Why Me

Chapter 002

"We can always say we found her on the lawn," someone offered.

For three days they had been battling back and forth over what story they could concoct to tell the rest of the X-Men, since this little, happy group, X-Force, was a hush-hush.

I personally couldn't have cared less in the matter, seeing as I was still nursing an earlier blow from the first day I saw my old mentors again.

On that day, after Josh asked about how they were going to explain me, I noticed that Emma's name kept popping up. Also, something else that made me curious was the fact Scott seemed to be defending her and had what seemed like personal knowledge over what she would or would not believe.

That's when I asked one simple question of my own, "Where's Jean?"

You would think I asked about how babies were made and wanted all the intimate and gory little details, with the way everyone suddenly seemed to need to be elsewhere. Warpath needed to go work out, the growling girl, Laura, just walked out, Josh mentioned something about checking up on Rahne, and that left me with Dad, Mr. Logan, and Mr. Warren.

"What's going on?" Okay, so I asked two questions, kick me.

"Jean—isn't here," Mr. Warren started out, and then his eyes darted away from me and to Dad.

Duh!

"So where is she?" So I was up to three questions, who was really counting!

Oh, right, that would be me.

"Uh—" he went to continue, running a hand through his hair.

"Let Cyke tell her," Mr. Logan finally said. He walked between Dad and I, lighting a cigar. "Do your own dirty work with this one, Slim."

Mr. Warren seemed to silently agree and followed Mr. Logan on the balcony. After the glass door slid shut, I turned to Dad and waited (I would have lifted my eyebrows but, well, you get the idea by now).

His face was set in stone, never a good sign. His mouth was a straight line, all emotion having been drained from him. I wasn't talking to Dad; I was standing before Cyclops.

"Sit down," Cyclops told me.

That was the second sign that something "not good" was going to come about.

Again, I dropped like a stone to the floor right where I stood.

An eyebrow crept above his glasses, but that was the only reaction to my literal reaction to his command.

"Kerry," he started off, crossing his arms in front of his chest. My first name before I had it legally changed when he and Jean adopted me was like a friggin' neon sign of trouble. "A lot of things have happened since you've been gone."

What, Jean had a sex change and became a Buddhist monk?

"We live in San Francisco, we are no longer a school, and—Jean is dead." He waited.

I blinked.

For some reason, I heard the words but they didn't seem real. Dad waited for a reaction and I was waiting for—something else. I didn't know what else I could have waited for, but I just rejected his words in my mind.

"She—died in battle," Cyclops continued. "About six months ago." He waited again for something from me.

I just stared up at him.

I still couldn't quite comprehend what he was telling me.

Denial was such a wonderfully happy place to live.

"And Emma and I—are together."

I guess I finally bugged him enough with my lack of reaction that he squatted down in front of me to look me in the eyes.

"Do you understand?"

After what felt like a lifetime, I glanced down at his hands. He had his right hand out in front, stabilizing him while his left hand was lazily hanging off his left knee.

Then it hit me what he had said.

Then it sunk into my head.

My heart just turned white and exploded into ashes.

Tears started to burn my eyes like I had set them on fire.

Dad didn't have his wedding ring on.

He always wore his wedding ring.

It was gone, and so was any indication he might have ever had one on his hand.

I looked back up to him, the tears falling down my face, and didn't say a word.

I didn't speak to anyone for the rest of the day.

Now, back to the conversation about how they were going to explain me to the rest of the team.

"She hit her head, had amnesia, and only recently remembered who she was?" Josh offered with a shrug.

Scott said Josh's idea might be plausible and I rolled my eyes.

"Tell them I went to a fat-farm that practices extreme methods."

"You aren't helping, Kookie," Scott let me know, and I passed a glance over toward the kitchen where he was massaging his temples.

I rolled my eyes again and went back to the platter of fruit in front of me.

Thanks to Josh and his magic touch, I was able to stomach food again—as long as I didn't gorge myself. Also, I constantly had to eat because Josh had it hard enough repairing the damage, but there were no nutrients and all that stuff to even aid in the rebuilding of muscles and such. He was rather surprised to find that I had no marrow in my bones, but Mr. Warren quickly explained that I once had wings and Josh muttered something about that being a positive. The massive amount of repair did have a cool side effect though; all the dead nutrients it produced had my hair growing back.

"Move over, peach fuzz," James (Warpath's real name) said, pushing my legs off the couch so he could drop down there instead.

Okay, so my hair wasn't growing fast and some of the people in the house liked to rub my head because it "feels neat."

"Why not just say that Logan found her on one of his John-Wayneish missions?" James asked, stealing an apple from my feast.

The guy was like five times my size, I wasn't going to deny him anything. Heck, I wasn't even going to glare at the man.

I dug my hand back into the grapes, pulled a bunch out, and started to pop them in my mouth one at a time.

"That might work." I could see the wheels turning in Dad's head. "It wouldn't be far from the truth. You found her and brought her here to get her healthy before introducing her back to the X-Men."

"And you think Frost'll eat that?" Mr. Logan questioned, sipping his beer.

"She won't question your solo missions," Scott replied firmly. "And we need to have Kookie checked out by Hank. Elixir already said he can't tell if her powers are gone."

Oh, did I forget to mention that?

Turns out they couldn't tell if I lost my powers or not. The chemicals those sickos fed, watered, and bathed us with were laced with some type of power suppressant. It's so thoroughly locked into my blood that Josh couldn't get rid of it all at once without killing me.

Good to know, wasn't it?

"Still having trouble sleeping?"

My heart screamed like a little girl as I twisted my body around to see who it was that had just scared ten years off my life.

Mr. Warren stood, leaning on the doorway to the balcony with his arms crossed and just staring at me in question.

Before the heart attack surprise, I had been leaning against the railing of the balcony, watching the trees, moon, and clouds. You really don't realize how much you miss nature until you are stuck in a metal cage for months on end.

"Yeah," I replied, my voice coming out as a squeak. I cleared my throat and turned back to where I had been before.

I could hear him coming up behind me and then he followed my example of leaning his forearms on the railing and staring out at the landscape.

This could only mean one thing—there was a "talk" coming.

Wonder which topic he was going to try tonight?

Since the first pass-out-from-sheer-exhaustion-coma-like sleep, I hadn't been able to sleep very long or very deep.

This was going on one week since I had been rescued (by accident) and the fourth day that Mr. Warren, for reasons known only to him, had also been up and about at three in the morning.

The first night, he kept trying to convince me to go back to bed and try to sleep.

I ended up staring at the ceiling for an hour before I got back out of bed and wandered through the house.

Second night, he offered sleeping pills and my reply was a snort. I had enough things going on with my body without the aid of little white pills, thank you very much!

Third night, he just gave up and started to talk to me.

So this is night number four, I had no idea what was going to go on tonight.

"Can I ask you something?"

Like me saying "no" would really stop you, I thought in bitter amusement.

"Sure."

"Why haven't you asked about anyone?" He turned to me; I could see him do this through the side of my eye. "You haven't wondered what everyone is doing or how they've been?"

"Keh," I started, lifting off my arms and resting on my hands instead. "Considering how the first person I asked about ended up, I'm not too eager to hear any other bad news."

He tilted his head to one side, his eyes getting wider for a second as if to mutely say "well yeah." If Mr. Warren was going to say anything else, I cut him off with my rambling.

"And you've become the walking definition of split personality, with the wings and skin." I unconsciously rubbed my jaw where he'd punched me a week ago. "Do I really want to find out anything else? I've been left on pause while everyone else has been changing—moving forward."

"Everything changes, Kookie." Could anyone else hear Professor's voice flying out of Mr. Warren's mouth or was it just me? "We have to adapt and move on…"

I started to block him out after that line. For some reason, I felt anger boiling up in me. He had a lot of nerve standing here and telling me how I was supposed to drop the past and just dance to the new music when I still had yesterday's tunes ringing in my ears.

Gripping the railing, I felt my fingertips ache from the amount of pressure I was putting behind them. He didn't get locked up for months; he didn't have to witness those "ceremonies" and see a living, breathing person be devoured in the name of heaven and redemption—

My stomach twisted and churned, full of prickly heat.

Thrusting my head over the railing, all that was in my stomach came rushing out as the memories of something I had blocked out came back in full force.

I had suppressed their rituals.

I didn't want to remember the screaming, the blood, and the demonic sounding praises as the bits and pieces were passed around.

"Kookie, are you okay?!" Mr. Warren was rubbing my back, and at the end of the up-chuck session, I pulled back and wrapped my arms around me. Tears were falling from my eyes as I looked over at him. I know I didn't smell the best, I mean, hello, I just recycled my dinner, but it didn't stop him from dragging me into his arms. He rested his cheek on the side of my head, held me, and kept trying to tell me that things were okay now.

It sucked. If ever I got the chance to hunt down and return the favor, pain, and nightmares to those cannibals, I so would in a heartbeat!

They left me!

They left me and they left a note.

"Kookie,

Something came up. Stay put and don't answer the phone. Scott will be coming in a few. Be back soon."

That was it!

…

Okay, so there was one more little line.

"Stay away from the laundry room."

I tell you, give Wolverine bubble gum scented, and pink underwear once while on laundry duty and you were marked for life!

And what the heck did 'in a few' mean when they wrote about Dad? A few minutes, a few hours, a few billion years-?

I smooshed up the note and threw it in the general direction of the kitchen.

Great.

I plopped down on the couch, arms crossed and at full pout.

I was still a teenager and totally allowed to throw unwarranted hissy fits.

By the time that Dad did show up, he handed me a bag and told me to change into what was inside.

If it was a uniform, I was going to laugh. I was probably the only person who ever wore the 'X' that the spandex would be baggy on!

It was a pair of new sweatpants, a t-shirt, and undergarments. I think he must have had someone else do this because I couldn't imagine Scott going into a department store and asking the clerk for panties and bras in his daughter's size. It just seemed like that would be wrong. What would even been more wrong was if he actually knew my sizes.

I had barely spoken three words together to Scott since he announced, rather coldly, that Jean was dead and left it at that.

So I was not fooled when he announced, with a smile that was so forced, that he was going to take me into the nearest city to make sure I had clothes that fit properly. He was trying to rebond or apologize or something.

I looked at him, looked in the mirror to my right, and then turned and disappeared down the hall. When I came back, wearing the new clothes plus Josh's hoodie, I stopped in front of him and then continued out the door.

I climbed into the SUV and pulled the hood up over my fuzzy head.

Scott asked a few questions which I mainly ignored but felt horrible about doing it.

It's hard to be so mad at someone and still really want them to be a part of my life. I mean, I had spent months missing this man and now he was here but I felt that if I acted all happy-happy with him that I was betraying Mom somehow. Almost as if her death had no meaning to me and I could forgo the fact that Scott had not found a shoulder to cry on but a size-D bust line.

Just the thought of Emma taking advantage of a grieving Scott made me dislike her even more. The poor guy was mourning the loss of his true love and here she comes, plastic and Botox with a pulse, to 'help' him over his beloved by offering her body—oh, and of course, to fill in the position as leader.

What a wicked witch.

Annoyed by my thoughts, I crossed my arms and huffed.

"Are you cold?" Dad questioned, turning up the heat.

"Not really," I replied, the first real reply that he had gotten today.

"Kookie, look…"

Oh great, give them one answer and suddenly the 'talk' time begins. Why was everyone trying to talk to me like I was a kid going through puberty and wanted to know about 'the birds and the bees'?

I did not want to talk about anything.

Talking made me remember.

Remembering made me freak out.

Freaking out made everyone walk on eggshells around me and pity me.

Pity made me not want to bring the subject up ever again!

Do you see the vicious cycle? Sheesh, you think they would have learned but noooo.

"I know that you hearing about Jean's death shouldn't have been one of the first things you heard from us, especially after what you've been through," he started off, trying to keep his voice from going into Robocop mode, "but you needed to know."

Tears stung my eyes, but-

"CRAP!" Scott really didn't say that word, but the stronger variation of that word. He slammed on the breaks and I wasn't prepared so I went jolting forward, the belt locked and was choked.

As if that wasn't pleasant enough, I was then slammed back into the seat.

Before I could get my voice to work or my eyes back into my head, Dad had jumped out of the SUV, slammed his door shut, and was in front of the vehicle.

What the heck just happened?!

Was this an electric powered car and we ran out of extension cord or something!?

Shaking, I unbuckled myself and managed to fall out of the car and somehow land on my feet. By then, Dad was in the back looking at something. Staggering, I walked up to him and saw he was looking at the road, and before I asked anything, I followed his gaze down.

"You killed Bambi," I pointed out.

There was a deer with little antlers but a big body lying on the road in a growing puddle of blood.

"He jumped out of nowhere!" Scott defended.

"I betcha he jumped out of the woods," I offered, slightly mortified but still in shock. "And you killed him; you killed Bambi."

"You aren't helping," Dad muttered, looking up and down the road as if there was going to be a deer on patrol and he was going to be arrested for murder. "It smashed the driver's side headlight."

"You killed Bambi." Dad looked at me and sighed.

"Kerry," his tone was flat, and then he started to laugh under his breath. I looked up at him, and then he turned to me with a lopsided smile. "Maybe he was Rudolph."

"Rudolph?" I questioned, and he stared down at the deer, lifted his glasses, and shot low between the body and the ground and sent it sailing through the air.

My jaw dropped and the sickening plonk it made when it landed in the woods made my jaw almost fall off.

"See? He flew."

"Y-y-you just-!" I was waving my hands around in emphasis.

"Took care of a problem," Dad finished. He then told me to get back into the car as he started to move toward the front of the SUV.

"B-but what about-" I pointed toward the carcass.

"I'll tell Wolverine I got him a snack to gnaw on when he gets back. Now get in."

I was speechless walking back to the front of the car and remained so for the rest of the trip to the town.

If my face was set on fire, it probably would have been less bright and hot than it was at that moment; walking along the sidewalk of the shopping district of whatever town we were in.

I really should have known that Mr. Warren would never live anywhere but an exclusive, rich place. That being said, I looked like I was the backwoods version of 'Pretty Woman,' without the 'pretty' or the cute, rich guy.

Baggy sweatshirt, sweat pants, and borrowed shoes from Rahne never felt weird since I ran around in the white version of a potato sack for months in that crazy place, but I felt out of place now.

"What about that store?" I glanced up to see which store Scott could be talking about and the name was "." All the windows were heavily tinted so I had no idea if they even sold clothes, but I knew I wanted to get off the streets and away from the stares people were giving me.

"Fine. Great!" I answered, grabbing his arm and hauling him into the store after me.

Next time Scott suggested a store, I must remember the women he hangs out with are accustomed to skin tight, low cut, sheer, and exposing clothes.

Once inside, Dad asked for a sales girl to help me and then I was shoved into a dressing room that had a sheer curtain protecting what little modesty I might pretend to still have from the rest of the store.

She brought me an armful of clothes and the first thing she insisted on me changing was my underclothes.

"You're so tiny!" She was egging for a big sale.

My lips twitched in sick amusement. Apparently thin was in and pale and sickly was ignored.

After I basically had to throw her out of the dressing room, insisting I could dress myself, I changed into one of her selected outfits and turned around to look in the mirror.

Josh was so my new best friend.

I was still pale but not nearly as chalk white anymore, and my face was filling out more, my cheeks were no longer sunken in and my eyes didn't have the raccoon effect around them—well, as much. My legs and arms were no longer just flesh colored bones and were on their way to looking healthy again.

My eyes started to water in shock and joy.

Why am I crying all the time!?

I'd been drinking too much water or something because I cried at anything and everything!

As I stood there, my hand covering my mouth to keep anything that might slip out (like a sob) muffled, my mind took off down a road I frequently traveled.

What would Bobby say about how I looked now?

Pain struck my heart.

Tears began to fall as I thought about his bright blue eyes; always seeming to be sparkling in their own way and making me just want to kiss him. I missed him; I missed him so much.

"Kookie? Did you get stuck?"

I grabbed my sweatshirt and wiped my eyes quickly. I didn't need to have Dad asking a million questions about things I couldn't really answer.

Okay, so I didn't want to talk about my love life with my Dad. I just didn't want him using his current relationship as an example of whatever he might feel the need to explain.

"Do you require assistance?"

"I'm fine!" I answered a bit louder than need be, but I didn't want that woman to come in the dressing room because it took an act of Congress and military backing to get her out of there.

I felt self-conscious having clothes that fit on my body. I was accustomed to the canvas dress or the loose sweatpants and nightshirts, not a form fighting shirt and jeans that didn't require a belt—and bra and panties that fit. Don't worry, Dad paid for those things first, after the sales girl measured me and picked out some sugary sweet sets.

Really, did I look like the type of girl who would want the words 'yummy' and a little red devil with his tongue sticking out all over my butt!?

"Don't laugh," I instructed, pulling the curtain back and stepping through to the sales room where a 180 degree mirror, Dad, and the perky salesclerk were (she had her clasped and making eyes at dad). Too bad she didn't know he had a thing for plastic women, apparently.

I pictured Emma with stiff arms that couldn't bend sticking out and the hard-to-bend-legs that made her walk like a Barbie or a mummy from Egypt. Just the thought of a Mummy Barbie had me snickering under my breath.

"What's so funny?" Dad asked, a brown eyebrow crawling above his pink glasses like a kid playing peek-a-boo.

I only smiled with my lips sealed to hide my still yellow and hideous teeth.

"That fits you so well!" the clerk chirped.

"You need to try more on," Dad instructed. "You'll need a whole new wardrobe."

"No no no!" I cried out like a three year old. "I don't want to!" I tightened my hug-hold on one of the pillars of Mr. Warren's house and refused to let go.

It had been about a week since Scott and I went shopping. I had gotten so sick of trying clothes on that I just started to agree to whatever the salesperson picked out.

Thanks to that, I now had a collection of colorful clothes that I couldn't match together. Then I was told by Rahne that not matching was the new matching and that if I did decide to wear hot pink with lemon yellow, I was on the road of fashion.

I grumbled about making a U-turn or preferring to end up in a ditch.

Thankfully Mr. Warren, after seeing me in such an outfit, was kind enough to bring me jeans the next day.

But let me get back to why I was wrapped around a wooden pole and pitching a fit like a toddler.

"You need this, Kerry," Scott tried. I shot him a look over my shoulder.

"I have no body fat! I don't have to do it!"

"Do you realize how ridiculous you're acting?" Mr. Warren questioned, rubbing his eyes with a finger and a thumb.

"Or how stupid you look?" James piped in from where he sat watching TV.

"Just because you are thin doesn't mean you are fit," Scott pointed out.

"You just want an excuse to beat the crap outta me without feeling guilty!" I accused. "I told you I was sorry for mixing the hot sauce with the spaghetti sauce!"

It was so an accident.

Since they leave me up here all the time, I have gotten to practice cooking…a lot.

A few days ago I spilled the hot sauce in the pot with the spaghetti sauce but didn't think it would be enough to send Mr. Sensitive-tongue diving for the sink in an urge to slurp down water.

I thought Mr. Logan was going to wet his pants he laughed so hard.

"That," Dad glowered, "has nothing to do with this." He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.

They thought it was time that I started to shape up again. They wanted me to work out. They wanted me to exercise.

Kerry doesn't like exercise. My new name, Kookie, does not bring to mind an exercise buff, it brings images of baked goods and milk!

They weren't buying it.

"You have to get back into shape before you can go back to the team," Dad concluded.

I glared at him as my anger flared.

He just wanted me to be another soldier! I tightened my jaw and dug my nails into the wood.

I had had many thoughts during my imprisonment and one of them was that they were glad to be done with me.

Also, I had made a rather lengthy list of questions I didn't want to ask but I wanted to know the real answer to, and the top ones were:

Did you miss me?

Did you look for me?

Was I really easy to replace?

With his present attitude, I was kinda feeling like he was saying he didn't care about me as long as I was an able body.

"No," I stated flat and full of darkness.

"Fine," Dad spat out as he stormed off and I watched in amazement.

It took half an hour to wear him down and he was mad? That wouldn't have happened before!

I felt triumphant and I had the 'I-got-my-way' grin across my face to prove it when I saw Dad walk back into the room, hiding something behind his back.

My eyebrow hiked when he came almost sauntering up to me and looked down at me. He bent over slightly at the waist so that he wasn't only towering over me, but more or less looming over me like a black thunderstorm cloud.

I have to admit, I swallowed hard when he did that.

"So you don't want to work out?" His voice had an almost—sweet tone to it. I swear I broke out in a sweat.

"No?" As solid and sure as I thought my answer would be it came out limper than a cooked spaghetti noodle.

"Then I'll give you a choice, either you go into the gym—willingly or—" Then he smirked, I don't mean the tiny smirk he used to give, I was talking about a Cheshire cat smirk.

"Or?" I echoed, darting my eyes around trying to see if anyone else knew what he had up his sleeve, or more precisely, behind his back.

He stood straight up, brought his hands to the front and flicked the switch to the 'on' position of the little electronic device he held in his hand.

The soft buzzing sound it made should have been drowned out by the thumping of my fearful heart.

My eyes grew five times their size.

"You wouldn't." I stated, my grip on the beam lessening greatly.

He waved the electric razor over my head and I yelped, pushing away from the pillar with my legs.

I scrambled away in the most disgraceful crab-walk imaginable, but I was putting distance between the two of us. I felt like I was safe when I had hit the dining room chairs and scampered underneath the table, pulling the chairs like barbed wire, as close as I could to keep him away from me.

Scott hunched down, razor still buzzing in his hand as he peered at me through the back bars of the chairs. "I'm going to shave what little hair you have off."

I made a whimper and leaned back and away from him and the buzz of baldness.

"What's it going to be, Kookie?" He asked with a cocky grin on his face. "Sweat or shave?"

My eyes went back and forth from the gym door to the razor.

He wouldn't be able to really pin me down and shave me completely bald, would he?

An image bloomed in my head of me running around with just a peach fuzz mohawk and I tightened my jaw.

"Fine, you win!" I stated, boy did that leave a bad taste in my mouth. "But you have to put that thing away; I don't trust you not to try!"

"Fair enough," Scott consented, triumph just blaring in his voice.

As he walked off, back to where the bedrooms were, I heard James and a few others start to snicker at me.

I crawled from underneath my table fortress and with as much shattered dignity as I could pick up; I shuffled my way into the gym.

Staring at the machines of pain and shame, I felt a heavy depression flop on me like a sumo wrestler. I really didn't miss this part of the whole X experience.

Walking to one of the arm strengthening contraptions, I sighed like someone just broke my heart and banged my head back on the padded seating.

This sucked.

Didn't they realize that making me strong didn't help?

I was "super-power" strong last time and what happened? I got kidnapped and held like a lab rat that was shoved head first up Hell's butt.

Now there's an image to go to sleep by.

"I can't do this!" I pleaded with the thick-headed, sugar hating, sadistic man I had the pleasure of calling my dad.

"Kookie, hold still," Josh fussed as he tried to keep his hands on mine as I used them to punctuate my words. I talked with my hands, at least as long as they weren't crossed against my chest in anger or annoyance.

"You need to be examined and tests run to see what exactly is irreversible and what isn't."

"B-but you already know that I have my powers! Well, at least part of them!"

Oh, that was a fun night when I found out my power was only dormant and not gone like most of the mutants of the world.

It had been about a week ago when I was having a horrid nightmare of those crazy fanatics storming Mr. Warren's house while X-Force was gone on a mission. No matter where I tried to run, they were in the shadows pushing me forward and pulling me back-back into the small cage they had me in for months.

Apparently, I was thrashing around in the bed enough to wake Mr. Logan and James. When Mr. Logan tried to shake me awake, I grabbed him by the throat with one hand and punched him solidly in the chest with the other and effectively sent him through the wall.

So, I now have a Wolverine-sized hole in my wall.

Mr. Warren was not happy the next day and James couldn't stop laughing about it.

Mr. Logan was picking splinters of wood out of his hair for two days.

"But I—I barely have any hair." Stupid reason much? Yes, but I was desperate.

In my memories, everyone was happy and healthy. They fought and played tricks on each other but they were together, alive and a family.

Dad wanted to drag me back into a place where Mom wasn't. I didn't know this place! I didn't know San Francisco and I sure as heck wasn't going to call Emma 'mommy'.

I would rather choke on a hair ball.

"Your hair is growing fast and that is a big difference than bald." Scott pointed out. "You need to be evaluated by Hank and the other science and medical professionals on staff. We need to see to what extent your power has come back and to see if they have done anything to you."

Like stepping on a twig in the woods, I snapped.

"You mean besides kidnapping and treating me like inhuman crap for nine months!?" Oh, that was one of my buttons, can you tell? The anger rose quickly in my chest and I pushed it down by digging my nails into my palms.

"I didn't mean it like that, Kerry."

I fumed silently, for which Josh was grateful as he could extend his powers into fixing my health more.

One would think that after six weeks of repair, I would be, I dunno, ready for the road, but my severe malnutrition had my body poisoning itself in defense (or defiance, who knows!). Something about my mutation was trying to bulk against whatever they were doing to me and the only way it saw fit to save me was to kill me.

That sounded like a well thought out plan, something I would do on accident, so it made sense my body would think it was logical in its own illogical, unthinking state.

"Don'tcha want to see your old buddies?" Mr. Logan questioned, before tipping the long neck he'd been sucking up straight up to allow ever last drop of beer in the bottle into his mouth.

If anyone else had said that, if it hadn't been from the man I had recently punched through a wall and was sheepishly apologizing to ever since, I would have speared him with a nasty look.

"Why so quick?" Mr. Warren questioned for the umpteenth time. "She isn't healthy enough." He motioned toward Josh. "He has been doing this almost every day and still has a ways to go."

"She is for the story we have about how we found her," Scott wasn't giving an inch on this.

When they had come back from whatever mission they were on, Cyclops dropped the little matter of me-going-to-San-Francisco on them. Most shrugged it off and went to find something on TV or in the 'fridge.

"What's the rush?" Mr. Warren wasn't beating a decomposing horse to death; he was slicing and dicing this horse corpse.

I didn't understand much either, but I knew better than to try and pry reasoning from Cyclops' thick head when he wasn't willing to give it.

"What if something more is wrong that Josh isn't able to detect?" Cyclops questioned, his face set in stone. I think the four presidents on Mount Rushmore twitch more than Dad does when he goes all serious faced. "We might be stalling when she may need serious medical care that Josh isn't able to cover."

"Or you might be just adding unnecessary stress to her by taking her back to the compound," Mr. Warren was still white-winged, which according to Josh (the golden guy) was a good thing. When Mr. Warren went blue-winged, that meant you better use someone as a shield because the feathers were about to start flying.

James grumbled as the argument went on in the kitchen and then told me to turn up the volume.

"But you hate this show," I reminded him.

"I'd rather hear chick drama over male drama," he muttered.

Shrugging, I grabbed the remote and turned Bridezilla up until it drowned out the two men in the kitchen. As luck would have it, that's when the current bride, Erin, threw a huge tantrum that included a lot of beeped out words and her screeching.

It carried on for at least ten more minutes until Mr. Logan came in, threatening to cut the cable wires unless we turned the bleep-bleep-bleep show down. A man could only take so much before he had to start killing things after all!

I lowered the volume just in time to catch the tail end of the conversation, "…only because of Jean."

That caught my attention. In fact it caught everyone's attention. All those present twisted their faces to where Scott and Mr. Warren were almost nose to nose. Mr. Warren was the one who mentioned the taboo name of 'Jean'. Every time she came up into conversation, it was like bringing up the fact that someone wore adult diapers and needed to be changed.

"That's enough," Scott concluded, stepping away from Angel. "I'll be back on Tuesday to pick her up; I'm going back now to give Hank a heads one, no one," he pointedly turned to us in the living room, "better deviate from the plan. Am I understood?"

His glasses were glowing slightly brighter as he turned to Mr. Warren. "That includes you, Angel."

Mr. Warren's face contorted in silent rage as he spat out a "fine" and turned before storming off to the balcony.

As the glass door slammed shut behind him, I heard a few people release the breaths they'd been holding in—including me.

After Scott left, I tossed the remote to Warpath and crawled over the back of the couch to hunt Mr. Warren down- if he was still on the ground somewhere.

That was one of the most beautiful things about having wings; you could fly away from your problems. When Scott was being too Scott, I would simply fly away because what was he going to do?

Shoot me down?

Riiight.

The balcony was empty so I leaned over the railing to see if I could see him doing circles or something but there wasn't anything. I had just turned around when I felt something hard and heavy knock me off my feet and over the railing.

"AHHHHHH!"

There was nothing but blue sky in my vision and my shrill screaming in my ears.

"Kookie," I heard and that made me shut up for a second, and in that second I realized I had done a U-turn and was now staring at the green of the forest.

Realizing this had not improved my status of falling to my death, I started screaming again.

"Kerry!"

I was flipped around again and I came nose to nose with Mr. Warren.

I stopped screaming, blinked at him and then clutched to him like superglue.

"Are you crazy?" I shouted, and he flinched. "Are you trying to kill me!?"

"Are you trying to make me deaf?"

I would have tried to choke him, but I had to consider that since he did a deep swoop before climbing upwards, it probably wouldn't be the best thing to do if I wanted to live. So I did the only thing I could think of, I closed my eyes and tightened my grip around his neck and waist (my legs were wrapped around his waist from fear of falling).

I felt, rather than heard, him chuckling at me.

"Shuddup," I muttered.

"I'm not going to drop you, so you can loosen up," to prove his point, he tightened the arm he had wrapped around my waist.

Slowly, I cracked open one eye to see white clouds, blue skies and white feathers. As leisurely as a rebate check from a cell phone company, I slackened my grip until I could pull back enough to look the highly amused blonde in the eyes.

"What was that for?" I demanded in a high pitched voice; guess I was still kinda scared. My heart rate was still so high I think it was on the moon somewhere.

"You came out looking for me didn't you?" He raised an eyebrow. "Or were you going to jump?"

I glared at him. "I'm thinking you wanted me to jump since you pushed me!"

Mr. Warren gave that playboy 'I'm-too-handsome-to-get-in-trouble' smile that would have anyone melting.

Well, almost anyone, to me it was just his version of a sheepish grin.

"At least you stopped looking like someone made your puppy into meatloaf," Mr. Warren said, trying to break the silence of my glare. His words had my mind back to Scott's "Rudolph" moment and I shivered.

"Cold?"

"Not exactly," I returned, looking away. I was not about to tell him that the funny smell just a mile down his drive was a rotting deer corpse.

It took a minute or two but he relocated me to his back. I was able to hold on by curling my arms under his arm pits and up to his shoulders while my legs remained like a vice around his waist.

"Hold on," he instructed, "and don't scream." With that said he did a back flipish maneuver in the air and sent us sailing downward, back toward the forest. I didn't scream this time, I was happy to feel the wind and freedom of flight (even though I was technically just a passenger).

A great sadness started to creep back into my heart and I did my best to beat it back down in the pit it had crawled out from. There was no need to mourn my wings. I hadn't had them in a long time. Why should I start crying and moping all over again when it was past?

"So what did you want?" Mr. Warren questioned after a good twenty minute acrobatic flight was finished and he started turning lazy circles in the sky. He peeked over his shoulder at me.

"What was it about Jean? You said her name, I'm nosey. And after trying to kill me I think you owe me an answer." His head whipped forward so fast I think I got a razor burns from where his hair hit me.

"It doesn't matter," Mr. Warren's voice dropped from the light-hearted-billionaire to the boring-adult tone.

I felt my anger flare and my eyebrow tick."Why is it when you ask questions, I have to answer them or I am threatened with only salads for a week, but if you don't want to answer a question for me I am supposed to just accept that!"

He was quiet and I was getting more and more annoyed.

I guess some things never change, no matter how much time has passed or who has passed away.

Tuesday came faster than I had ever known a Tuesday to come around.

I was sitting in the front passenger seat, again, in the Bambi-basher SUV, with Scott driving. My nerves were raw and sore from the intense stress workout I had been giving them for the past four days. Thankfully my body hadn't completely gone crazy and given up any of my breakfast in the form of throw-up.

It's a crazy thing, but Dad said he couldn't leave and come back with me in one of the jets. Instead, he brought me to the outskirt of San Francisco and from there we took Mr. Warren's 'borrowed' vehicle. What made even less sense than that was that Dad decided to do this during lunch rush-hour, so the road was more like a parking lot.

"Are you okay, Kerry? You look a little—green," Dad pointed out.

I glanced over at him, my knuckles white with the stress of being surrounded by cars instead of bars. It was a metal cage of a different kind, and I would have loved to rip the door from its hinges and take off running down the road screaming.

"Yeah, don't get me mad, or I'll go all Hulk on you," I muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing," I waved a hand flippantly with a sigh. "How much longer?"

He huffed, "Don't know."

It had been like this for an hour. I leaned back in the seat, feeling super tense.

I was about to see people I hadn't seen in almost 11 months! What was I going to say? What were they going to say?

How many and where exactly was Dr. Hank going to be sticking needles?

What about that one taboo person I had been thinking about but not speaking about for all this time?

What about Bobby?

My stomach went in to stage dramas inside of me as it twisted violently and dropped dead. Tears started to burn my eyes and I wanted to growl at them but didn't because then Dad would have wanted to know why I was growling. If he looked at me, then he would have wanted to know why I was crying, and then he'd try to comfort me which, as everyone knows, he sucks at most of the time.

"Finally," Dad said gratefully, traffic finally moving forward again.

I don't know how much time passed, but it was too quick when Dad happily announced we would be arriving at the gate of the Greymalkin in less than twenty minutes.

"Pull over," I choked out.

"What?"

Ugh, I slapped my hand over my mouth, one across my stomach and then doubled over so my head was between my knees.

My stomach had decided that breakfast was expendable after all.

Dad musta understood because he swerved over and I flung the door open, jogged about ten feet away and puked my guts out. As I was heaving out my lungs, heart and left knee cap, Dad decided to be funny.

"So, next stop is lunch?"

Of all the places Dad could have decided to let me 'wash up' he picked a Mc Donald's.

I was sick to my stomach, puked up every food I ever thought of eating and he let me go to the bathroom in a place that reeked of old grease, stale mop water and ancient fries.

Oh, that helps settle my stomach just so much.

The bathroom wasn't much better.

I was grateful I didn't need to bow before their 'porcelain god' because I think I would have been stuck to the floor.

Totally ignoring any fuzzy, green life forms that might be forming inside the faucet, I turned on the cold water and splashed my face. Thankfully, they had paper towels and not those air driers, so I was able to pat my face dry and not look like a weirdo by having to use my shirt. Walking out with wet splotches all over my shirt would be a little noticeable.

Sighing, I pushed open the door and walked out. I glanced where Scott had parked. He was parked facing away from me, but I could still see him smiling about something as he jabbered on his phone.

Probably talking to Emma and getting some sick kick out of her twisted stories of setting lawns of hospitals on fire or something.

I was not her biggest fan. Noticed?

Mentally preparing myself for having to ride the rest of the short trip with a giddy Scott, I was about to leave the restaurant when someone grabbed my arm and jerked me around.

Fear slammed into me like a windshield and I was the bug!

My first thought, as quick and rather incoherent as it was, was that they were back.

The freaks and cannibals were back and going to take me back to their caves!

Or they were going to deep fry me right here, right now!

"Wha…" I got out before my fear drained away to pure shock.

Beautiful, ice-in-the-sunlight-blue eyes stared back at me in the form of a glare.

My mouth flapped up and down uselessly, and not even the tightening grip on my arm made me come back to reality. When I finally remembered that I was able to speak, I swallowed all the drained fear that rested in my throat and pushed out the one name I hadn't said in months.

"Bobby?"