logan might do now that he knew.

Logan rocked back on his heels, exhaling cigar smoke. The surprised look on his
face seemed to make the kid’s eyes water up, and Logan quickly tried to
reassure him.

“Isn’t you, kid. It’s just surprisin’ is all.”

The boy seemed to calm a little at that, and Logan thought it safe to ask,
“Why?”

Shrugging, the boy shook his head. “I don’t have any control over who visits
who.”

Logan sighed and shook his head. “A kid who can bring back dead people.
Great,” he muttered, but despite his grumbling his decision was made. “I’m
Logan. You got a name or what?”

Nearing two hundred years old and he still wasn’t any better at being social.
Maybe it was a lost cause after all.

“Aaron,” he answered, sniffling a little from the cold.

“You got a place to go?”

Aaron studied him for a minute before shaking his head.

Logan stood up. “There’s a school… it ain’t far… it’s for people
like us. I’m a teacher there.”

OK, so he’d been gone for months without word to them and only taught self
defense and danger room courses part time when he was crashing at the Institute,
but he didn’t know how else to get the boy to feel comfortable enough to come
with him.

The kid didn’t miss his implication when he’d said people like us, and his
eyes widened.

“It’s safe,” Logan reassured, and finally the kid nodded. Most likely, he
had nowhere else to go.

Logan started towards his truck again, thinking about the school. The Institute
just wasn’t the same now that Professor X was gone. Hell, Jean and One-Eye
too.

He heard the kid’s quick footsteps run to catch up with him and they walked
the rest of the way to his truck in silence.

The X-men had taken a lot of casualties lately, just like any band of soldiers.
Just like any war.

The Institute remained a safe haven for mutants though, courtesy of Ororo. He
respected her for that. This little boy certainly could use the sanctuary, as
could hundreds – hell, thousands – of others.

He couldn’t help but wonder what his life would be like had he found a place
like Xavier’s to run to when he was a kid.

Would he have still spent his whole life fighting?

Logan sighed. Thoughts like that would get him nowhere.

Like the General said, there was no point to it. None at all.

Logan started up the truck, the kid in the seat next to him, clutching a small
duffle bag. At least he could help the runt, if only to take him to a place
where he’d be accepted and leave it at that.

He wasn’t a nanny, after all.

When he dropped the kid off, perhaps the opportunity would be right, and he’d
find the courage to tell them who he really was.

The End

There's not a lot of people signed up for it so the mobs are asking for more
people to participate. So I thought I'd post the notice here to see if more
people aren't interested. Here's the URL

http://community.livejournal.com/xmmficathon/82145.html

Come on and join us! It's going to be a blast and it's the X-Men Movie ficathon!

WS


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

My goodness, I don't know what happened to my brain! The last time I
remembered to post here was back in October when Chapter 25 of my fic
went live! Since then, I've posted up to Chapter 33. Below, find the
link for the latest chapter as well as links to the homepage for
earlier chapters. Sorry, mailing list!

TITLE: Days of Becoming, Chapter 33: "Buggered by the Biggest
Stevedore in the Port"
AUTHOR: Talktooloose
PAIRING: Pyro/Iceman
WARNINGS: explicit sexuality, drug use, self-delusion
BETAS: mofic, Kuriadalmatia and Lux_apollo. You each challenged me
uniquely and made the chapter infinitely better
DISCLAIMERS: Marvel and 20th Century own the X-Men, I own my original
characters. Ownership is illusion.

SERIES SUMMARY: This novel focuses mainly on the paths Iceman and
Pyro take on their way to adulthood and how they discover and deal
with their love for each other. It is a novel about what Joni
Mitchell calls "the dream's malfunction" and how we can learn to make
our own dreams when our heroes fail us. Other X characters (including
ones from comicverse and elsewhere) and OC's play prominent roles and
the action begins before X1, continues through the events of X2 and
X3 and concludes in the aftermath of that movie. This novel does not
take X-Men Origins: Wolverine as canon.

PREVIOUSLY IN DAYS OF BECOMING: John has joined Magneto's
Brotherhood. After catching him performing oral sex on a "brother,"
Mystique and Magneto have sent John undercover. He is to get into the
bed of a Taylor Kincaid, a closeted Washington consultant working for
Congressman Kemper of Idaho, and extract information on government
anti-mutant initiatives. Back at the School for Gifted Youngsters,
Bobby finds himself full of doubts. Although he and Rogue are
supposedly the number one couple of the school, he finds himself
thinking constantly about John and their time together. Doug Ramsey
and Jones have formed a somewhat shady underground business called
Janus Dog Node, helping various organizations and individuals hide
money and information on a private, secure Internet simulacrum.

I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. Please use the comments link at the end of
the chapter to bring you back here or drop me email to talktooloose
CAT toothdemon FRAUGHT net. That oughta fool the spambots for now.

<http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/chapter33.html>Here's the chapter!

<http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/>Here's the DOB homepage for
earlier chapters!

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

Title: Diamonds for Breakfast
Author: Jordanna Morgan
Archive Rights: Please request the author's consent.
Rating/Warnings: G. Beware the Fluff.
Characters: Cyclops and family, with an obligatory appearance by Wolverine.
Setting: Sometime in the future (chucking the whole Jean-is-dead/X3 thing, of
course).
Summary: To fulfill his daughter's innocently mistaken Christmas wish, Scott
Summers makes some personal sacrifices.
Disclaimer: Marvel and Fox create the characters that sell. I'm just playing
with them.
Notes: This story is a Christmas gift for a friend of mine. It was inspired by
the random memory of a jewelry-store commercial from years ago. As I recall, a
similar plot was involved there, but it failed to exploit the comic potential.
*g*



As a teacher, I've always believed a child could never be too young to learn.

Or at least, I *did* believe that until one Saturday morning in December, when
my four-year-old daughter sat poring over the newspaper at breakfast.

Don't get me wrong there—Rachel isn't a prodigy, at least not yet. Like any
average toddler, she started out playing with alphabet magnets at the age of
three; she can sing the complete alphabet with gusto, and count all the way up
to one hundred. But her spelling achievements so far have not surpassed some two
dozen words on the order of *cat* and *dog* and *tree*.

On the other hand, receiving an allowance at her tender age has taught her
something about the value of money—which was the first mistake.

And the second mistake was giving her oatmeal for breakfast.

You see, Rachel hates oatmeal. Whether sweetened with honey or spiced with
cinnamon, flavored with maple syrup or swirled with strawberry jelly, her
reaction is always the same: Oatmeal Is Gross. And her rejection of this
wholesome breakfast has, unfortunately, become the subject of her first battle
of wills with my wife the doctor. Jean flatly insists that our growing daughter
must have three bowls of oatmeal a week—and furthermore, that she must
actually consume at least half of it before she can go play.

Which is why Rachel was still sitting with me at the table after two hours,
casting baleful glances at her barely-dented serving of whole grains, and
groping for anything to do that didn't involve Eating Oatmeal.

In point of fact, I was the one actually <i
style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">reading* the newspaper. Between the full-time
occupations of teaching, parenting, and keeping mutant terrorists or rogue
scientists or killer robots from destroying the world, it isn't often I have the
chance just to sit down with the news and a cup of coffee. Not that reading the
headlines isn't almost as stressful as grading tests or saving the planet, of
course; but when there are politicians in office who think there should be leash
laws for you, it's a generally good idea to keep up with the times.

That day I had an entire week's worth of papers to catch up on, and I was about
halfway through them. As I finished browsing each one, it was carefully folded
and set aside in its proper order...

...Until Rachel lighted on the stack, purely as a distraction from the bowl of
alien slime in front of her.

With typical childlike restlessness, she ruffled through the pages and stared at
the grainy pictures (after I had quickly made sure there were no unpleasant
images from the world's latest war zones to scar her young psyche). She even
squinted at the blocks of text, occasionally reading aloud some familiar short
word. Soon the tabletop was layered with wrinkled, misfolded, and generally
disarrayed sheets of newsprint, ensuring that the papers would never again be
assembled in their rightful form.

I was a little annoyed, but not overly so. After all, in the middle of December,
the paper is almost nothing but ads for holiday sales anyway—and naturally,
those glossy pages full of toys and clothes and shiny things were what attracted
Rachel the most. She paged through the slick, full-color bonanzas of consumerism
in silent awe.

If Jean hadn't been away with Hank and the Professor at a scientific conference
in Manhattan, she would have reproved me for letting our child wallow in such
unhealthy, materialistic propaganda. But it was a lazy Saturday, and I was
reading the paper in blessed tranquility, and Rachel was at least looking at
some form of printed page instead of watching cartoons. So I let her ogle to her
heart's content... never imagining that her ideas would go beyond merely adding
a few more items to her pending letter to Santa Claus.

After a while, I felt her tugging at my sleeve.

"Daddy? I wanna buy Mommy a Christmas present."

"Oh yeah?" I didn't look up from the article I was reading about biomedical
company stocks. Even in this economy, those Worthingtons do alright for
themselves...

"See? It's right here in the paper. I got enough saved from my 'llowance to get
it," Rachel elaborated, her head raised proudly. "It's only three dollars an'
niney-nine cents."

I finally pried myself away from the financial section, leaning over to look at
the ad spread out in front of Rachel. It was a circular for a jewelry store at
the Westchester Mall. Her stubby finger was resting on the picture of an
elegant, heart-shaped pendant, with three colorless stones or crystals set in
it.

*Nice little trinket for that price*, I thought. *Unless it's one of those
cheap-junk-with-purchase deals*.

In search of fine print, I finally looked at the numbers printed under the
picture... and I swallowed hard as I realized there was no decimal point. The
pendant was made of real gold, and set with real diamonds. And instead of the
three dollars and ninety-nine cents my darling daughter had construed, its price
was *three hundred and ninety-nine* dollars.

"Will you take me to buy it, Daddy?" Rachel asked eagerly, gazing up at me with
melting blue eyes.

I looked at her, and somehow I managed a feeble smile.

"Well, I'll... I'll tell you what," I faltered, trying to sound casual. "If you
eat your *entire* bowl of oatmeal... then sure. I'll take you."

*There. She can't possibly live up to that*.

...And ten minutes later, I was staring down at an empty bowl with a comical
look on my face, as Rachel trotted off to fetch her piggy bank.



While my offspring was counting out her pennies on the table, I left her and
went upstairs. In our little family's suite of rooms, I took down my motorcycle
manual from the bookshelf, and removed the cluster of fifty- and twenty-dollar
bills tucked into the back cover. I counted them with a frown; then I slipped
them into my wallet, and made my way down the hall.

After a hesitation, I forced myself to knock on the door of someone who, I
suppose, must loosely be called a fellow teacher.

There was some muffled grumbling from within the room, comprised of what sounded
like terminology it was just as well Rachel wasn't there to hear. At last the
door opened three inches, and a disgruntled, half-asleep Logan glared out at me,
his stiff ridges of hair even more disshevelled than usual.

"*What*?" he asked, bluntly and irritably.

"Sorry to wake you up at..." I checked my watch. "Ten-fifteen A.M. But if you've
got it now, I need the money you owe me."

His scowl deepened suspiciously. "What money?"

"The money from our little bet—you know, the one you *lost*. The money I was
going to put toward some work on my bike."

"Oh. I thought you still had to save up for that," Logan murmured somewhat
dismissively, as he began to turn away.

I wrapped my hand around the edge of the door before he could close it behind
him. "Yeah, well—Rachel has other plans. She wants to go shopping for a
Christmas present for Jean."

Logan paused, glancing back at me. There was a gleam of devious amusement in his
eyes.

"That kid of yours is gonna make a great bookie someday. You know that, right?"

"Not if she spends as little time around *you* as I can help."

The Wolverine snorted a half-laugh. "Hey, the bet was *your* idea!"

Not exactly able to argue that point, I folded my arms and stared back at him
firmly. He shrugged and retreated into his bedroom, still chuckling at whatever
it was he thought was so funny. After some rummaging around in the bureau, he
returned to the doorway, counting through a crumpled wad of cash.

"I guess my name won't even go on the tag," he attempted wryly, handing over
several bills.

"*No*," I shot back as I took the money. "But if it's any consolation, neither
will mine. Rachel thinks she's doing this all by herself."

"I get it." Logan's lips twitched. "Not that it matters. Jean'll know anyway."

"Maybe," I admitted, as much as I disliked the idea. "But Rachel won't. That's
what matters."

"I thought you'd figure it was better for her to buy something she can afford
with her own money. You know, give her a real-life math lesson on the value of a
buck."

That thought had occurred to me—a fact that only made me feel more defensive.
I scowled and shrugged.

"Well... it's Christmas, Logan. Maybe you still don't get it, but Rachel wants
to do something special for her mother."

"I *do* get it, Scott," Logan retorted. For one brief, intriguing moment,
something in his eyes softened... and then he gave me a crooked smile. "If I
didn't, you'd be getting that money a month from now—to spend on a bike *I*
use more than you do."

Somehow, I couldn't help grinning all the way down the stairs.



The Westchester Mall was as jammed as one might expect for a Saturday two weeks
before Christmas, and the only parking spaces to be had were on the outer edges
of the lot. I managed to swoop into one just ahead of a blonde in a BMW who was
preoccupied with her cellphone. *Then* I waited to get out of the car until she
stopped glaring at me and went away.

When the coast was clear, I took Rachel from the back seat. She was fiercely
gripping a little beaded-leather coin purse Jubilee had given her for her
birthday, with all of four dollars and fifty cents inside it—and I suspected
any offer to carry it myself would only earn me a dose of budding feminine
indignance. Instead I settled for helping her tuck it securely into the inner
pocket of her pink-and-purple jacket. I pulled her hood up over her
strawberry-blonde ringlets, to protect her face from the chilly breeze; she gave
me an obstinate look, and pushed it back again.

Then she seized my fingers in her small gloved hand, and towed me off toward the
mall entrance.

When Rachel is on a mission, her single-minded determination is the equal of any
full-grown X-Man facing life or death. She pulled me straight past the toy
store, and the pet store where puppies and kittens frolicked in the display
windows, and even "Santa's Village" with the miniature train that encircled it.
She hauled me halfway across the mall in a fraction of the time it would have
taken to make the same trip with Jean—and when we reached her objective, *I*
was the one who was slightly out of breath.

Like Superman's fortress of solitude, the jeweler was a glittering arctic
palace, a maze of white-satin-lined cases beneath crystal chandeliers. I could
almost feel my wallet cringing in my back pocket. Rachel, on the other hand, was
undaunted, and she released my hand to scamper ahead eagerly. She moved from one
display to the next, pressing her nose against the glass, in search of the
bauble that had fatefully caught her eye in the newspaper.

While she was looking for her prize, I seized my chance to make the acquaintance
of a fresh-faced, dark-haired young man behind the counter.

"Good morning, sir!" I grasped his hand and pumped it vigorously. "Nice to meet
you. My name's Scott. That's my daughter, Rachel."

"Uh... hi. I'm Doug..."

With a slightly dazed expression, he pulled back his hand. He stared down for a
moment at the wad of money that had magically appeared in his palm—and then he
looked up suspiciously at me.

I quickly put my finger to my lips, then tilted my head toward Rachel. The first
flicker of vague comprehension passed through his eyes just as she started
jumping up and down.

"Here it is, Daddy! Right here!"

I went over to her. Still looking confused, Doug automatically moved down the
counter to join us. He somehow had the foresight to stash the money in his
pocket before Rachel could see it—but then, she had her face and both gloved
hands pushed flat against the glass, gazing at her Grail. There lay the
heart-shaped gold pendant with the three diamonds, resting on a white silk
pillow.

"Well, tell the man what you want," I said patiently. At the same time, I shot
Doug a significant glance that I hoped would translate through my ruby-quartz
glasses. His head wobbled slightly in a movement that was neither a nod nor a
shake, and I could only hope he understood.

"I wanna buy *that* necklace for my Mommy," Rachel explained, emphatically
pointing to the heart pendant.

Doug winced slightly and glanced at me. I gave him a slight nod, so he shrugged
and took out his key to unlock the case. Rachel watched him like a hawk as he
reverently lifted out the necklace and carried it back over to the register. He
tucked it into a little velvet jewelry case, then slid that inside a more
discreet cardboard gift box.

"And, uh—how do you want to pay for that?" he asked uncertainly, leaning over
the high counter to look down at Rachel—and making an obvious effort not to
dart any more glances toward me.

She gave him a prideful look. "*I'm* buying it. With *my* money," she said, and
went for her coin purse.

While she was fumbling with the zipper of her jacket, I hastily pointed a thumb
toward Doug's pocket. He flinched and pulled out the cash I had palmed him,
quickly counting through it. He barely had time to nod at me and tuck it out of
sight again before Rachel won her battle with the zipper, and triumphantly
brought up her little pouch.

I lifted her up so she could count out her money in front of him: three dollar
bills, three quarters, and an assortment of small change to make up the balance
of ninety-nine cents. Doug goggled slightly, but he rang up the sale—by its
real price, of course—and then made a show of putting away Rachel's money in
the cash register.

He hesitated slightly, giving me another glance, then handed the box to Rachel.

"You'd better look and make sure he gave you the right necklace," I said as I
put her down—gently but deliberately turning her away from the counter.

She complied, intently pulling the boxes open to examine her treasure, and this
time Doug took his cue perfectly. With practiced swiftness he recounted my
money, then quickly took the correct change from the register.

"Thanks for coming in," he said, and shook my hand—palming off the change and
receipt to me with an amused grin.

"Oh, no. Thank *you*," I answered gratefully, almost in a sigh of relief.
"Rachel, what do you say, sweetheart?"

My daughter turned to smile up at the hapless sales clerk. "Thank you," she said
prettily.

Doug grinned, and I thought he was blushing a little. "Any time."

Rachel's mission was now accomplished. Clutching her precious box, she slipped
her hand into mine, and we went home...

...Two train rides, one Barbie doll, and half an hour of puppy-watching later.



Because Christmas Day is taken up with the boisterous free-for-all of the Xavier
School's celebrations, Jean and I have adopted the tradition of our own intimate
little family observance on Christmas Eve. After dinner we open the gifts
waiting under the small tree in our apartment, then sing carols and roast
chestnuts (or in Rachel's case, pop Jiffy-Pop) at the fireplace.

It's the reason why Christmas Eve is my favorite day of the year.

That evening, we exchanged our presents. This mostly involved Jean and I
watching Rachel as she eagerly tore through her stack of gifts—but our
daughter had saved one small, haphazardly wrapped box for last. The word *Mommy*
was scrawled on its tag in black crayon, and after she'd had her fill of
examining her own loot, she reverently set the package on Jean's lap.

"This is for you, Mommy."

Smiling, Jean shot a glance at me, then carefully peeled back the wrapping
paper. She opened the cardboard gift box, then the velvet case that lay within
it... and caught her breath at the sight of the necklace within.

"Oh, it's beautiful, Baby." Beaming, she gently touched the diamonds that
ornamented the heart pendant. "Three jewels—one for each of us."

"That's what *I* thought of," Rachel lied shamelessly. "I bought it all by
myself, Mommy."

"That was so sweet of you!" Jean exclaimed.

Then she cast a knowing glance in my direction, and I blushed. After all our
years together, it's still hard to get used to the fact that you can't hide
anything from a telepath.

She put on the necklace, and gave Rachel a tight, lingering hug. Our little girl
bore it sheepishly, and when her mother finally let her go, she scampered off to
play with her own new toys.

The pendant sparkled beautifully on Jean's neck. She fingered it thoughtfully,
smiling it me, then reached up to stroke my cheek. "And it was sweet of *you*,
too."

I felt my blush grow a little hotter. "Oh, it was just..."

"No, really. I know what you gave up to get this for me—and to make Rachel
happy." My wife kissed me. "I'll make it up to you."

"Aw... you already have." I ducked my head. "I'm just glad you like it. I wasn't
sure you'd be so happy about letting Rachel think she did this by herself."

Jean smiled. "Children deserve a chance to act on that pure faith of theirs
sometimes. Besides, by letting her believe just this once, you proved you're a
father first—and a teacher second. I'm proud of you for that."

Feeling a warm glow inside me, I pulled Jean close, and leaned my head against
hers.

Then I heard her voice again, close to my ear.

"*Now*, about that bet with Logan..."

-------------------------------------
© 2008 Jordanna Morgan

Title: Unto the Least of These
Author: Jordanna Morgan
Archive Rights:</b> Please request the author's consent.
Rating/Warnings: G.
Character: Nightcrawler.
Setting: Boston, sometime before X2.
Summary: Alone in his church sanctuary on Christmas Eve, Kurt Wagner looks to
his future.
Disclaimer: Marvel and Fox create the characters that sell. I'm simply playing
with them.
Notes: Just a little Christmas present for my dear friend, Skybright Daye.


Boston was a long way from Munich, the dilapidated church a far cry from the
bright tents of the circus... and they had never felt more so than on Kurt
Wagner's first Christmas Eve in America.

In the silence of twilight, Kurt lay on his makeshift bed, his thoughts far from
that small room with its few preserved artifacts of his life. He had awakened
only a short time before; it was his habit to be active at night, as the
daylight hours were useless to him. Only in darkness did he feel safe moving
beyond the walls of his sanctuary.

A pale glow from distant streetlamps washed through the stained-glass windows,
bathing the room in softly colored light. As Kurt stirred and turned his head
with a sigh, an errant ray fell across his cheek through a pane of red glass,
casting a violet hue over the sacred symbols etched upon his midnight-blue skin.

For three months now, he had sojourned here, alone in a strange country. It was
the culmination of a restlessness that had been building in him for more than a
year—but even now, he could not explain what had drawn him away from the safe
and familiar world of the Munich Circus. All he was sure of was that God had
stirred something new in his heart: a desire for more than the applause of the
audience, or even the acceptance of his fellow performers. Even to himself, his
impulse to cast himself upon the vast and bustling world seemed mad, but his
disquietude had grown until he could no longer ignore it.

So he carefully packed his few clothes, his Bible and rosary and pirate movie
posters, and bade farewell to the handful of precious people who cared for him.
He made the journey to America aboard an old freighter whose kindly captain had
been of service to the Circus in the past. They touched port in Boston, and
there Kurt had stayed—taking as a sign his discovery of the abandoned church
that became his refuge.

Yet he was now beginning to wonder if the choice had been right, after all.

For these three months, he had lived a marginal existence. By day he slept or
prayed or read his Bible, hidden away in the rafters of the church; by night he
prowled the city, ghosting from one rooftop to another, sometimes peering
discreetly through windows to glimpse something of the lives of others. He could
not escape the feeling that he was searching for something, but he knew not
what, and this fruitless wandering had not stilled the dissatisfaction in his
soul.

Kurt pushed aside his threadbare blanket and stood up, leaving the pale shards
of colored light to scatter across the bed. The air that smelled of old wood and
plaster and incense was crisp with the winter chill, and he pulled on his coat
as he gazed out through one of the transparent panes that bordered the stained
glass.

The street below was empty; tonight he would not venture out. On that evening
when people most desired to be settled cozily at home with their loved ones,
there would be few strangers to watch, and nothing of importance to see in the
city beyond. More than that, looking through windows at Christmas trees and
happy families would have made him unbearably homesick.

*What am I doing here?*

He turned away from the window and impulsively dropped to his knees beside the
bed, clasping his cloven hands.

"Heavenly Father, show me the reason You have led me to this place," he prayed
softly in German. "Let it not be in vain that I followed Your word in my heart.
Let me know that I have a place in Your purpose."

The silence of the hallowed building was heavy. Kurt bowed his head, lost for a
few moments in formless thoughts...

And then, far below his little room beneath the rafters, he heard the sound of
the church's stout door being dragged open.

Instantly alert and wary, Kurt stepped out onto the narrow landing. With hardly
more effort than a thought, he teleported to a beam halfway across the ceiling
of the church—a vantage point from which he had a clear view of the church
doors, and yet would be well concealed even if someone chanced to look up.
Tendrils of indigo vapor dissipated around him as he crouched on the timber,
gazing down.

A woman had come into the church, and was now pushing the solid door shut
again—and close to her stood a small blond-haired boy. Both of them were
bundled in shabby, dirty clothes, and the woman was carrying a battered
knapsack. As Kurt watched, she took the child's hand and led him deeper among
the pews, cautiously exploring the empty sanctuary.

As they passed beneath him, Kurt could read the weariness and despair in the
woman's face and movements, and an aching pang of sympathy thumped in his heart.
Here then were the homeless and friendless, come to share his refuge
unknowingly. It was by his own choice that he had consigned himself to a lonely
Christmas in this hollow holy place, but he would have wished that upon no one
else—especially not a child.

Having discovered a well-sheltered corner, the woman spread out a torn sleeping
bag on the floor. Then she exchanged a few soft words with the boy, and took his
hand again... and together they moved forward to the altar. She found the stub
of an old candle and fumblingly lit it, then knelt down beside her child to
pray.

Kurt felt a warm dampness brimming in his eyes. Almost without thinking, he
teleported away, back to the landing and the doorway of his own little space.

In a corner of his room, he kept the box that was his makeshift larder.
Impulsively he delved into it, taking out a number of items: bread, apples, a
few simple canned goods, a bottle of fresh water. By the time he had bundled his
collection into a spare blanket from beside the bed, the box was nearly empty.

Two swift teleports took him first to the rafter beam, and then down to the
floor of the sanctuary, near the hidden corner where the sleeping bag was
spread. Mother and child were still bowed in prayer, and neither appeared to
notice the soft *bamf* that accompanied Kurt's movements. He quickly set down
his burden on top of the sleeping bag, then returned to the beam high above.

After a few more minutes, the mother tiredly pushed herself to her feet, taking
the boy's hand. They made their way back to the corner where they intended to
bed down... and stopped in their tracks when they saw the bundle awaiting them.

Kurt's pulse quickened as they hesitantly approached it. The mother warily bent
down to tug loose the knotted blanket—and she let out an excited cry at the
sight of the humble offering within. Her child bounced forward to see for
himself, and with tears in her eyes, she swept him up into a hug. Kurt heard her
say the word "miracle"; then he instinctively ducked behind a crossbeam as she
looked heavenward, hands clasped in joyous gratitude.

With a glowing smile on his face, Kurt retreated through the ether to the
doorway of his own room. He slipped inside and sat down on the edge of his bed.
His large fingers sought and caressed his rosary beads; but instead of being
bowed, his head was held high.

"Thank you for this sign, Heavenly Father. I will try to be patient, and await
Your will."

He knew now why he was here. It was well enough in life to entertain
amusement-seekers in the circus, but his restlessness was the longing for a
purpose far greater and deeper—and now he had received a glimpse of the joy of
such meaning. In his heart, he suddenly knew that he was being led to serve
something greater than himself...

And he knew just as surely that his chance to serve would come.

-------------------------------------
© 2008 Jordanna Morgan

This story was written as part of the livelongnmarry auction to support efforts
to combat Proposition 8 in California. Unfortunately we lost that one, but I am
proud that the fandom corner of lj raised over $50,000 for this effort and that
I was part of it, on both ends.

My original offer was:
I offer to write a story in the X-Men movieverse (any of the three movies) with
your preferred characters and pairings. Story can be sexually explicit or not,
as you prefer. I will include OCs from my previous fiction upon request. I write
character-driven slash with complex plots, complex characters, and realistic sex
(albeit realistic sex that incorporates mutant powers). My main pairing is
Scott/Logan but I'm open to any pairing you choose and will write het or
femslash or gen, as requested. My fiction can be found at
http://mo.fandomnation.com/fic.

So, I’d agreed to take requests on characters, pairings and whether or not
there would be explicit sex in the story. I didn’t explicitly agree to any
particular plot elements, but I did want to accommodate as much as I could.

Here is what the winner of the auction requested:

• A story unconnected to my previous fiction, starting from scratch with the
characters
• Scott/Logan movieverse with explicit sex
• Unresolved Sexual Tension before they get to that point
• Physical violence between the two of them
• Scott and Logan are stranded somewhere alone together
• Each learns something about the other one he didn’t previously know
• Scott smiles at something funny Logan says

So I think I got all of those into the story. I had two possible ways to go on
this one. My first thought was to make it a post-X3 story. I think there’s
plenty of room in X3 for writing fic where Scott did not die. We know that Jean
was in a “telekinetic cocoon” between X2 and X3. I thought that she might
have put Scott in there in her place. And Logan would realize he was still alive
and go get him. Plenty of opportunity for them to be stranded alone together.
And when Logan mentions that he happens to have killed Scott’s girlfriend, I
think the violence would likely follow. Particularly if he tells Scott after he
and Scott have had sex, having previously only said that Jean died. Anyway, I
thought it had promise and considered that as a possibility.

The second possibility I considered (and eventually went with) was a story set
between the first two movies. Scott is already out of the picture when Logan
shows up in X2, and remains gone for much of the movie. There’s no indication
that Scott and Logan have had any contact between the films, but there’s no
indication that they haven’t, either, and that allows for some room,
particularly if the characters who do greet Logan in X2 (Jean and Storm)
didn’t know what had happened between Scott and Logan in between films. So I
thought that had potential, too.

In deciding which way to go I was mostly motivated by my thorough hatred of X3.
I think the movie is such a mess from beginning to end. I love the idea of
fanfic as a way to fix canon gone wrong, but every time I think about doing that
with X3 I just feel it’s too bad to fix. So I went with the other option.

My major research in this one, other than geographic, was about plane crashes.
I’m pretty fascinated by crash landings where there are survivors and the
almost superhuman effort that sometimes is expended by the pilot. I read a bunch
of transcripts from black boxes as part of the research and the dialogue in the
plane as it’s going down is pretty much drawn from real life. 
 Mo
Mofic Website: http://mo.fandomnation.com/fic/
www.livejournal.com/users/mofic

At least this time I knew I’d had a blow to the head. I can’t say I knew
much else, but my head hurt like it had been hit and hit hard. I couldn’t
remember where I was, though, or what had happened. I reached to my eyes before
opening them, to make sure the glasses were there.

They weren’t, but something was covering my eyes. I put my hand over my eyes
to block the optic blasts, thinking – as I often do – how strange it is that
my skin stops that explosive force, whether it’s eyelids or my hand, and
nothing else but ruby crystal does. With my hand in place, I tried to open my
eyes, and couldn’t. I started feeling around my face, trying to pull off
whatever was obstructing my eyes. And then I remembered – the Blackbird.



I had to get out, and quick. No time to get this stuff off of my face, whatever
it was, or to find my glasses. I needed to move blind. I started to pull myself
up, calling “Logan! Logan, are you okay? We’ve got to get out of here.”

I felt his hand on my shoulder, pushing me back down. “It’s okay, Cyclops.
It’s over.” I sat down. His hand stayed on my shoulder. My head was still
fuzzy and I wasn’t sure what he meant. It crossed my mind that I might be
dead.

He continued, “The jet burned, but at least we got out. Sorry about this,”
he added, touching the padding on my eyes. “I had to tape your eyes shut. I
couldn’t risk another accident like we had back at the carnival. This tent is
the only shelter we’ve got.”

It was starting to make sense now. “You got the duffel bag.”

“Yeah, that and you. Couldn’t get that other case, though. Not in time to
get away before it blew. What was in it?”

“Electronics. GPS, a radio to contact Charles, electronic flares.”

“Fuck. That would have been good to have. Well, we’ll manage without.”

“I’m surprised you managed to get the bag and carry me, too.” I tried to
imagine him getting out before the jet burned, carrying me and the duffel bag
full of the tent and supplies. I don’t think I could have done it if our
situations had been reversed. I told him so. And added, “Hey, thanks for
saving my life. Again. I guess I owe you one.”

“I don’t plan on needing my life saved any time soon, but I’ll figure out
some way for you to pay me back.” There was a playful tone to his voice that I
found strangely unsettling.

“Are my glasses intact, by any chance?” I asked, starting to pull off the
adhesive tape wrapped around my head, wincing a little as it tore some of the
skin.

“Yeah. Do you want some help with that?”

“No, I can handle it.” I finished getting the tape off and removed a layer
of cotton padding under it that had held my eyes closed. Logan handed me my
glasses and I put them on and looked around.

I was sitting on a tarp in the tent we’d kept in the Blackbird. The duffel bag
that the tent and supplies had been in was behind me stuffed with something.
I’d been lying on it like a pillow. My head still hurt and I was feeling
dizzy. I leaned back on it and that helped a bit.

Logan was sitting cross-legged, looking at me. He was wearing the same clothes
he’d had on when we got into the Blackbird, but there were rips in his jeans
and his jacket was stained with dried blood. No visible wounds, but then there
wouldn’t be. Anyway, it might have been my blood. I looked down and realized I
was wearing one of the khaki jump suits that had been in the duffel bag.

“I had to cut your pants off of you,” he said. “There was a lot of blood
and I thought I should find where it was coming from quick. But it must have
been mine. You didn’t have anything deep. I washed your wounds, don’t think
they’ll get infected. There’s good water right near here – a brook – and
I used the first aid stuff in the duffel. I don’t think you broke anything and
it didn’t look like you needed stitching up – just a lot of cuts and
bruises. I probably gave you most of them, getting you out of there, but we had
to move fast and you weren’t no help.”

“How long was I out?”

He thought for a minute. “I don’t know. I don’t know what time it is. Your
watch was smashed and I didn’t have one. Maybe 12 hours? Maybe more. It took a
while to find a spot – I wasn’t moving fast, with carrying you. I figured we
needed to get some distance between us and the crash. And I didn’t know how
long we’d be out here, so we needed water and so on. A few hours walking and
then it was light and I found this place. The brook for water, lots of firewood.
Fish and small game if we need to be here longer than the MREs last. It’s –
I don’t know – maybe three, four hours until dark now, so more like 18 hours
you were out.”

“Do you know where we are?”

He shook his head. “That GPS would come in handy right about now.” He looked
at me carefully. “Can I leave you alone for a couple of hours? You’ll be
okay? I got a fire going out there. It’ll be cold when the sun goes down.”

“I’m okay. Where are you going?”

“Cover my tracks. I don’t want no one knowing where we went. I can move
quick by myself – shouldn’t take too long.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Charles will know something happened
to us. He’ll send an X-Men mission to find us. I don’t want them thinking we
died in the plane when they find it.”

“Can’t be helped.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want whoever sabotaged the plane to find us before the X-Men do.
I’d be pretty happy if the other side thinks we’re dead.”

And he was right, of course. That had been no accident. I would have realized it
right away except for the after-effects of concussion. Logan, not dealing with a
fuzzy brain, had come to the right conclusion. “You sure you’re okay on your
own?” he said. “You’re not thinking too clearly yet.”

“I know, but I’m okay. I won’t try to do any thinking while you’re gone.
I’ll just mind the fire and take something for this headache.”


He nodded his assent. “Meds in the duffel. Jug of water just outside the tent.
This might take a while, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.” And then he was
gone.

I took some pain killers and sat by the fire for a few minutes until they kicked
in. Then I got up, figuring I’d check out the area. The fire was burning well,
and there was a neat pile of wood nearby. I put one more log on, picturing Logan
cutting them with his claws while I lay unconscious in the tent.

I could hear the brook, so it was easy to find. I stripped and washed. The water
was cold, but I figured it would be colder after dark. I couldn’t stop
thinking about what Logan had said about cutting my clothes off of me, while
I’d been out. I refilled the water jug and went back to our campsite to dry
off and warm up and wait for Logan.

It was after dark when he returned. “How did it go?” I asked.

“Pretty good. Took a little longer than I thought. It didn’t look like
they’d gotten there yet, so I figured it was worth taking some time to throw
�em off when they do. So I didn’t just cover tracks – made some new ones.
Oh, and I got us some supper,” he added, holding up a fish, speared on one
claw.

He started to fillet the fish and cut it into chunks. “Can you find a stick to
use for a skewer?” he asked and I got one and then watched him. Again, I was
mesmerized watching the claws in action as tools.

He misinterpreted. “You hungry? It won’t be long,” he added, retracting
the claws and putting pieces of the fish on the stick to cook.

“Yeah, but that’s not why I was watching you. I love to see mutants using
their gifts, always have.” I thought for a minute. “But I guess the claws
aren’t really mutant gifts, are they?”

“The claws are. Adamantium isn’t.”

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

He shook his head and popped the claws on his left hand, still holding the
skewer with his right one. “They’re bone underneath,” he said, gesturing
with them, “just lined with adamantium, like the rest of my skeleton.” He
retracted the claws and turned towards the fire. “It’s the healing factor
and the claws that are my gifts. The adamantium came later.” The bitter tone
in the last sentence was unmistakable.

“Jean says it’s because of the healing factor that you survived that.”

“She’s probably right.” He shrugged. “I guess I’m glad of it now –
surviving, I mean. At the time I just wanted to survive long enough to kill
whoever was doing that to me. Even if I didn’t know what they were doing.” I
didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything. “I was awake
the whole time.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nah. Paralyzed, but awake. Can you imagine what kind of sick mind takes a
person apart like that and makes him feel it?”

“Who did it to you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got a whole lot of years missing from my brain. I can
remember the operation, but not before or after. I don’t know where it
happened, when it happened. I don’t even know if I did kill them. I hope I
did. I wish I could remember doing it, if I did.” He thought for a minute.
“What else did your girlfriend tell you about me?”

“Not much. It was a briefing for Charles and me, after she examined you. She
said she has no idea how old you are, because you don’t age normally. She said
you might be older than Charles.”

“Probably am. I have just flashes of memory from before, oh about 15 years
ago, but I think some of them go back a long time.” He pulled the stick off of
the fire. “This is done now.”
He sat down next to me and we ate the fish. It tasted delicious in the way that
only something eaten outdoors and when you’re really hungry can.

We sat side by side for a while, backs against a tree, just looking at the fire.
I tried to think about how we were going to get back to civilization, about
making plans. But I felt both excited and discomfited by Logan’s nearness and
I was too distracted to plan.

“Hey Cyclops,” he said after a while. “I’ve thought about it. I’ve got
an idea how you can pay me back for saving your life this time.” He was
smiling at me. His hand was on my thigh, stroking.

“No, Logan. I don’t...”

“Oh come on. It don’t mean nothing. It’s just what guys do when there
aren’t women around.” He took my hand and put it to his crotch. I was still
shaking my head no, but I didn’t pull my hand back.

I could feel his cock getting hard through the jeans and I knew I wanted to feel
it in my hand. He knew it, too, and chuckled a little as I unbuttoned him.

I pulled it out. It was long and hard and felt so good to hold. Like touching
myself, but different. I started stroking up and down with a loose fist, thumb
on the head. He sighed and told me he liked it, in a kind of panting growl. And
then pushed my head down.

I hesitated, but only a second. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” I told
myself. Hand still round his dick, I opened my mouth and licked the top of it,
tasting skin and sweat and wanting that in my mouth. I pulled the head of his
cock in, licking around the top while I sucked on it, stroking up and down all
the while. I felt like I’d been waiting all my life to do this, like I’d
never get enough of it. I rubbed against my own cock through my clothes with my
other hand, bobbing up and down on him, just reveling in the taste and the feel
of him. And the sounds. He was murmuring encouragement, telling me he liked it.
His fingers were in my hair and on my face. I was surprised at how soft his
hands felt, stroking me. And then he stopped talking, his breathing faster and
uneven.

“I’m gonna come,” he said, fingers in my hair, and tried to pull me off of
him, but I wasn’t letting go for anything. I felt it spurt in my mouth,
tasting bitter and sharp and there was nothing I wanted more at that minute. I
kept my mouth on him as his cock shrank, then pulled off and wiped my face with
the back of my hand.

“You’re damned good at that,” he said, leaning back against the tree and
sighing. “You done it a lot?”

I shook my head. “First time.”

“Really?” I nodded. He reached over and started unzipping my coverall.
“Your turn,” he said, pulling out my cock. “I don’t suck cock, but
I’ll jerk you.”

And his hand was on me. I took his other hand in mine. “Your skin is so
soft,” I said. “I didn’t expect that.”

“I can’t form calluses – part of the healing factor.”

He was stroking with some kind of circular motion, squeezing and tugging. It
felt wonderful and he seemed so into what he was doing, like it wasn’t just
pay back but something he really wanted. “You’ve got a great cock,” he
said. “Long and lean, like the rest of you.” I shivered a bit from his words
as much as from what his hand was doing.

I leaned in and kissed him. First on the side of his neck, then turning his head
with my hand, full on the mouth. He hesitated at first but then opened his mouth
and let me suck his tongue in. I wondered if he could taste his cum in my mouth
as I stroked his tongue with mine, as he stroked my cock with those amazingly
soft fingers and that strong touch.

I pulled back from his mouth, panting now. He leaned in and started whispering
in my ear, both hands on me now. “I knew you wanted it. You gave it to me good
and now I’ve got your big cock in my hands, just where I want it. You’re
almost there, aren’t you?” His voice, his hands, his presence next to me,
the fire light, the taste of him still in my mouth. So much sensation and so
good I could barely stand it. And then I was coming, hearing myself shouting
“Oh God Logan” as I did.

He stood up right afterwards, all business, tending to the fire. I suddenly felt
cold.

“Temperature’s dropping,” he said, as if he’d read my mind. “We’ll
be warmer in the tent. Let’s get some sleep. We can figure out how to get out
of here in the morning.”

He disappeared into the tent and I followed soon after. He was asleep already,
back to me. I felt like lying down behind him, holding his body to mine, but I
didn’t. I lay down, turned the other way, listening to his rhythmic breathing.

I thought about what he’d said before, that it didn’t mean anything, what we
had done. I was terrified that it was going to mean a lot – too much – to
me. It took me a long time to fall asleep.
 Mo
Mofic Website: http://mo.fandomnation.com/fic/
www.livejournal.com/users/mofic

As soon as we got somewhere with cell service, I called Charles to tell him
I’d been successful. He sounded pleased, and surprised. With Logan right
there, I wasn’t comfortable telling him just how surprised I was as well, or
the details of how I’d convinced him. I changed the subject and asked how
things were going at school. He sounded a little bit guarded, not telling me
much, making me wonder who was with him in his office.
“What’s your current location?” he asked, changing the subject himself.

“We’re about half way between Prince Albert and La Ronge. Not too far from
where I stashed the Blackbird, but I don’t want to try to find it in the dark.
We’ll stay at a motel tonight and go pick up the jet tomorrow. So expect us
home tomorrow night.”

Only it didn’t work out that way.


It was probably my fault. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to take off, I
would have done a more thorough inspection. But Logan’s presence was unnerving
me and I was eager to get back to Westchester and send him off on his mission.
So I went through the usual checks, but my mind wasn’t entirely on the
Blackbird. Every time I looked up he was looking at me. Not in a hostile way,
really. Not friendly, either. A kind of intense scrutiny, like he was trying to
figure something out. He’d been doing that a lot and I didn’t know what to
make of it, but it made me uncomfortable. I didn’t want to think about what he
might be trying to figure out. I had my own conundrum to figure out and I
wasn’t getting very far with it.

It had started when we were still in his camper. When he agreed to go on the
mission, I had been eager to get moving before he had a chance to rethink the
decision, but he had insisted we stay in place a few days for my wounds to heal.
“You’re in no shape to travel.” When I objected that I’ve been wounded
often enough to know my own limitations, he added, “If I’m gonna try this
superhero team thing it won’t look too good if I kill the Field Leader before
my first mission.” So we compromised by staying another day and then getting
on the road. And it was while we were cooped up together in the camper that he
started staring at me in that way.

It was sort of surreptitious at first. He’d be out of my field of vision and
I’d have that feeling you get when it feels like somebody’s looking at you,
but by the time I turned around he was busy with something. But then I caught
him at it once. He didn’t turn away, just kind of smirked at me and kept
looking. Was it a gloating smile, for having tricked me into acknowledging my
jealousy and my fear of losing Jean? No, I don’t think so. I’d seen that
triumphant smile on him other times, but this was something else. A smile that
said he knew that he could make me uneasy just by looking at me. A smile that
maybe realized there was part of me that was enjoying the attention.

Yes, enjoying it and looking at him in a new light. And that’s what was
unnerving me. I was reacting to him in a way I didn’t expect and didn’t
understand.

At first I told myself I was just happy that the mission had been accomplished
and relieved to finally believe that he and Jean had never had an affair. But
there was something else there. Something that had me looking at him, too,
whenever I could. Not that he knew I was doing it. One of the compensations for
having to wear these damn glasses all the time is that no one can tell what
I’m looking at.

I found myself watching him out of my peripheral vision, a lot, although at
first I wasn’t sure why. There was something compelling about him, even as he
went about ordinary tasks, fetching water for the camper’s tanks, doing some
basic repairs. It wasn’t just seeing the claws in use as tools rather than
weapons, although that was fascinating to watch. I’d seen him extend them one
at a time before but had no idea that he could extend them part way, as well. A
single claw could be a knife, a screw driver, a lever. I’d known they were
amazingly sharp and powerful, but I was surprised to see they were almost agile
as well. I knew from Charles and Jean that the claws had been created and the
adamantium had been grafted to Logan’s skeleton many years ago, against his
will, in an excruciating experiment. He’d clearly made the most of the
results, though.


But it wasn’t just watching how effective Logan was at using his claws that
was capturing my attention. There was more than that. I kept looking at how he
moved – those thickly muscled arms and legs, the apparent lightweight grace of
his movements. I knew from fighting him that his metal-filled body was anything
but light but you wouldn’t know it to see him in action. It was sort of like
watching a beautiful yet dangerous animal – a panther or a tiger – uncannily
lithe for all that deadly power.

Yes, he was fascinating to watch, for his skill, for his mutation, for his
adaptation to the adamantium. But that wasn’t all there was to it, to him, to
my growing fascination with him. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him and
realizing that was making me increasingly uneasy.
It only got worse when he sold the camper and we continued on by motorcycle.
I’d joked with him about who owned it when he said I could drive, but I was
glad I was the one driving when we finally got on the road. Feeling him riding
behind me was giving me a raging hard on, making it hard to maintain my
composure, or my rationalizations about just why Logan’s presence was making
me uncomfortable.


I couldn’t deny it any more. I was intensely and surprisingly sexually
attracted to Logan.
It’s something I’d never felt before. I’ve been approached sexually by men
on assorted occasions, starting in my teens. I’ve always said no, and done so
without regret or ambivalence. I’ve never felt the animosity and fear that a
lot of men feel when they are the object of homosexual attraction, but I’ve
never felt any interest, either. And here I was, catching glimpses of Logan
every chance I could, wondering why he kept looking at me like that. I was
intensely interested and at the same time trying to hide my interest from him.
Was he looking at me because he suspected? How could that be? How could he know
I was attracted to him when I hadn’t even known, myself? And what would his
reaction be if he did know? These were the questions I kept mulling over.

Not that I was coming to any conclusions. I couldn’t even figure out how I had
come to be attracted to someone who was not only not a member of my preferred
gender, but also a man I’d pretty much detested from the start.

Okay, so I’d been doing without sex for some time what with all the trouble
between Jean and me. I know that it’s only natural to be tempted under
circumstances like that. But why Logan? Why not that waitress at the burger
joint we stopped at? She was unabashedly flirting with me and I was feeling
nothing, barely managing to speak to her enough to be polite. But when Logan’s
leg accidentally brushed mine under the table, it was like lightning through my
body, as brief as the touch was. I found myself wondering if I could touch him
again and not let on I was doing it on purpose.

It was worse that night when we checked into a motel. The desk clerk asked if we
wanted a room with one bed or two. “Two!” I said, perhaps too quickly and
emphatically. Logan just smirked. And then we got into the room and he started
stripping. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked.

“Mind what?” I asked, warily.

“Me going first. Living in the camper – limited water, limited heat – you
get to dreaming about a long, hot shower."

“No, go ahead.”

He was in there a long time. He came out, buck naked, and flopped down on one of
the beds, turning the TV on and flipping channels. He’d made only a
half-hearted attempt at drying off and my eyes were drawn to drops of water
glistening on him in the lamplight. I tried not to look and gave up, settling on
using my peripheral vision so he wouldn’t know I was looking.

“I think I left you some hot water,” he said absently, settling on a
football game.

“Big of you,” I replied, heading into the bathroom myself, not undressing
until I was in there so he wouldn’t see the effect he’d had on me. I took a
long shower.

When I came out he was still naked, still watching tv, but the football game was
over and there was porn on the screen. “I guess I should have asked,” he
said, eyes glued to the screen, “but it’s only fifteen bucks more on your
bill. I figured Xavier can afford it.”

I could have stayed. He didn’t seem like he’d mind. But I didn’t think I
could keep my eyes on the screen and not look at him. I went out for a walk.

When I came back, the television was off and the room was dark. I could see the
outline of his body in the bed, chest rising and falling as he slept. I got into
the other bed and turned away from him. It took me a long time to get to sleep.

=================================================

We left the next morning and between lack of sleep and distraction I know I
wasn’t as careful inspecting the Blackbird as I should have been. But I did go
through my usual pre-flight routine and everything was fine. There was nothing
wrong with the take off, either.

No, we were in the air for about 20 minutes before I noticed it. Something
sounded wrong. That’s what I noticed first, before I could feel anything or
see anything different. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it just didn’t
sound like the Blackbird does at a cruising altitude. I wasn’t sure if I was
imagining it. It had been a while since I’d flown. I was tired. I was
distracted. But I know this jet as well as I know anything and it just didn’t
sound right. There was something... extra. Beyond the usual roar of an engine.
Something metallic. Just under and behind the usual sounds. “Do you hear
that?” I asked.

“Hear what?” But of course he couldn’t. It sounded like a jet in flight.
It just didn’t sound like it should.

And then I could feel it, too. It must have shown on my face. “What’s
wrong?” Logan asked.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Something’s not right. I feel like I’m fighting the controls. Logan, why
am I fighting the controls?”

Trim controls weren’t working. We were losing altitude.

“Shit,” I said. “Runaway trim.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“It’s... I can’t control...”

I tried disconnecting the circuit breaker to stop the flow of current to the
trim motor, but I couldn’t budge it. I was using all my strength to keep the
plane from nose-diving. I kept trying but it was clear I couldn’t stop it. The
most I could do was slow it down. I hoped I could slow it down enough to survive
this.

“It’s not working. We’re going down.”

“Going down? As in crashing?”

The sound was getting louder, making it hard to hear him, even though he was
right next to me. I answered him, yelling over the roar of the jet. “Crash
landing, if we’re lucky. Look, hold on here with me. Push hard. It’s going
to take both of us. If we can last another five minutes or so and slow it down,
there’s a clearing up ahead. I’ll lower the landing gear. I’m going to try
and get us on the ground in one piece.”

I was giving it my all and so was Logan. His hands were over mine and we were
both pulling. His face was covered with sweat from the exertion. I felt a sudden
urge to lean over and touch him, but I quashed it. The nose came up a bit.
“We’re doing it!” I said. “Keep pulling.”

But it became clear soon it wasn’t enough. Pulling as hard as we could, the
nose turned down again. But we were closer. I could see the clearing. We might
make it.

We still might avoid a crash, I thought, but it was clear it was going to be at
best a hard landing. “Look,” I said. “See that orange duffel behind us,
strapped to the wall?” He nodded, still pulling hard. “It comes out easily.
And there’s a metal box right under it, with a spring latch. If I don’t make
it – take both of them with you.” He nodded. “Do it fast. Once the
plane’s on fire it’s too late – probably too late even for you, even with
your healing factor.”

The ground was getting closer. I pulled with all my might, trying to get the
nose up just a little bit, trying for that hard landing, not a crash, not bad
enough to tear the plane apart on impact. If only we had a couple of minutes to
get out. “And Logan,” I added, almost breathless with the exertion, “tell
Jean for me...” Only I didn’t know what I wanted him to tell her. And then
it was too late, anyway.

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

He looked real surprised when I said I’d go with him. That’s understandable
- I kind of surprised myself. I wasn’t sure why I told him yes. Sure, partly
it was a case of why the fuck not? It wasn’t like I had anything else to do.
No more cage-fighting in that place. I could move on and find somewhere else to
fight, but I was kind of sick of it anyway. I’d been trying to figure out what
I was going to do next, even before he showed up.

That was a shocker, him showing up, and like that. Threw me for a minute, and he
used the chance to get a couple punches in, which just pissed me off at the
time. Really, he’s the last guy I’d expect to find in that cage with me.

I hadn’t thought much about him, or the X-Men, for a long time. Hadn’t been
thinking about her, neither.

It wasn’t always like that. I’d thought about her right after I left,
alright. A lot. I was thinking at the time that it would be hard to get over
her. When I left there I pretty much nailed every willing redhead between Salem
Center and Alkali Lake, thinking about her, trying to forget. But after a while
something strange happened: I found I was trying to remember instead.

I couldn’t really picture what she looked like, remember what she smelled
like. I didn’t think about her much at all, really, unless I was trying to. At
first I sort of nursed it, kept thinking about her, kept screwing women who
looked a little like her. But after a while I started asking myself, why try?
And then I mostly didn’t think about the X-Men at all.

Well, sometimes I’d think about them – about him – when I was riding his
bike. That’s one fast machine. I’d ride it with a smile on my face, for the
fun of riding it and for imagining the expression on his face when he realized I
took it. But after a while it seemed like kind of a lame gesture: taking his
bike �cause I couldn’t take his girl.

It made me think that maybe me wanting to fuck Jean wasn’t about her at all.
It was about him, about wanting to get his goat. Or something. The funny thing
is even though I couldn’t really remember her face, I sure could remember his.
I could close my eyes and see him right in front of me – the pretty boy looks,
the superior smirk, long lean body, confident walk. The dark glasses and that
slight red glow behind them. I could tell what he was looking at by where the
glow was brightest. I don’t think anybody else can – heightened senses make
the difference. And just paying attention, too. I could remember him looking
right at me, just like he was right in front of me. Yeah, sometimes I thought
about that at night. Not sure why he made such an impression. Maybe because of
the bike; maybe because he had the girl I’d wanted. I don’t know – it
wasn’t something I wanted to dwell on.

So then I got the camper and just mounted the bike on the back of it and
didn’t think about it much. Or them. But sometimes I’d see it on the back
there and just remember a bit and kind of wonder what happened with the X-Men
after I’d gone. I’d think sometimes about going back there, too. I could
tell the professor that his tips on finding out about my past hadn’t panned
out, and ask if he had any other ideas. Maybe he’d have ideas for finding
stuff out or maybe he’d want me to join the team. And sometimes that seemed
like a good idea. Something to do, anyway.

So it was something that came to mind from time to time. Still, I didn’t do
nothing about it. I’ve been on my own a long time and mostly that’s the way
I’ve wanted it. But then I’d hear that professor’s voice in my head that
one time, saying “You’re not the only one with gifts” and I’d feel
something. Some sort of... longing.

I’d always known there were other mutants in the world, ever since I figured
out that’s what I am. And I figured staying away from them was the best thing
I could do. You hang around obvious ones and people catch on. Not that I’m
scared or anything. It’s just easier if no one knows. But then I got mixed up
with the X-Men and the whole thing with Magneto and saw that there was a
different way of looking at being a mutant. Two different ways. Magneto’s way
of fighting the normals or the professor’s way of educating them, of fighting
for something.

I’ve never been much for education, it’s true. But I saw what they were
doing in that school and started to feel like this could make a big difference
to mutant kids like Marie. And if I’m choosing between the geeks who protect
her and teach her and the guy who was willing to kill her �cause he was too
scared to risk his own life, well I know which team I’d rather be on. If I’m
going to be on a team. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to be on anybody’s team.
So I thought about going back, once in a while, not often, but I didn’t do
anything about it. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to be on a team, or
maybe I didn’t want to see Jean again. Maybe I didn’t want to see Summers.

I’d pretty much hated his guts at first sight. Arrogant, rich, standing there
with the fancy glasses and the stupid ass cardigan and the freaking code name.
Cyclops. Just oh so sure he’s the good guy. It’s a type I can’t stand,
everything handed to him on a silver platter. And then when I found out she was
with him that pissed me off more. Believe me, I wondered what she saw in him.
But that was before I saw him in action.

“Field Leader” just sounded like a fancy title, but see him risking his life
for the team and you think a little different. It’s probably not for me, that
do-gooder stuff, but it’s still something. A good place for Marie and them
other kids, like I said. And just seeing him fighting and teaching and just
running stuff there – well I realized there’s more to him than just a pretty
face. Jean told me once that he’d had to keep his eyes closed for months
before they figured out about the ruby quartz. That takes some kind of control.
And I saw it for myself when we were fighting in the cage. He shut them so fast
when I knocked the glasses off of him that there weren’t any blasts. And then
he fought me blind, getting hit again and again, weaker by the minute but he
kept them closed. It was something to see. It wasn’t until I’d knocked him
out that they opened, when he sort of almost woke up. Just a second or so, but
long enough to blow the
  roof off.

When they’d realized he was a mutant it looked to be a mob scene there.
They’d come after him and he wasn’t in no position to defend himself. You
could see that mixture of fear and hate all over their faces as they approached.
It would’ve been the end of him, they were set on making sure he never woke
up. So, I popped the claws and told them to back off.

Well, they were all chickenshit. Willing to take on a dangerous mutant, sure,
long as I knock him out for them first. Not one that’s ready to fight back. I
saw the same hate and fear again, only now it was for me, but they weren’t
gonna take me on. Not until they got some weapons, anyway.

So I grabbed him and hightailed it out of there. Jenkins met me at the camper
with the rest of Scott’s stuff and a hundred bucks he said was for him. And I
drove far away and just waited for him to wake up. I wasn’t thinking about
going with him then.

But then I had him in my camper and I watched him. Unconscious, vulnerable
looking on the floor there. Although really it’s the camper roof that was
vulnerable if he opened his eyes. I was curious as fuck about why he came there.
I figured it was something to do with me and Jean. Started feeling good about it
when it turned out I was right, that he was jealous of me. But funny thing –
it didn’t make me miss her or feel like I was wanting her all over again, just
made me feel good that he was jealous. Kind of petty, I guess. And I wasn’t
even mad at him anymore, but I guess it just made me feel superior or something.
I took his bike, I beat him up, and still he can’t stop thinking about her and
me. Can’t stop thinking about me.

So then he tells me this scheme the professor cooked up and at first I think
it’s more bullshit but he talks to me some more and he sounds real sincere and
then he’s all tactics and plans so I figure it’s for real. And I start
thinking maybe I want to do it. For something to do and to do something for
Marie and kids like her. And yeah, for getting back at Magneto for what he’d
done to me and tried to do to her.

And maybe for finding out a little more about Scott Summers along the way, too.
I was getting kind of curious about him. There’s more to him than meets the
eye. Maybe I was wrong about him being all rich and spoiled. I just assumed,
seeing him in that mansion and with all that stuff, but maybe I assumed wrong.
Getting a hundred bucks out of Jenkins – well, that’s not something I think
a rich guy would do. Maybe he wasn’t always a rich guy. I wonder where he was
before the professor took him in, what he was up to.

And he wasn’t a whiner like those rich and spoiled types usually are. I fucked
him up real good and there wasn’t really much to help with that in the camper
– no meds or anything. But he didn’t complain, just washed the wounds so
they wouldn’t get infected and waited it out. Didn’t wait that long,
neither. He said the next day he was ready to go. Still moving kind of funny,
but he didn’t complain.

So we headed out of there. He told me where he’d put his jet, turned out we
were about 200 kilometers from there. I sold the camper in the next town, had
some cash in my pocket. We went on from there on the bike. I told him he could
drive. “Big of you,” he said, kind of laughing. “It is my motorcycle. You
were just borrowing it, remember?” Then he said I could drive if I wanted, but
I told him it was okay. Then he said he doesn’t see well in the dark, so he
drove while it was still light out and then we switched. And I don’t know why,
but I kind of liked sitting behind him and holding on, and liked it when he was
behind there holding on to me, too. I was getting to like the look of him, too.

Feeling kind of randy, going without for too long. And hey, I’ve spent time in
prison and in the army. When you’re stuck places without women you learn to be
flexible. He was looking pretty good. That mouth on him – thinking of things
I’d like him to do with it. But not much chance he was thinking the same
thing, so I just concentrated on getting out of Nowhere, Saskatchewan and back
to civilization. And this mission I’d gotten myself into. Looks like I’m an
X-Man again, for a little while. 
 Mo
Mofic Website: http://mo.fandomnation.com/fic/
www.livejournal.com/users/mofic

A Questionable Proposition - Chapter 3 of 6
When I woke up my head hurt like it hadn’t in I don’t know how long. There
had been years when every day started with a blinding headache. The headaches
were one of two long term results from an accident I’d had as a child. The
other result is the damage to the mutant control center in my brain, permanent
damage that has left me dependent on ruby quartz glasses.

The headaches, on the other hand, I’d thought I’d gotten over. I hadn’t
woken up feeling like this for a long, long time. Jean and I had worked together
on it, figuring out what all the triggers were. I thought I knew them all and
was successfully avoiding them. “Guess not,” I said aloud.

As always, my hand moved to my face before I opened my eyes, just to be sure.
And I was glad I had checked. No sleep goggles. Weird. I never forget them. I
reached to the night stand for my glasses, so I could see to get some
painkillers. But I couldn’t find the glasses, or the nightstand, either. What
happened? “Hon, can you see what I did with my glasses?” No answer. My head
cleared a bit, but I was feeling strange still. Maybe this wasn’t just a
headache. I felt too fuzzy-headed.

I forced myself to start paying attention to my surroundings. Get a grip,
Summers. Time to take stock. What can I feel? What can I hear?

I wasn’t in bed, or on the couch I’d been sleeping on lately either. Could I
have fallen off the couch in the night? I’m really too big for it and I tend
to move a lot in my sleep – it’s a struggle to stay on. One of many reasons
I wish Jean and I could get back to the way things were between us. But falling
off without waking up? That’s not like me. I’m not a very sound sleeper,
which is a good thing since I’m often woken in the night for team needs or
student problems.

I listened a minute. No radio, no sound of kids in the hall, the silence the
opposite of the bustle of morning at school. It felt like I was lying on a hard
floor, not the carpet in our sitting room. Where am I? I thought. I struggled to
remember. What happened last night? What day is it even? I couldn’t remember
and the headache was making it hard to concentrate.

Suddenly memory rushed in. Okay, at least I know something. I’m not home,
haven’t been home for days. Saskatchewan, tracking Logan, the fight. This
wasn’t one of the old headaches after all.

I’ve been injured often enough to know what concussion feels like. Only I’d
been too concussed to think clearly enough to know that’s what it was. Okay,
force myself to think, to concentrate. Was I still on the floor of the cage? I
felt around for my glasses.
“They got stepped on.” Logan ’s voice. “We had to get out quick. I
didn’t have time to pick up the pieces. Don’t know if they’d do you any
good anyway. They were pretty much shattered.”

“Where am I?”

“Middle of nowhere.” I felt around some more and Logan added, “In my
camper.”

“What am I doing here?”

“Jenkins thought you were gonna snuff it – told me to get you out of there
before you did. He’s already on shaky ground with the local authorities and
didn’t want a death on his property. And then your eyes opened while I was
dragging you – all hell broke loose.”

“Shit!”

“You don’t remember?”

I started to shake my head, then thought better of it as the pain intensified.
Holding my head very still, I said, “No, I don’t remember anything after you
hit me that last time. My eyes opened?”

“Yeah. You didn’t seem quite awake, though. And they closed again quick.”

“Did anyone get hurt?”

“Nah, but plenty of property damage. And pretty obvious you’re a mutant. And
then stuff happened and they caught on that I’m one, too.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay – they would have found out sooner or later. They always do.”

“What happens when they find out?”

“I move on. Same as this time.”

I felt around my still naked torso. I seemed to be wearing what I’d had on in
the fight – no more, no less. “Any chance you got my shirt and jacket?”

“Yeah, you want them?”

“I’ve got a spare pair of glasses in the jacket.” A moment later I felt
Logan’s hand, giving them to me. I put the glasses on and opened my eyes. I
was lying on the floor of the camper. Logan was sitting on a bench, looking down
at me. “I don’t suppose you have anything for pain here, do you?”


Logan shook his head. “Don’t need it.” He looked at me with a considering
expression. I suddenly felt self-conscious in his gaze. I found myself wishing
I’d asked for my shirt and not just my glasses. He smiled. “I fucked you up
pretty good, eh?”

“I guess so. I got some licks in,” I added. “Guess you don’t feel it,
though.”

Logan chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint. It hurt at the time, if that makes you
feel any better, but no morning after pain.” And then, more serious, “What
the fuck were you doing in that cage, anyway?”

“Fighting you.”

“Obviously, dickhead. Why?”

“I wanted to get your attention.” Head simultaneously pounding and spinning,
I slowly pulled myself up to a sitting position. Leaning back, I placed my head
very carefully against the wall of the camper, holding it immobile.


“Well, you got it. What do you want?”

“Professor X sent me. He’s got a mission for you.”

“Not interested.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“And I don’t want to know. Not interested.”

“I think you would be if you heard about it. It’s a chance to settle some
scores.”

Logan got up and went over to a small refrigerator at the back of the camper.
“You want a beer?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Do you have any water?”

“Yeah, sure.” He tossed a bottle to me and then pulled out a beer, opening
it and taking a long draught. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he added, reaching into
his pocket. “Jenkins said this is for you – a hundred bucks.” He held out
the money. “What’s it for?”

“I guess I lasted fifteen minutes in there with you.”

“Yeah? That was the deal? I didn’t know that – I thought they only got
paid if they knocked me out.”

“No you’re right, at least in general. That was the deal with everyone else,
but I told him I’d only do it if I got a hundred dollars if I could go fifteen
minutes. I didn’t know if I’d make it.”

“What’d you do that for?”

“What do you mean?”

“You live in a mansion. You’ve got fast cars, fancy clothes. You’ve got
your own fucking jet, for Chrissakes.”

“I used to have a motorcycle, too.”

Logan chuckled again. “You know what I mean. What do you need a hundred bucks
for?”

“I don’t need it. I just like to quantify my accomplishments.” I thought
about that a minute. “Fifteen minutes, huh? Not bad.”

Logan grinned. “Pretty proud of yourself, eh?” And then, more seriously,
“I think you could’ve killed me if you’d used your blasts. I don’t know
that there would be time for the healing factor to kick in. You ever blasted a
mutant with my powers?”

I shook my head again, and immediately resolved to remember to hold it very
still for a while. “I think you could have killed me if you’d used your
claws.”

“I could’ve killed you with my bare hands if I wanted to. I was holding
back. Hardest part of that whole cage-fighting gig – holding back.” He took
another drink of his beer and changed the subject. “So how’s your doctor
girlfriend?”

“She’s fine. Still a doctor, but not my girlfriend.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, but she’s got a new guy, so don’t expect to just pick up where you
left off.”

“How would you know where I left off?” He thought a little more. “You
trying to get her back?”

“No, it was mutual. We’re �good friends’ - as the phrase goes.”

“I wouldn’t’ve guessed it.”

“We were together a long time. We were both ready to move on.”

“Probably for the best.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, a girl like that. I mean, I know lots of women like the pretty boy
types. Some men, too,” he added with a smirk. “Bet the kids in your classes
are all over you.” I began to protest but he stopped me before I could say
anything. “I know, I know. You’re much too straight an arrow for that. I
believe you – hands off the students. I’m just saying a woman like Jean
needs something more than a straight arrow English teacher. No offense, I just
figure she’s looking for a little danger.” He smiled broadly.

“Jean’s been an X-Man all her adult life. Believe me, when you’re a member
of a mutant combat team you get more than a little danger.”

“Oh yeah – you’re the big fucking field leader. I forgot.” I laughed, in
spite of myself. I don’t know why he has that effect on me. I don’t *like*
him, but I can’t help laughing at his jokes, even when the joke’s on me.
Logan continued. “But that’s not the kind of danger I mean. You know,
sometimes women want somebody who isn’t the good guy, particularly if
they’ve had the good guy for a long time.”

“Who knows? Of course, the problem with that theory is the guy she’s with
now – he’s an accountant. Looks to me like she’s trying for less danger,
not more.” I shrugged. “Anyway, doesn’t make any difference to me, as long
as she’s happy. If you want to resume the fling you had with her, see if
she’s willing to drop Mr. CPA.”

“What fling? Where’d you get that idea? I never did anything with her.
Can’t say I didn’t try...” He thought a minute. “Did she say something
happened between her and me?”

“No, I just assumed.”

“Or worried.”

“Water under the bridge. We’re not together anymore and what she does is
none of my business.”

“You got a new girlfriend?”

“No.”

Neither of us said anything for a while. Logan broke the silence. “I know
you’re lying, you know.”

“You think I’ve got a new girlfriend?”

“I think you’ve got the old one. I know you do. You made up that whole story
about breaking up and the accountant. And the supposed mission is bullshit, too.
You’re here because of Jean – Jean and me. You’re dying of jealousy,
aren’t you?”

“You’ve got it all wrong.”

“No, I don’t. You’re lying.”

“Yeah? What makes you think that?”

“Your cell phone’s in your jacket. Jean called while you were still out. We
had a nice long chat.”

Logan’s smug expression was infuriating. I got up, doing my best to ignore the
pounding in my head and the pain in other parts of my body. My hand went to my
glasses. “What did you say to her? Did you tell her I came here because of
you? If you fucked up what I have with Jean, I swear I will kill you.”

“Take it easy Cyclops. She didn’t call. I was the one lying that time. No
cell service here – middle of nowhere, remember? But hey, it worked. Got you
to admit you were lying, anyway.”

Shit. Why did I fall for that? “How did you know, really?”

“When you were just waking up before, you said �pass me my glasses, hon’
or something like that. I didn’t think you were talking to me.” Logan
smiled, and continued, “I never did anything with her. I don’t know what she
sees in you – well other than the pretty boy looks and the superhero job –
but whatever it is, I guess it’s big. Even my fatal charm wasn’t enough to
get her to cheat. So you can go back to her and give up this stupid mission
talk.”

“There is a mission. That part was true. Finding out what went on between you
and Jean was just my own personal agenda.”

“Yeah? What’s the mission?”

“We want you to infiltrate the Brotherhood – Magneto’s organization.”

“Magneto’s in prison – and he ain’t coming out. You’re shitting me
again.”

“I’m not. Magneto is in prison, but not all his henchmen are. Some of them
are at large and we think the organization is still intact and working on
getting Magneto out of prison. We need to foil their plan before it gets under
way.”

“Henchmen? Foil their plan? Where do you get this stuff? You sound like
something out of a comic book.”

“Scoff if you want to, but here’s a chance to get back at him. He did try to
pull you apart from the inside, in that train.”

“How do you know about that?”

“I have my sources. He tried to kill us all in the Statue, too. That I was
there for. Do you really want him out on his own, doing whatever he wants?”

Logan still looked skeptical, but he was starting to sound interested. “Why
me?”

“Because you were never really part of our team, and Magneto and his hench-
... his people know that. And it would be easy for you to tell them you’d had
a fight with one of us – me maybe, and stalked out. Hell, you stole my
motorcycle.”

“I borrowed it.”

“Fine. You took it without permission; you walked out. Easy to embellish that
into a big falling out and you want nothing more to do with the X-Men.”

“Well the last part’s right. I wouldn’t be having anything more to do with
the X-Men if you hadn’t shown up. I’m not exactly thrilled getting stuck
saving your life, you know.”

“Look at it this way – we’re even. I pulled you, unconscious, out of a
vehicle about to explode when we first met, so to speak. You think the healing
factor would have let you survive that?” Logan didn’t answer. “Okay
fine,” I continued, “I saved your life and you saved mine. You don’t want
to go on the mission, okay. I’ll try to come up with somebody else.” I stood
up and started putting on my shirt. “Give me an idea of where we are and
I’ll be on my way.”

“You’re not walking distance from anywhere, Cyclops. And you need at least
another day before you can move much anyway. Sit back down.” I ignored him,
finished buttoning on my shirt and reached for my jacket. “Tell me more about
Magneto’s �henchmen’ and how you’d want me to join them,” Logan added,
sounding almost friendly. I sat down.
 Mo
Mofic Website: http://mo.fandomnation.com/fic/
www.livejournal.com/users/mofic

No one but Charles knew where Scott was going and what he was up to, and even
Charles didn’t know why he was really doing it. At least Scott hoped he
didn’t. Scott had been working for Charles – and living in his home – a
long time now, ever since a few weeks after his sixteenth birthday. A few months
after Scott had come into his powers and his life had turned upside down. In
that time Scott had often found that, even with mental shields firmly in place,
Charles sometimes knew more than his Field Leader expected him to. Or wanted him
to.


The team and school were informed over dinner that Cyclops would be on a one-man
mission for the next couple of weeks, and that Storm would be Acting Field
Leader in his absence. Solo missions were unusual but not unheard of. The
mystery surrounding this one caused flights of fantasy in already seething
adolescent brains. The school was quickly buzzing with rumors.

Storm politely but firmly declined to answer when a delegation of students asked
her whether it was true that Mr. Summers was being sent to capture Mystique, in
her current disguise as Senator Kelly. She wondered, though, if the students had
gotten it right and if so, why Charles had sent him alone.

Scott asked Jean to cover his classes and the Car Club meetings while he was
gone, and she agreed, distractedly, without any question about where he was
going or when he’d be back. Any doubts he’d had about the necessity of this
mission vanished when faced with her complete lack of curiosity as to his plans.
It seemed that nothing he did was of interest to her anymore.

Scott wanted to believe he was imagining the change in her, but it was all too
evident. Ever since the mission against Magneto – the one mission with Logan
on their side – he’d seen the woman he’d known and loved for all his adult
life turn into a stranger. An increasingly powerful stranger. As her interaction
with him decreased, the strength of her telekinetic gift was intensifying at an
alarming rate. He had seen her lifting objects telekinetically that had always
been way beyond her capabilities: cars, boats, once the Blackbird itself. And at
night their bed shook convulsively with the force of telekinetic dreams.

This wasn’t the first time Scott and Jean had dealt with a change in mutant
powers and the impact that can have on a relationship. When they’d first met
and first fallen in love, neither of them had full use of the mutant gifts they
were developing. He’d been effectively blind, still hoping at that point that
he’d learn to control his optic blasts, hopes that were eventually dashed when
an EEG revealed that the damage to his mutant control center was permanent. Jean
for her part had only telekinesis, the telepathy she would later develop not yet
in evidence.

The first two X-Men, they trained together and learned to fight with the
limitations imposed by Jean’s limited superpowers and Scott’s inability to
control his. Eyes firmly closed except when using his blasts, he’d rely on her
signal – vocal or tactile – to open them. Endless practice and his almost
superhuman self-control made them effective in combat in spite of his
disability. It wasn’t until later, when they’d discovered ruby quartz could
block the optic blasts, that the visor enabled him to fight independently.

Scott had fallen in love with Jean before he’d ever seen her. He didn’t know
back then whether he’d ever see her. He loved and lusted and learned to please
her with his eyes closed, reveling in a world of touch, smell, sound, not
knowing if he’d be able to add sight to the senses with which he explored her.

Scott had asked her what she looked like, but didn’t know whether to believe
her description. “Red hair, gawky, glasses, ugly,” she’d said, without a
trace of self-deprecation or sadness in her tone, as if she were describing the
weather. “A boy who looks like you would never be interested in me, not if he
could see me,” she’d added.

“I bet you’re beautiful,” he’d replied. And when he finally could see
her, he knew he’d been right.

Scott’s blindness – and his consequent reliance on her – had been a major
factor in their relationship in the beginning. If anyone was the leader then, it
was Jean. She was four years older than him, which is a lot of time and maturity
when you’re in your teens. Even more importantly, Jean had come into her
powers years before Scott had. She had been living at the Xavier mansion since
she was twelve.

Jean seemed to Scott – only months into trying to accept and adjust to his
mutant status – infinitely sophisticated and wise. She could expound at length
on the X-gene and the evolutionary development it represented and had a pride in
being a mutant that seemed completely natural to her. Scott admired and envied
her comfort, still struggling not to think of himself as a disgusting freak.

Jean could pass for normal, too. And help him pass for normal – it had been
Jean’s idea to get Scott a white-tipped cane and glasses dark enough that no
one could tell his eyes were tightly closed behind them. Off of the grounds of
the mansion, they often appeared to be an ordinary couple, normal except for his
disability, and that disability an apparently unthreatening one.

Sex was the only area where Scott felt more mature, more experienced than Jean.
He’d had a variety of sexual experiences, the first with a divorced woman who
lived next door to the Summers family and used to ask Scott over to help her
with tasks around the house. “I miss having a man around the house,” she’d
said after he’d come down from the ladder, having changed the light bulbs that
were too high for her. “There’s something else I’d like you to do,”
she’d continued. It wasn’t until she kissed him that he realized she
wasn’t just looking for handyman work.

That had been Scott’s initiation into sex, but there had been girls his age,
too, while he’d gone to the local high school. And then, when his father
insisted that he transfer to military school, his good looks and easy manner had
attracted some boys, too. He turned them down firmly, but without anger, even
when his would-be seducer was his best friend and roommate, Carl. Carl had been
flustered when Scott declined, frightened of how Scott might react. “I really
thought – ” he’d begun, but Scott had stopped him before he could say what
he thought, assuring Carl that he understood that the offer meant nothing more
than desperate sexual need due to the lack of women. Scott explained that he
preferred his right hand and waiting until he got home and Carl relaxed.

Scott definitely wanted to be home. He had no idea he’d never see his home
again, his life about to be upended by the X gene’s activation. Scott looked
forward to the next vacation and what he thought would be his next trip home.
Home was where the girls were plentiful and many were interested in young Scott
Summers with the prominent cheek bones, bright blue eyes and oh so kissable
mouth. Jean never got to see the blue eyes, but she made clear early on that she
was interested in the rest of what Scott had to offer.

She had lived an isolated life as Charles Xavier’s only student, with no
opportunity to meet boys during what would have been her high school years.
Then, in college, a shyness borne of fear of potential boyfriends’ reactions
to her mutant powers prevented her from dating. Jean had never even been kissed
before Scott came into her life. He’d told her he didn’t want to rush her,
that her first time should be special. “I’m a 20-year-old virgin, Scott,”
she’d said. “I just want to get it over with.”

Under the bravado, though, he felt her insecurity and listened to that much more
than the words. He insisted they take the time they needed to really explore
each other’s bodies and get to know each other’s responses. They touched,
they kissed, they stroked. He made her come with his fingers and his tongue
before he ever entered her. “I didn’t know it could be like this,” she
said.

“Me, neither.” His fingers touched her face and found he’d made her smile,
and cry.

Yes, his blindness was a key element of their relationship, initially. Yet
they’d adjusted to the change and their relationship had grown and deepened
when his sight was restored. They’d become a more effective fighting team, as
well.

Bit by bit he took over the leadership role, proving – as the ranks of the
X-Men increased – to be the best among them at tactics and at ensuring team
safety. Scott’s time blind had left him hyperaware of his surroundings and
with a heightened ability to use all of his senses. He always knew who was
endangered, who was injured, who needed backup. He could redeploy team members
immediately when necessary. No one was surprised when Charles named him Field
Leader. He had been their unofficial leader for months, the guy who brought them
back alive, against all odds, again and again.

Jean and Scott adjusted well to that change, too. His leadership in the field
led to no inequality in their private relationship. If anything, it helped to
eliminate some of the inequity that those four years and her more extensive
education had represented.

A few years later, when Jean had begun developing telepathy, they had adjusted
well to that, too. Charles had initially seemed concerned about that new
development, a reaction that puzzled both Jean and Scott. Why wouldn’t he be
happy that one of his own had a new mutant power, an extremely useful one in the
combat missions he was more and more frequently sending them on? Charles never
explained his reluctance but he seemed to get over it over time. He worked
individually with Jean, teaching her how to use and control her telepathic
abilities.
Scott had been frankly thrilled by Jean’s new powers, by their ability to have
a constant mental link. It gave him greater confidence of his ability to ensure
her safety in combat and provided them with a continuing connection during the
times they needed to be separated. It added something to sex, too, to feel each
other’s thoughts and emotions, bringing a new level of intimacy. Feeling her
orgasm from inside her brain as well as inside her body was a level of sexual
joy he couldn’t even have imagined until he’d experienced it. “Remember
how it was when I could finally see?” he’d said to her at the time. “It
was like a whole new component to our sex life.”

“I remember. You turned into a sex maniac,” she’d replied, smiling. “And
you’re doing it again.”


“Are you complaining?”

“No, celebrating. Some women turn to sexy lingerie or toys or new techniques
from women’s magazines to keep their men interested. I develop mutant
powers.”


It hurt Scott to remember that conversation now – the easy sexual banter, the
deep connection. The distance between them now made it seem so remote, as if
they’d been different people back then. Scott tried to recall when they’d
last had sex. He couldn’t remember.

He remembered the disaster that had been the last time he’d tried, a couple of
weeks ago in their bathroom. She’d been brushing her teeth as he showered when
he’d suddenly pulled back the shower curtain, reached out and pulled her into
the shower with him. She’d shrieked and then laughed as her nightgown got
soaked. Scott had wished he had his glasses, so he could see how it clung to
her. Eyes tightly closed, he’d pulled her close to him, kissing her, touching
her breasts, guiding her hand to his hard on. And then – nothing. Her brain
was a blank wall to him.

“What are you thinking about?” he’d asked, accusingly.

“This. You.” She stuck her tongue in his mouth, hand stroking up and down
his shaft, but it didn’t distract him.

“Logan. You’re thinking about Logan, aren’t you?

“Of course I’m not.” But the mood had been broken. She knew he didn’t
believe her. No presence in his mind, but the slamming of the bathroom door left
no doubt as to her feelings. He stood there a long time under the hot water,
anger and frustration and regret all at war in his brain. His hand fell to his
cock, stroking first idly, then with purpose. Thinking about Jean. And Logan. It
took him a long time to come and when he did his orgasm was a release more angry
than joyful. He’d slept on the couch in their sitting room that night. And a
lot of nights afterwards.

He tried once more to talk to her, the morning before he left. “Tell me,” he
said. “Why are you closing me out? What don’t you want me to know? What
really happened between you and him? Tell me the truth and I can live with it
– whatever it is. I can’t live with not knowing.”

She shook her head with exasperation. “Nothing happened. He liked me. I liked
him. He was interested in me. I told him up front that you and I are together.
Nothing happened. I’ve been faithful to you since we met. Ten years, Scott.”

“Is ten years too long? Are you bored? Sick of being with the good guy? Need
to go after some dangerous loner? Someone who doesn’t have to put the team and
the school first?”

“This is all in your imagination. Nothing happened between Logan and me and
I’m sick of trying to convince you.”

“If nothing happened – if you’re not thinking about him – why are you
closing me out of your brain?”

“I’m not!” He had been speaking loudly but she was truly yelling. “I’m
closing me out of yours!” Jean took a deep breath and calmed down enough to
continue in a normal voice. “I can’t stand listening to your suspicion 24
hours a day. You’re obsessed with Logan. You don’t even *see* me when you
look at me. You see him. You can’t make love to me without thinking about him.
How sick is that?” She started to cry. “I can’t deal with you concluding
that every move I make, every thing I say, is somehow evidence of an affair. An
affair I never had!

“It’s good you’re going on this mission, whatever it is. I need a break
from this. We need a break from each other. Get over this insane jealousy and
I’ll let you back in – in all senses.”

Series Title: A Questionable Proposition

Author: Mo

Scenario/Series: This is an X-Men movieverse series but it is not in any way
related to my previous fiction. It takes place between the first and second
movies. It was written for realpestilence as part of the livelongnmarry auction
to raise money to fight against Proposition 8 in California. realpestilence gave
me a few requirements for the story and I’ve endeavored to include them all.
I’ll list them after the last chapter, since they do contain spoilers.

Pairing: Scott/Logan is the main pairing. Scott and Jean are together at the
beginning of the series, reflecting the situation in the movie.

Summary: Logan left abruptly but Scott wants him back. For a mission.

Rating: This series is intended for an adult readership. It contains graphic
descriptions of sexual activity and deals with adult relationships and concerns.

Format: A story series of 6 stories. Total length is about 15,000 words.

Note on Character Origins: This story is out of continuity with my previous
fiction and uses a different back story for Scott from the ones I’ve used
before. If you’ve read my previous fiction, forget about those stories. None
of that stuff happened.

Disclaimer: The X-Men and Alpha Flight belong to Marvel. The movie belongs to
Fox.

Feedback: Oh, yes! I love feedback. Please comment on the chapters as published
in my livejournal, review the stories on my website, or send me email at
mogbrg@...

Archiving: Sure, just ask. Alternative file formats available upon request.


Acknowledgements: Thanks to my very helpful and insightful betas —
kestrelsparhawk and talktooloose. Their assistance was invaluable. Mistakes are
mine alone.

Hello all.

I've been trying to find Shana there was a few questions I had for
her. Does anyone have a email address for her the one's I have found
my mail was send back to me.... Please someone help!!!

Thanks Lyn

TITLE: Days of Becoming, Chapter 25 - "Revenge of the Red Widow"
AUTHOR: Talktooloose
'VERSE: X-Men movieverse
WARNINGS: Explicit sex, swearing, dubious pedagogy
BETAs: mofic and lux_apollo. Thanks for questioning me in all the right ways.
DISCLAIMERS: Marvel and 20th Century own the X-Men, I own my original
characters, and we have joint custody of the children.

SERIES SUMMARY: This novel focuses mainly on the paths Iceman and
Pyro take on their way to adulthood and how they discover and deal
with their love for each other. It is a novel about what Joni
Mitchell calls "the dream's malfunction" and how we can learn to make
our own dreams when our heroes fail us. Other X characters (including
ones from comicverse and elsewhere) and OC's play prominent roles and
the action begins before X1, continues through the events of X2 and
X3 and concludes in the aftermath of that movie.

PREVIOUSLY IN DAYS OF BECOMING: Mike and Andi's mutant youth tour
comes together, with a launch party planned at the mansion. Acclaimed
mutant trip-hop performer, The Dazzler has agreed to join the tour.
Meanwhile, John's life has started to lose its stable foundations.
Everything he thought he had is slipping away. Bobby and Rogue are
growing closer, and Xavier has told him he can't submit his poems to
a journal as this could bring the authorities down on him and the
whole school. Bobby, for his part, is drawn to the normalcy of having
a girlfriend and terrified to be associated in any way with John who
seems not to care if he's perceived as queer. After John reads a
homoerotic poem in class, Bobby asks Rogue to be his official
girlfriend.

I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. Please use the comments link at the end of
the chapter to bring you back here or drop me email to talktooloose
CAT toothdemon FRAUGHT net. That oughta fool the spambots for now.

<http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/chapter25.html>Here's the chapter!

<http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/>Here's the DOB homepage for
earlier chapters!

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

TITLE: Days of Becoming, Chapter 24 - "The Rain in Hadrian's Soul"
AUTHOR: Talktooloose
WARNINGS: Swearing, duplicity and self-deception, sex-talk
BETAS: Mofic and Lux_Apollo
DISLAIMERS: Marvel and 20th Century own the X-Men, I own my original
characters, you all own your own lives.

SERIES SUMMARY: This novel focuses mainly on the paths Iceman and
Pyro take on their way to adulthood and how they discover and deal
with their love for each other. It is a novel about what Joni
Mitchell calls "the dream's malfunction" and how we can learn to make
our own dreams when our heroes fail us. Other X characters (including
ones from comicverse and elsewhere) and OC's play prominent roles and
the action begins before X1, continues through the events of X2 and
X3 and concludes in the aftermath of that movie.

PREVIOUSLY IN DAYS OF BECOMING: A girl named Rogue has arrived at the
mansion and chaos has followed. Bobby has pulled back from John in
the wake of Scott's discovering that they were doing it. He has been
growing closer to Rogue, much to John's consternation. John and Bobby
are still doing it. Magneto is in a plastic prison. Are his followers
going to remain quiet? Mike and Andi's mutant youth tour is a go.

I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. Please use the comments link at the end of
the chapter to bring you back here or drop me email to talktooloose
CAT toothdemon FRAUGHT net. That oughta fool the spambots for now.

The chapter can be found at:
http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/chapter24.html

For previous chapters, see the Days of Becoming Homepage:
http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/

Title: One Is the Loneliest Number
 
Author: Mickey
 
E-Mail: cyclopsfearless@...
 
Status: Completed 8/7/2008
 
Categories: Angst, Drama, Ficlet, PoV
 
Content Level: C
 
Content Warnings: Character Death
 
Archive Permission: Ask first. I'll probably say yes.
 
Disclaimer: Recognizable characters are Marvel's and Stan Lee's. No copyright
infringement is intended. I'm not making any money off this, so don't waste your
time, or mine, suing me. Okay? You wouldn't get anything anyway, I'm flat broke.
 
Word Count: 150
 
Author's Notes: So, I'm sitting here watching Stargate Atlantis and the line
"One is the loneliest number" just popped into my head. The lyrics seemed to fit
with how Scott must have been feeling at the time. The title of the fic is from
the song of the same name by Three Dog Night, which can be found at the end of
the fic. This is written from Scott's point of view and takes place between X-2
and X-3. This is my first attempt at writing a movie verse fic.
_____________________
 
One is the loneliest number. As a child, I always wondered what they meant by
that. After all, one is just a number. How can it be lonely?
 
Quiet as I was, I had a lot of friends in school. Then my power manifested and I
took out the wall separating the girls and boys bathrooms. I suddenly became
acutely aware of just how accurate that statement is.
 
Then the Professor came and took me away. He gave me a home and gave me back my
sight, limited though it is; it's better than being blind. After a while, I made
knew friends, gained a second family, and met the woman of my dreams. Two hearts
became one and one wasn't so lonely anymore.
 
But now she's gone and, in a house full of people, I'm one again. I'm alone once
more, and, as before, one is a very lonely number.
 
THE END
 
One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
Two can be as bad as one
It's the loneliest number since the number one
 
"No" is the saddest experience you'll ever know
Yes, it's the saddest experience you'll ever know
'Cause one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
One is the loneliest number, whoa, worse than two
 
It's just no good anymore since you went away
Now I spend my time just making rhymes of yesterday
One is the loneliest number
One is the loneliest number
One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
One is the loneliest, one is the loneliest
One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
 
It's just no good anymore since you went away
 
Number
One is the loneliest
Number
One is the loneliest
Number
One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
(Repeat in various forms)

The Heart of a Hero
http://www.theheartofahero.com

Insanity is fun! Never let anyone tell you otherwise.
--Mickey

The more I see of men, the better I like dogs.
--attributed to Madame Roland




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

TITLE: Days of Becoming, Chapter 22 - "Willing to Make Sacrifices (X1)"
AUTHOR: Talktooloose
WARNINGS: Swearing, duplicity and self-deception, sex-talk
BETAS: kuriadalmatia
DISLAIMERS: Marvel and 20th Century own the X-Men, I own my original
characters, you all own your own lives.

SERIES SUMMARY: This novel focuses mainly on the paths Iceman and
Pyro take on their way to adulthood and how they discover and deal
with their love for each other. It is a novel about what Joni
Mitchell calls "the dream's malfunction" and how we can learn to make
our own dreams when our heroes fail us. Other X characters (including
ones from comicverse and elsewhere) and OC's play prominent roles and
the action begins before X1, continues through the events of X2 and
X3 and concludes in the aftermath of that movie.

PREVIOUSLY IN DAYS OF BECOMING: Bobby and John's relationship remains
a secret as Bobby desperately tries to win Scott's favor. However,
just when everything seems to be going his way, Scott catches the
boys having sex in the Danger Room just as he and Storm are about to
leave on a mission to Northern Alberta.

I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. Please use the comments link at the end of
the chapter to bring you back here or drop me email to talktooloose
CAT toothdemon FRAUGHT net. That oughta fool the spambots for now.

The chapter can be found at:
http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/chapter23.html

The Days of Becoming Homepage is at:
<http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/>http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/

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

Hey all, sorry to bother, but I really need some help. I'm looking for a beta
that would be willing to do multiple fandoms.

English is not my first language, and I have several learning disabilities
including dyslexia. Some of my problems are with POVs, tenses, using the wrong
word, sentence structure, spelling among other things. I'm also a perfectionist.
So I need someone who is nit-picky, I have thick skin so it would help someone
who is straightforward and honest. I have two Stargate Atlantis stories that
need to be looked at but currently I'm writing a Psych story, but after that, I
will be doing a long NCIS one. Then go back to X-Men Movie, Evolution and Canon.
I tend to write a lot of AUs in these three fandoms. I also will want to write
in other fandoms such as Criminal Minds, Numb3rs, Magnificent Seven, etc.

I already have a wonderful beta, but I really would like to have another. Six
eyes are better than four, heh! Also I need someone that would have the time to
do it. My current story needs to be turned in by the 11th of August and the
other by the 5th of Sept, so if anyone would be available during that time would
be great. I tend to write long stories.

Please contact me off list if you're willing and interested.

Thank you so much!
Water-Soter


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

TITLE: Days of Becoming, Chapter 22 - "In flagrante delicto"
AUTHOR: Talktooloose
WARNINGS: Explicit sex, swearing,
BETAS: [info]lux_apollo, [info]mofic and [info]kuriadalmatia in spirit.
DISLAIMERS: Marvel and 20th Century own the X-Men but we make them do
more interesting things; and we don't mess with continuity every time
we need a new EVENT!!

SERIES SUMMARY: This novel focuses mainly on the paths Iceman and
Pyro take on their way to adulthood and how they discover and deal
with their love for each other. It is a novel about what Joni
Mitchell calls "the dream's malfunction" and how we can learn to make
our own dreams when our heroes fail us. Other X characters (including
ones from comicverse and elsewhere) and OC's play prominent roles and
the action begins before X1, continues through the events of X2 and
X3 and concludes in the aftermath of that movie.

PREVIOUSLY IN DAYS OF BECOMING: Everyone has found their way to
Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters: Bobby Drake from his safe home
in Boston, John Allerdyce from the streets of New York City where he
was a runaway and a hustler... all the other mutants kids along the
paths of their own destinies. And now Mike Haddad and Jubilation Lee
have arrived, having survived a run-in with anti-mutant vigilantes.
The mansion is a refuge, but within its walls, passions are raging,
doubts emerging.

I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. Please use the comments link at the end of
the chapter to bring you back here or drop me email to talktooloose
CAT toothdemon FRAUGHT net. That oughta fool the spambots for now.

The chapter can be found at:
http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/chapter22.html

The Days of Becoming Homepage is at: http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/

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

TITLE: Days of Becoming, Chapter 21 - łLiberty Spikes˛
AUTHOR: Talktooloose
WARNINGS: Graphic violence, swearing, sexual imaginings, implications that
casual drug use isn't the end of the world
BETAS: lux_apollo, mofic. So many transformations, especially for Lux who
read the earliest draft. Thanks for all the input on all the endings and for
helping me work out the logic.
DISCLAIMERS: Marvel and 20th Century own the X-Men but we make them share,
like the good kindergarten teachers we are.

SERIES SUMMARY: This novel focuses mainly on the paths Iceman and Pyro take
on their way to adulthood and how they discover and deal with their love for
each other. It is a novel about what Joni Mitchell calls "the dream's
malfunction" and how we can learn to make our own dreams when our heroes
fail us. Other X characters (including ones from comicverse and elsewhere)
and OC's play prominent roles and the action begins before X1, continues
through the events of X2 and X3 and concludes in the aftermath of that
movie.

PREVIOUSLY IN DAYS OF BECOMING: THE OCs HAVE TAKEN OVER THE ASYLUM. Mike
Haddad (who is not a mutant, but has become a highly politicized punk
rocker) and his mutant girlfriend, Jubilee, have been working to include
mutant students in their school's Christmas dance. They are attempting to
keep this a secret from Mike's parents who want him to be a good boy and get
into med school. Unbeknownst to Jubilee, Mike has been warned by the
anti-mutant group, The Friends of Humanity, to withdraw the invitation to
mutant students.

I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. Please use the comments link at the end of the
chapter to bring you back here or drop me email to talktooloose CAT
toothdemon FRAUGHT net. That oughta fool the spambots for now.

READ THE CHAPTER HERE: http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/chapter21.html

THE DOB HOMEPAGE: http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob

Title: Days of Becoming, Chapter 20 - "Friends Like These, Part 2"
Author: Talktooloose
'Verse: X-Men movieverse
Warnings: Swearing, sexual talk, not following the damn agenda!
Beta: lux_apollo. Thank you for making room for this fic in your busy
life. And thanks for a bear in the woods.
Disclaimers: Marvel and 20th Century own the X-Men but we make them
share, like the good kindergarten teachers we are.

Series Summary: This novel focuses mainly on the paths Iceman and
Pyro take on their way to adulthood and how they discover and deal
with their love for each other. It is a novel about what Joni
Mitchell calls "the dream's malfunction" and how we can learn to make
our own dreams when our heroes fail us. Other X characters (including
ones from comicverse and elsewhere) and OC's play prominent roles and
the action begins before X1, continues through the events of X2 and
X3 and concludes in the aftermath of that movie.

PREVIOUSLY IN DAYS OF BECOMING: Andi Murakami abandoned the original
direction of her psychology PhD and began studying the lives of
mutant youth with Charles Xavier as her advisor. The Professor also
became John's writing teacher, much to Bobby's delight. He began to
believe that John was at the mansion to stay and was on a good life
path. Meanwhile in Boston, Mike was determined not to let his parents
stop him in joining the battle for mutant rights. Together with
Jubilee, he set in motion a plan to invite mutant students to their
high school's upcoming Christmas dance.

I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. Please use the comments link at the end of
the chapter to bring you back here or drop me email to talktooloose
CAT toothdemon FRAUGHT net. That oughta fool the spambots for now.

The chapter can be found at:
<http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/chapter20.html>http://toothdemon.net/ttl/f\
anfic/dob/chapter20.html

Earlier chapters can be found at:
<http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/>http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/

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

Title: Days of Becoming, Chapter 19 - "Friends Like These, Part 1"
Author: Talktooloose
'Verse: X-Men movieverse
Warnings: Explicit sex, swearing, over-earnest hardcore, bondage,
abuse of classical literature

Series Summary: This novel focuses mainly on the paths Iceman and
Pyro take on their way to adulthood and how they discover and deal
with their love for each other. It is a novel about what Joni
Mitchell calls "the dream's malfunction" and how we can learn to make
our own dreams when our heroes fail us. Other X characters (including
ones from comicverse and elsewhere) and OC's play prominent roles.
The action begins before X1, continues through the events of X2 and
X3 and concludes in the aftermath of that movie.

PREVIOUSLY IN DAYS OF BECOMING: On Halloween night, John Allerdyce
arrived at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters where he began a
passionate but clandestine relationship with Bobby Drake. John also
found a writing mentor in Charles Xavier who once aspired to be a
poet himself, before mutant concerns took over his life. While Bobby
worked with the visiting mutant engineer, Forge, John visited the
med-lab where Jean Grey tested him for any STIs he might have
acquired in his brief time as hustler. After their appointment, he
spent time with the comatose Jones whose condition had the staff
baffled.

Betas: mofic and lux_apollo. Thank you for making me a little less
fucked up than I'd otherwise be.

Disclaimers: Marvel and 20th Century own this stuff but they screw up
everything. Like what's with this Young X-Men crap? And why isn't
Josh Holloway going to play Gambit in the Wolvie movie?

I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. Please use the comments link at the end of
the chapter to bring you to the LiveJournal comment page or drop me
email to the address in the header.

The chapter can be found at:
http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/chapter19.html

Earlier chapters can be found at:
http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/

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

Title: Days of Becoming, Chapter 18 - "Let the Statue of Liberty Turn
Her Gave Inland"
Author: Talktooloose
'Verse: X-Men movieverse
Warnings: Explicit sex, swearing, bad rap, flame wars and, uh, explicit sex

Series Summary: This novel focuses mainly on the paths Iceman and
Pyro take on their way to adulthood and how they discover and deal
with their love for each other. It is a novel about what Joni
Mitchell calls "the dream's malfunction" and how we can learn to make
our own dreams when our heroes fail us. Other X characters (including
ones from comicverse and elsewhere) and OC's play prominent roles and
the action begins before X1, continues through the events of X2 and
X3 and concludes in the aftermath of that movie.

Chapter Summary: The mutant protest goes ahead in New York but Bobby
and John have their reasons for missing out. John shares secrets with
Jean and Kitty and questions Bobby's feelings. Featuring Forge and
his amazing gadgets! Also, the return of a missing OC!

Betas: kuria_dalmatia, mofic and lux_apollo: Passionate, precise and
indispensible.

Disclaimers: Marvel and 20th Century own this stuff but they do
stupid stunts like killing off Cyclops and cancelling New X-Men. No
actors were harmed in the making of this fic including Susan
Sarandon, Tim Robbins and Chad Michael Murray who appear without
permission.

Notes: Sorry for the delay but I took on a stupid freelance job that
is eating my brain. Also, the chapter is the longest yet and took a
long time to get right.

RETCON ALERT: I came to my senses and restructured so that Book 3 now
begins with Chapter 17, not Chapter 16. I don't know what I was
thinking before.

I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. Please use the comments link at the end of
the chapter to bring you back here or drop me email to the address in
the header.

The chapter can be found at:
http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/chapter18.html

Earlier chapters can be found at:
<http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/>http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/

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

Hey! This is a X-Men movie based Role Play forum. However, you can
also have characters from the comics or show, just be sure to read the
rules. Most of the characters are open. Hope you see you there :).

http://euphoria01.proboards58.com/index.cgi

...It's been forever. But here I am with a little Christmas gift I wrote for a
friend, in case anyone else might enjoy it. :)

Jordi



Title: A Christmas Tail
Author: Jordanna Morgan
Archive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Rating/Warnings: G. Pure fluff.
Characters:Mainly Nightcrawler and Storm, with others here and there.
Setting: Movieverse.
Summary: An extra appendage meets a snow shovel… and therein hangs a tail.
Disclaimer: Marvel and Fox create the characters that sell. Not me.
Notes: Replete with many subtle private jokes, this fluffy little “tail” is
a Christmas gift for my dear friend and favorite X-fic writer, Skybright
Daye—which after all is only fitting, because she was responsible for
inspiring it in the first place. Merry Christmas!


The nearly-new snow shovel glistened under the fluorescent light, dripping a
slushy puddle of melting snow into the sink over which it was carefully
balanced. Attached to the shovel was a long blue tail… and attached to that
tail, wearing a painfully sheepish expression, was a very uncomfortable Kurt
Wagner.

For the Incredible Nightcrawler, it was an ignominious conclusion to the annual
Xavier Institute Snowball War.

“…So how exactly did this happen?” Ororo Munroe asked, trying to suppress
a grin, as she watched Jean Grey gently sponge the juncture between frozen
shovel and tail with warm water. In the background, a dozen of the school’s
students made an amused and curious audience—much to Kurt’s chagrin.

The German ducked his head, a rose-purple tinge flushing his blue cheeks. “I
think my tail was wet because I was using it to sweep up the snow… to make
snowballs faster,” he explained awkwardly, running his cloven fingers over the
extra extremity—talking of which always made him feel terribly self-conscious.
“And then I ran behind the garden shed. I didn’t see the shovel, and I
guess…”

“It just sort of got away from you,” Jean concluded for him, unable to
resist a pained smile. “Well, I think we’ve almost got it. Hold still—this
might smart just a little.”

Slowly and carefully, Jean began to remove the last slightly adhering portion of
tail from the cold shovel blade, using her telekinesis to aid the process on an
almost microscopic level. Kurt winced and clenched his teeth, letting out a
stifled yelp only when the last bit of tail skin abruptly came loose from its
unwelcome attachment. He moved to pull his tail back, but Jean held on to it
briefly, giving him a glance of reassurance before she examined it with medical
scrutiny.

“Okay, I don’t think there’s any real harm done,” she announced at last,
letting go. “But it *still* feels frozen. Doesn’t that bother you?”

"Oh, I… I don’t feel the cold in it much,” Kurt admitted, gingerly rubbing
the now-tender section of tail.

“Don’t give the kids ideas,” Jean cautioned him wryly. “And be more
careful—you could get frostbite. You should think about covering your tail
when you’re out in the cold. Now, you’d better go warm it up by the fire,
and get the circulation back.” She smiled at Kurt, then turned the expression
upon the peanut gallery of gawking teenagers. “I’ll bring in hot chocolate
in a few minutes.”

With exclamations of glee, the students trooped out of the kitchen, and Kurt
rather diffidently trailed behind them—the after portion of his tail still
delicately clutched in his hands.

Jean grinned at Ororo, turning to the large pot of hot chocolate that was
already simmering on the stove. “Well. The school’s seen its share of
tongues stuck to the flagpole—but this is the first time I’ve unstuck a
tail. Or even seen someone get stuck accidentally.”

“Poor Kurt,” said Ororo; and although her lips twitched, there was a genuine
sympathy in her heart.



The next day was Christmas Eve, and it marked yet another annual event in the
school’s Christmas holiday and unofficial winter games: the snowman-building
competition. It was the culmination of an entire year’s preparation; for
within the mansion there was a special closet, filled with the last twelve
months’ worth of old and unwanted pieces of clothing and junk. This was the
day when the Snowman Supply Closet was raided, contributing its most random and
outlandish contents to the adornment of the snowman army on the front lawn.

It appeared that Kurt had not only taken his mishap and Jean’s warning to
heart, but had personally availed himself of the closet’s bounty as well.
Ororo tried not to stare when he meekly stepped outside with his entire
tail—save for its spear-pointed tip—trussed up like a sausage in a
threadbare old purple scarf, wrapped lengthwise around the appendage and tied
with string.

That was when Ororo began to do some serious thinking.

In short order, the thinking turned to planning… and by that afternoon, the
planning turned to action.



“Hi, Kurt!” Kitty Pryde exclaimed, skittering up to her teacher and friend
in the front hallway of the mansion. Judging by the ice skates slung over her
shoulder, she was on her way out to the makeshift skating rink Bobby had made.

Kurt smiled fondly at her. “Hello, Kitty. Are you going skating?”

“Yeah…” Kitty grinned and shrugged. “It’s been a few years since I had
lessons, but it’s nice to keep in practice. I used to have a pretty good
double axel. Uh…” She darted a glance past Kurt, as if looking for
something. “I wanted to tell you those cinnamon pancakes you made this morning
were awesome.”

“Thank you.” Kurt ducked his head. “I thought I would try something
festive for the holiday.”

“Oh, yeah, it… it was.” Another questing look. “And—I’m really
looking forward to your apple strudel tomorrow night.”

Kurt’s tail twitched pleasedly. “I’m glad.” He paused. “Tell me,
Kitty, have you seen Fräulein Munroe? I was looking for her.”

“Oh—I, ah, um, uh…” Kitty’s unexpectedly startled response sounded
like the beginning of some bizarre chant. Her glance shot past Kurt
again—looking a trifle desperate. “She, uh… she had to go into town for
something.”

“On Christmas Eve?” Kurt frowned. “I thought all the shopping was done.
Won’t the crowds be terrible now?” He presumed this fact only from
secondhand knowledge, as he himself—with an appearance apt to cause
astonishment and even fright in public—had never yet ventured into a shopping
mall, at the holidays or at any other time. His own humble gifts had been
purchased online, with Kitty’s help in navigating the alien technology of the
computer.

The girl shrugged awkwardly. “Well, I… I guess they might. Depending on
where she’s going, I mean. I—don’t know.”

Kitty was plainly uncomfortable. She tilted her head to look around Kurt’s
shoulder again, and his curiosity overcame him. He turned; and that slight
lateral movement caused him to nearly bump into Peter Rasputin, who he found
towering behind him. The Russian had his sketchpad and pencil case tucked under
one arm—but his other hand quickly made a furtive movement toward his pocket.

“Hello, Mister Wagner,” he said smoothly.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Ah… hello, Peter.”

“So *there* you are!” Kitty piped up brightly, as if she had only just
noticed Peter—which, given both his awestriking size and the fact that he was
standing six inches behind Kurt, was patently impossible. She stepped past their
German teacher and slipped an arm around Peter’s waist. “I’ve been waiting
for you… He’s going to make some sketches of me skating,” she asided to
Kurt in explanation, fully recovering her aplomb.

“I see…” Kurt blinked at the pair, thoroughly feeling as though he had
missed something. “Well, then… have fun.”

Peter half-frowned a little worriedly, but Kitty flashed a smile at Kurt and
dragged her boyfriend away by the arm. Mystified, Kurt watched them retreat…
and when they were halfway down the hall, he saw Peter take something like a
wadded strip of ribbon from his pocket and begin to roll it up.

With a sudden flicker of suspicion, Kurt remembered past acts of mischief
perpetrated by other students—as well as Jean’s admonishment on the subject
the day before—and felt compelled to turn and look at his tail. However, it
remained unadorned by any form of prankish bow. Then he felt vaguely guilty to
have thought it, for he was sure that Kitty would not have been party to such a
thing. (Well, at least not at his expense. At Jubilee’s, on the other hand…)

Shrugging to himself in puzzlement, he turned and made his way down the hall.



As far as Logan was concerned, the occasion of Christmas Eve was no excuse not
to prowl the house on his regular night patrol—regardless of the fact that a
few younger students were afraid he might scare away Santa Claus.

In fact, the plate of homemade cookies under the Christmas tree was just an
added incentive for his nocturnal rambles.

Contentedly munching the last bite of a purloined macaroon, the Wolverine made
his languid way along the upstairs landings, listening briefly at the doors of
the bedrooms to confirm there was peace within. Around here, one never knew when
a secondary mutant power might manifest in some alarming way—or when the more
common varieties of teenage trouble would rear an annoyingly secretive head.

This was the way Logan cared.

When he neared the door of Ororo’s room, his keen hearing detected the sound
of a soft mechanical whirring from within. He paused to listen in quizzical
bemusement. The rhythm of the sound was not unfamiliar, although he could not
quite place it. Sometimes it slowed; now and then it stopped altogether for a
few moments, allowing an interlude for a few clicks or snips.

Logan thought back to Ororo’s return from her mysterious errand that evening.
She was furtive about it, but he had gotten a partial glimpse of the store name
on the bag she was hiding under her coat, and wondered what she could have
wanted from the place.

Suddenly it all made a certain amount of sense, and Logan cracked a smile.

“Never knew you had it in you, ’Ro,” he murmured under his breath, and
silently continued on his patrol.



On Christmas, the students and teachers of Xavier’s School felt more like a
true family than on any other day. The morning brought with it all the joy and
warmth that was natural to the occasion, as gifts and laughter were exchanged
around the tree.

Ororo gasped softly as she opened the box Jean had given her, revealing a plush
angora sweater in the richest royal blue she had ever seen. “Oh, it’s
beautiful, Jean!”

“I’ve noticed how much you’ve gotten to like the color blue,” Jean
answered with a wry smile.

Blushing, Ororo glanced across the room, to the place where Kurt was
enthusiastically admiring the gifts the children had received. “Yeah… yeah,
I have.”

She was wearing the sweater when she approached Kurt shortly afterward, with a
small bundle wrapped in snowflake-patterned blue and white paper. He looked up
at her in pleased surprise as she set the package in his lap.

“It isn’t perfect,” she said, somewhat shyly, brushing back a lock of her
ivory hair. “But I thought it might be a start.”

With an eager smile, Kurt looked down at the gift. His large fingers had a
slight bit of trouble finding an edge to tear the paper open; but after a moment
he succeeded, and the wrapping fell away from a curiously-shaped bundle of blue
fabric. His eyebrows went up, and he lifted it out of the paper, letting it
tumble to its full length.

In shape it was something like a thick section of garden hose, but it was made
of sturdy wool. One end was open; the other was tipped with an odd triangular
pouch. A zipper ran the length of the object, and when unzipped, a lining of
soft white fleece was revealed within the strange fabric tube.

Kurt was puzzled for only a moment; and then the purpose of this extraordinary
article of clothing dawned upon him. His yellow eyes grew wide, and he looked up
at Ororo in wonderment.

“Oh, how cute!” a beaming Kitty chirped, before either the giver or the
receiver could speak. She looked at Kurt with a grin. “I hope it fits. Uh…
Peter took the measurements yesterday, while I was sort of… distracting
you.”

Abruptly Kurt swallowed a chuckle. “So *that’s* what you were doing.” He
shook his head in humorous amazement, then sobered slightly as he turned back to
Ororo. “You… made this? Last night?”

Ororo blushed and nodded. “I hope it holds up alright. It was a little hard to
get the hang of the sewing machine.”

Kurt’s lips parted in a dazzling smile, as he regarded her with an expression
of perfect delight. Then his gaze dropped excitedly to the gift, and he unzipped
it. He gently snugged his barbed tail-tip into the pouch on the end, then
wrapped the length of it around his wiry tail and zipped it up. The fit was
perfect, and he stared at it with a sort of quiet awe.

His now-ensheathed tail slowly waved back and forth, and he beamed. Then he
turned to Ororo, with a childlike joy shining in his eyes. “*Thank* you!”

Ororo’s blush darkened—but before she could answer, Kurt bounded to his
feet, looking around at the students.

“*Snowball fight*!”

Peals of happy laughter broke out at this declaration of war, and the children
unanimously stampeded for the front door. Kurt turned to follow; but then he
turned back, smiling, and held out his hand to Ororo. “Will you come too?”

Returning the smile, Ororo put her hand in his, and did not let go for a moment
after he had helped her to her feet.

“Let me get my coat,” she said eagerly, and ran for the stairs.

=====================
2007 Jordanna Morgan

Title: Days of Becoming, Chapter 17 - "All Saints Day"
Author: Talktooloose
'Verse: X-Men movieverse
Warnings: Swearing, spiritual dislocation, long speeches and explicit sex.

Series Summary: This novel focuses mainly on the paths Iceman and
Pyro take on their way to adulthood and how they discover and deal
with their love for each other. It is a novel about what Joni
Mitchell calls "the dream's malfunction" and how we can learn to make
our own dreams when our heroes fail us. Other X characters (including
ones from comicverse and elsewhere) and OC's play prominent roles and
the action begins before X1, continues through the events of X2 and
X3 and concludes in the aftermath of that movie.

Chapter Summary: Bobby fights for John. Xavier reveals the mansion's
secrets.

Betas: Mo and Lux Apollo. Invaluable input on brownstones and drugs.

Disclaimers: Marvel and 20th Century own this stuff but they keep
messing it up.

Notes: Well! Two updates in less than two weeks! That's not gonna happen
again! Expect 18 in January. Happy holidays, everyone. I'll be writing; I
promise.

I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. Please use the comments link at the end of
the chapter to bring you back here or drop me email to the above
Address.

The chapter can be found at:
http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/chapter17.html

Earlier chapters can be found at: http://toothdemon.net/ttl/fanfic/dob/