My sincere apologies for the delay in this update. Inconveniences sure know how to inconvenience a girl, you know?

As a token of my apology I offer the following:

Reading Randi Tip 1:
Pay attention to the last few lines at the end of one segment and those that begin the one after it. There be some purposeful extra nuggets of theme, character psychology, ambiance and more situated betwixt them, and thus, illuminating them.

Review responses:

Jason: You are too adorable. There's a bit more Psylocke for you in this chapter. I hope it pleases you. CoughMizzMarvelCough. Hehe. :ruffles your hair:

Irisheyesrsmiling: I hope this suffices as good work. Don't want to disappoint. :D

Ishandahalf: I did finally get to see X3. I had many disappointments. I also had moments of reveling, too, though. Still, I'm hoping that later viewings of it will raise my overall opinion of it. I will say nothing more here so that I do not spoil it for anyone reading this that has yet to see it. I'm glad Essex has made such an impression on you. It means I was successful. Same with Jubes. :D I really did find it too easy and too fun to get side tracked with her. I could've had her go on and on and on. But, I had to keep control of this thing and reel her in nice and easy. Still, she'll have lots more fun in this and later parts. Regarding Logan and Rogue… I couldn't help but give the Rogan fans at least something to wet their pallets. I am a Romy fan at heart, but I definitely can see more there. Plus, well, the other stuff. They seem to be butting heads a lot, huh? Wonder what the tension is all from. Well, I know, but you'll have to keep reading to find out. I wonder how long I can draw it out for, hmmmm? Hehe. Gambit's sneakiness… here comes more of it. But then again… when isn't he sneaky? Lol. Oh, and again, uber apologies I didn't get this posted on schedule. Some minor catastrophes at home (omg, refrigerator/freezer broke!) put a kink in my plans for that. Better late than never, I suppose.

Ludi: Wow, you caught up quick. Now I can thank you here for your commentary and not only in email. :D First off, might I again, thank you so much for your constant gracious offers to beta. I am well and truly honored that an author of your talent and stature would do such for me. Your comments are always so thorough. You give me great insight as to how the story is affecting you and that means the world to me. I'd address everything you said in your review, but alas, that would take much too long, so… a quickie (for me, at least) this be here and now. More will come in an email later this week. It tickles me to see how well you catch on to those nuances and developments that I work so hard to put in here. I also love hearing your speculations for where this will go. It lets me know how well my misdirections (hehe) are working. :D Regarding Jubilee, I agree. She is too good for any of the guys. :D And your analysis of Rogue/Logan in the Danger Room is spot on. Definitely billows my pride to know that I'm communicating it well. I will tell you this much… there's more to it than meets the initial eye. :D Hehe. Same can be said of your awareness of Rogue/Bobby/Gambit. Exploring and pushing the limits of all the connotations between them is definitely one of my favorite past times. I'm glad you're enjoying it. Thanks again. :holds some cards close:winks:

Jabba1: Omgoodness, how's my fellow old lady? Thank you so much for taking the time to leave your coments. Egads, we definitely need to get to talking about X3 since we've both seen it now. As for this story… if you think this is intriguing… well, it will increase exponentially before it culminates into the final climax. I so can't wait to see how you like it:hugs ya:

Anamarie Chambers: Yay! You're still reading! Now that you've told me what is catching your fancy on this I will be able to better exploit that… mwahhaha. Ahem. I do so love twisting the readers around. Hehe. Seriously though, it helps me to know where and what and how I may need to tweak future installments so that I can work towards soliciting exactly the reactions individual moments of this requires for it all to work out in the end. :D Gambit does always seem to have a good bead on her, doesn't he? I wonder if the reverse is true? Hmmm… Hehe. Yeah, You caught that contradiction in that Remy/Hank interaction. Yaay! There's more of it this chapter, so keep a look out. :D I hope I do not displease your expectations.

Thanks for the alert Allison chains, irisheyesrsmiling, and simba317! Woot, Simba! I wish I caught you on the movie-verse forum more. Hehe.

Thanks for the fave irisheyesrsmiling and Anamarie Chambers.

Thanks Angy and staff for adding this to your C2 "Romyness and all that other good X-Men stuff." I've always seen that community as like THE community to be added to. I am quite honored indeed. :D

Egads, I talk too much. :simpers: All of ya'll are uber awesome.

Now, on to chapter four!

Chapter Four

"Take off your shirt."

"Hey, now, Remy not into bestiality."

Hank lowered the stethoscope and grimaced. "All joviality aside, what do you expect me to do then?"

"Same as y'd like t' do t' y'rself."

"And if I could, do you not think I would have done it?"

"Thought it'd be easier t' do on someone else, considering the location and all. I volunteer t' be de guinea pig."

"This isn't like stitching up a cut."

"More like tweezing out a splinter, neh?"

"No, Remy, it's not."

"Y're smart. Y' can figure it out."

"I wouldn't even know where to start. Not yet, at least."

Remy hooked a thumb to the back of the medlab and said, "Use that MRI looking thing back there."

Hank shook his head, tempted, but weary. "I'd need more—"

"I'm more than willing t' help y' in return. Not so good with a scalpel, but I could hold up a mirror so y' could see."

"Excuse me," Hank abruptly said and moved past Remy.

"That's it? Y' just gonna drop it like that? Do y' want t' be stuck like this for the rest of y' life? And here I thought y' were one of the good guys."

"I am one of the good guys," Hank said. "Hank here."

"See, now I know I need to convince y'. Y're hallucinating or something. I already know y're here."

"Remy, hush a moment," Hank said, turned away from him. "Repeat that please?"

Remy finally stopped badgering him and caught on. Hank was answering an intercom of some kind. Through it came a guttural-type accented voice, Remy guessed it belonged to the big guy whose skin transformed to gleaming metal, saying, "Ready a bed. We've got incoming."

"Oh dear," Hank said. "Is it Bobby, Jono?"

"Someone new," answered through the speaker. "How much do you know much about avian anatomy?"

"Birds?"

"No matter, Tovarisch, you will see for yourself in just a moment."

"Interesting as that sounds," Remy said, clearly opposed to an audience. "I think I'll be skedaddling."

McCoy prepped by himself. He lowered the bed Jono had used to give plenty of room to work around the bed Bobby had used, which is where he planned to put the injured… bird. Then he foraged through the drawers and cabinets for the basics he could imagine he would need. He'd wished he'd asked for an inventory and map of where everything should be. It would've moved things along much more conveniently, much more rapidly if he had.

He sighed once more. "I miss my own lab."

"Coming through," Storm hollered as she sprinted from Cerebro.

Gambit hugged the wall at his back and enjoyed the view as she sped past. He was only distracted by it for a moment when he felt the familiar buzz, when the steel wall was no longer cold under his fingertips, but tingly. He flinched forward, throwing himself off the wall and practically into Xavier's wheeled lap.

"Easy, Remy," Xavier said in that fatherly concern of his. "Are you all right?"

"Head rush," Gambit said, drawing smoothly to a steady stand. "Sure got quite de collection of jolie enseignants." He winked. "Amazed the petite hommes learn anything besides anatomy."

Xavier smiled congenially, yet somehow, condescendingly. "She has had her battles with 'extra credit' idioms."

"Lagniappe," Gambit said with a masculine chuckle as he watched her slow to a jog to meet the elevator. "Wouldn't mind some of that, m'self."

"She deserves commitment."

"Picayune." He translated. "Nit-picky. Why give more than I get?"

Xavier looked from the approaching group—Storm, Colossus, and Jubilee assisting Betsy and the injured Warren—to Gambit, whose attention split like pretending to serve two masters. "Why get more than you give?"

Warren's arrival to the medlab parted them, saved Xavier from hearing Gambit's masking remark, and saved Gambit from saying it.

"Boeuf Gras." Didn't mean he hadn't thought it, though. "The last feast before the fasting."

By the time they were through the doors, Gambit had, once again, stolen away.

Gurgle. Grumble. Gurgle. Scott's stomach growled.

Once he acknowledged that, more discomforts acquired during the course of his research and analysis of the materials Xavier had given him roared they're annoying presences. His head throbbed in equal measurement to the pangs of stiffness in his legs and aches in his neck, shoulders and back from spending so many hours hunched over the texts and the computer. He stood and stretched, arms high and back, bowing his back. He rolled his neck, shook out his arms and legs, and twisted at the waist, side to side, reaching around as far as he could. Even though the problems weren't really alleviated, he merely repeated the motions once more before settling back in his chair.

…And that's when his eyes made their own protest for rest. Attempting a compromise yet again, since duty stubbornly refused a longer break, he carefully closed his eyes, took off his protective glasses and gave himself a good two-fingered massage.

It still wasn't enough.

The aches and pangs and grumbling and gurgling and throbbing and burning continued their rampage.

Kitty, distracted by all his fidgeting, gave him the excuse, "I could really go for a chicken sandwich. Would you mind?"

He nodded gratefully at the resident computer addict and caved, for her sake. "Sure."

He left on a mission for a couple of sandwiches, a walk, and a different view.

"We will see," Essex said to Malice over the phone as he opened up the program 'Relay.' A prompt opened with a scroll bar listing several names. He scrolled down to the bottom and selected 'New.' That opened a new window with two options: "Load existing data" and "Synch, Scan, and Log." The latter he chose, and that too opened two more options. "Remote Nano" and "Local." The former was clicked that round. And finally he got to a curser prompt asking for merely two bits of information to be entered. One, Name, for which he typed 'Warren Worthington III." Two, Nano Lot I.D., for which he retrieved from an inventory checklist: KK938-DL1EG-U87M3. It was the serial number off of the tiny devices Malice applied behind Warren's ear with a tap of a finger. It hadn't melted away. It had penetrated his skin, clawed its micro mechanical way in, and attached itself to a very specific nerve that just happens not to exist in non-mutated humans. Two more keystrokes and…
"Betsy," Warren said, his voice, like his movements, tired and weary as they settled him onto the bed Hank prepared for him. "It's—"

He winced as Jubilee bumped his left wing as she spun to help gather up the rest of the necessary bandages for Hank to use.

"Sorry," Jubilee said. She winced as well, but it was short lived. She was back on track a moment later, this time, more aware of the locale of his extra appendages.

"It's not as bad as you think," Warren continued to Betsy. "You didn't have to bring me here."

"Well, you are here now," Xavier soothed. "Might as well let us pamper you."

Hank plucked up two different gauze wraps that Jubilee had plopped on the instrument table. "Which would you prefer? Neon green or mundane white?" He gave Jubilee an admonishing, yet amused look.

"White."

"Whew!" Jubilee, in all sincerity, explained, "'Cause the neon stuff goes fast around here. All us wacky kids, you know?" She popped her gum and plopped a few multi-use metal splints onto the instrument table. She regarded his visible injuries with sparkplug aplomb. "Don't think we had enough left."

Storm busied herself readying a few syringes and lining up bottles of medicines: painkiller, antibiotics, and anti-inflammatory. Seeing the needles, surrounded by these too efficient strangers and their monstrous, calm, apparent doctor, Warren started to panic. He struggled against their ministrations.

"Hold still, please," Hank requested of him as he examined a bloody patch of feathers along the ulna and the alula on the right wing. He still had to check the worse looking mess around the phalanges on the left wing.

Sharing his panic, and concerned for it, Betsy tapped her arsenal to obtain what assurances she could. Lavender butterflies bubbled from her head, spread through the room, and flitted in circles around the strangers' heads. Jubilee was tucking some hair behind her ear when they reached her. Catching them out of her peripheral, her eyes sprang wide, alarmed and frustrated, and she backpedaled, slammed into the instrument table, and took most of it with her in a clatter to the floor.

Appearing much like a decorator crab, all sprawled on her back with limbs splayed as she was, she exclaimed, "Don't do that!" She huffed. "Jeeze! I hought I'd loosed some fireworks in here!"

Betsy didn't respond to her, but did relent with the butterflies. To Warren, she assured him, "Their intentions are good. And most of them know what they are doing."

Jubilee got the distinct impression that the last part was directed specifically to her. Dragging herself out from under the gauze and tape and swabs and such, she retorted, "You're welcome."

Hank stepped back from Warren's panicky flailing. He feared doing more harm than good if he fought him, forced him, to acquiesce. He continued pursued a different route to initiate diagnosis and treatment To Betsy, he asked, "What happened to him?"

Betsy gritted those perfectly white teeth of hers. "He ran into my car."

Hank's eyebrows flew up. "I assume it was an accident."

"It was after he crashed into a building or two. He plummeted right in front of me. I was on my way to pick him to come meet you."

"Explains the dent," Jubilee mumbled as she re-organized the materials she'd upset.

"Your snide remarks aren't helping," Betsy snapped at Jubes.

"We can't help him at all until he calms," Storm reminded Betsy.

"I'll subdue him," Xavier offered and closed his eyes in concentration.

"No!" Betsy yelled. A dozen ethereal butterflies kamikazied against Xavier's head. "I'll do it."

She moved behind Warren and elbow nudged Colossus, who had clamped Warren by the shoulders but dared no more for fear of compounding his injuries, to give her room. Then she raised her fist, spiked with an ethereal luminescent lavender psy-blade, and requested, "Forgive me."

"Don't!" Xavier warned, but it was lost in Warren's own psy-blade-plunge-thwarting scream.

"Relay Found," displayed one of Essex's monitors. "Synchronizing," it announced textually, along with a growing percentage.
Warren continued screaming. His back bowed, his limbs extended rigidly. Betsy eyed her own hand and psy-blade in horrified accusation.

On Xavier's telepathic prompt, Colossus drew Betsy away from Warren, while Storm repeated over and over in her ear, "You didn't do it. You didn't do it. You didn't do it." Indeed she had not. The psy-blade was still locked in her pre-plunge cocked posture.

"Synchronization Complete," the program informed on the screen. Then the textual announcement of "Scanning" accompanied by another increasing percentage.
Warren's cry ceased and his body collapsed, limp, to the bed. Hank moved in. He pulled open both of Warren's eyelids individually to check his pupil dilation. He held a wrist in front of Warren's nose and mouth. He listened for Warren's heartbeat with a stethoscope. He checked Warren's pulse against the digital clock nearby. Then, he met Betsy's oh-so-worried gaze. "He is unconscious, but appears stable. If you consent, I will be happy to treat his injuries."

Betsy nodded, jerkily, but fought off her tears of concern and relief. They were supposed to be coming here to treat her recent traumas, not Warren's. This, this, the drama teeming around her, had not been on the radar of her wallowing. It threw her into disarray. It disrupted her. It rerouted all her wallowing.

Scott swallowed the last gulp of his glass of milk and rinsed out the cup. He had to set a good example for the kids, after all. He took his time washing up the knife from the mayonnaise jar and wiping off the counter after he put away the left over chicken from the previous night's dinner, which he and the team had missed out on. He snatched a couple of sodas from the cupboard, some napkins, and the two sandwich plates. He felt much more refreshed, evident by the slight bounce to his step as he exited the kitchen.
Gambit moseyed from the corner where he had watched the others file into the Medlab. With nerves singing from witnessing the winged man's admission, he strolled past the Danger Room control room, where he was sure the grumpy badger-wolf-man would be wondering where he'd snuck off to, just before a blur of brown, white, black leather and pale creamy cheeks flew out of it. Staying clear of the booth's entrance, he pander-eyed the southern spitfire's hasty departure and let out a low whistle in appreciation.

"Too tempting for this lowly scoundrel," he told himself.

Too tempting, indeed. He succumbed to indulging the view. He succumbed to the imaginings her horizontal inclination stirred. He indulged the sultry slow swagger it pulled from him. She compelled him like a magnet; tugged his smoldering gaze, toiled his charged libido, and then hauled his sinewy gait. Beckoned. Undulated. Uninhibited. Unadulterated. Unhinged.

It was a mistake in a long line of mistakes he would come to loathe and praise and guilt and save...or. Savor.

The hydraulic doors to the control booth opened and out stalked Logan, sniffing the air for the tobacco, bourbon, and cayenne tangs of Gambit's vitriolic scent.

Gambit knew there were no more corners to curl behind. As lackadaisical as he may have appeared, when he'd prowled he'd noted every fixture of light, every archway of door, every pane of window and mirror, and every number of steps in between. He didn't even do it on purpose, by constrict of conscious, by loose conscience. It was training ingrained, instinct adopted, like looking both ways before crossing the street. He was aware of his surroundings, especially his exits. Every good thief had to know how to get out as well as how to get in, and how to do both with the littlest detection, which was how he knew that activation of any of the hydraulic doors would give him away to the oversensitive brawler. It was, however, how he also learned the fine art of misdirection.

He pulled out two entire sealed decks of playing cards, but didn't open or charge them. His eyes steady on Logan, caught up with the new scents leading to the medlab, he measured distance and angle of two caddy-corner doors ahead of him, behind Logan, all with just his peripheral. Poised beside a third door, ready to move, ready to throw, he watched and he waited.

And then Logan did it. He stepped too close to the medlab doors. His presence set off the sensor and Gambit tapped into all that honed agility and aim to make his move. The medlab doors opened just as each pack of cards landed a step in front of two doors he'd sighted, inciting their opening before Logan's closed, while Gambit himself, slipped inside a third.

Logan surveyed the calming scene before him. Xavier was speaking softly to the clearly upset purple-black haired stranger, who was rhythmically stroking a limp wing of the other stranger. Storm and Jubilee, who also couldn't help but indulge a feel of the bristly feathers, swabbed and bandaged scratches on the bedridden man's arms and chest. Hank injected some solution into him, some mild cocktail of antibiotics and anesthetic. Only Colossus seemed out of place without a chore, so it was no surprise that he was the first to react to Logan's appearance.

"The Cajun come by here?"

"No," Piotr said with a shake of his head. "I was looking for him earlier, but then this emergency arose."

"He was in here about twenty minutes ago," Hank said as he completed the injection. "I don't know where he went after that."

He gave a nod, half 'okay' and half 'any chops for me to bust in here?'

"On the surface, an accident of flight," Xavier said as he glanced to Logan and then onto Warren. "But there may be more to it."

"Like what?" Jubilee, always scouting for the next relief of boredom, asked.

"Something from which I plan to protect you and the other students."

Jubilee cocked her head to the side. "I'm not sure, but I think that was a burn."

"Indeed, it was," Xavier assured her. To Logan, he dismissed, "We'll inform Gambit you're looking for him if we see him."

The doors closed with nobody entering, but not before he spotted the small square object on the other side. Curious, Nightcrawler checked it out. As he picked up the deck of cards lying lonely there, Logan returned from his scout of the medlab. They exchanged opposing expressions: Logan, irritated and anxious, and Nightcrawler, titillated and mollifying. Together, they advanced to the second pack of cards across the hall and over one and through the door beyond it.
"Can I help you?"

At the creak of the turning chair he'd frozen, mentally kicking himself for the gross error of assuming his hiding place would be uninhabited. At the airy timbre of the sprite's first word, he swung—all swank and guile—to enchant her.

"With two things," he told her with the audacity of a meek and shameful grin. "Une—accept my apology. Wasn't proper, how we met. Remy's Tante Mattie taught him t' treat a lady better than that."

Kitty couldn't help but flush like the first rush of spring roses in Ororo's garden. "Rumor has it you were forced into it."

"Oui, petite," he said. "But that don't excuse it."

"True. And you did seem to enjoy it."

"Made the best of a bad situation." He took the seat beside her. Scott's chair, which was right in front of Irene's journal and all of those many opened personal files. "Pretend I was a hero, protecting a castle rather than a prison. Took a li'l thrill in the adventure of it. Ever do something like that?"

"Yeah," Kitty said. "I blame Jubilee for being a bad influence, but I get carried away on my own too."

He nodded, oh-so-reasonable understanding. "Got so caught up in the make-believe, I could've hurt you."

"Please!" Kitty said, trying to cheer him up. "Gotta be pretty sneaky to hurt someone you can't even touch."

He chuckled with her. Raised his spirits the appropriately. And, she fell deeper. She grinned like someone who enjoyed helping people, which was exactly what she was.

Encouraging him, she asked, "What was the other thing?"

He scooted closer, the opened files under his bracing hand, and said straight out, "I want to fit in."

She brightened even more. "Easy. Just got to get to know them. Take Logan for instance. He comes off all huff and puff and I'll blow your house in, but he's a big softie for the kids. Especially, for me, Rogue and Jubilee. Her, he even lets call him Wolvie."

It was the start of a beautiful friendship…

Trask had exploited Forge for as long as he could that day, and thus, reluctantly/revoltingly released him from the tasks as Sentinel mechanic to finally answer Essex's call. Forge thought it a blessing and a damning. The inhibitors regulated his access and use of his mutation, not merely suspended it. This permitted him to tap into them for the purpose of working for them. Doing so sickened him. It not only betrayed his own kind, but also, his sensibilities and logics. On top of that, it twisted his gut like revolving hot pokers. An accessory of his mutation innately included the visceral connection to the purpose of all mechanical devices.

The Sentinels were built for a horrific function. They were designed to identify and obliterate each and every mutant they encountered.

The inhibitors did little to ease those physical, emotional, and psychological bonds between he and that which he applied his evolved skills.

The pain dulled to pin pricks the further away from the Sentinel pit he got. Overlapping that pain came the blazing queasiness of Essex's labs.

Essex greeted Forge's arrival with an uplifted hand that bid for silence. While waiting, in an attempt to quell the bile-raising equipment and programs engulfing him, he read the monitors over Essex's head.

Most were much of the same, but one in particular tugged at that mutation accessory of his, begged his hand to end it, to prevent the trapping of another mutant. The screen displayed the proud statement, "Scan Complete." It also listed the results of that scan.

Motor skills control: 43 percent compatibility, 2 percent success.
Sensory control: 98 percent compatibility, 96 percent success.
Endocrine control: 31 percent compatibility, 17 percent success.
Mutation control: 25 percent compatibility, 3 percent success.

Forge saw the glower of dissatisfaction in Essex's pale reflection upon the monitors.

"I followed your directions precisely," came Malice's tinny defense over Essex's phone. His lack of immediate reply had been her only provocation.

Essex targeted Forge via his reflection, but said to Malice, "It will have to do."

Forge's thoughts mimicked Essex's own. But, with a twist. The nano hadn't worked perfectly, but it could've been worse.

The war room, as the nosy Jubilee had dubbed it, was pristine. It was also empty. This fact irritated the Wolverine to his limits. It incited the growl of his inquiry to the returning Scott.

"Where's that damn snake?"

Scott had no idea what Logan was talking about.

"Gambit," Kurt supplied for clarification.

"He's skulking somewhere around here," Logan added.

"Haven't seen him," Scott said with a mild shrug and continued on his way.

"Prick," Logan mumbled before heading towards the other end of the underground hall. He didn't get ten steps.

"With Storm, honesty, integrity, and loyalty is what matters most," Kitty explained. "She's not the most lenient or forgiving, but she isn't the strictest either."

"She got any hobbies?"

"Oh, yeah," Kitty chatted on. "Her garden. It's like meditation for her or something, like her religion, practically. She spends hours out there."

"What's her favorite flower?"

Kitty scrunched her face in thought. Remy thought it was cute. Too cute. Kid sister cute. It kinda thwarted his hormones. He'd have to work harder to muster up the soft flirt.

"Ummm," Kitty said. "Lilac, I think. But, don't quote me on that."

The door opened and in walked Scott balancing two plates and two sodas and napkins somewhere mixed in. He took one look at Gambit, the gossiping Kitty, the opened personal files, and the computer monitors unabashedly displaying sensitive information and his eyes pinched lethally into a vicious glower. He tilted his head back out the doorway and hollered to Logan, "He's in here." To Kitty, he said, "You're on suspension."

"What?" Kitty barked in shock. "Why? I didn't do anything."

"Dereliction of duty," Scott replied evenly. He thrust the hand holding the sodas in an all-encompassing sweep of the work areas. "For leaking private information and endangering the team and the students."

"We were just talking," Kitty defended.

"Don't bother," Gambit said and his eyes flared at Scott. "It's just like I thought. Y' go and bend over backwards for Essex's primary financier, but Gambit's nothing but prison-bait gutter trash. He ain't never gonna be welcome."

"Now that you've got it, what are you going to do with it?"

"In time, win." Magneto's answer went to Cortez but the greedy look went to Mystique. "But, for now…"

He parted the steel wall of his office. He rose on a magnetic field and floated backwards through the opening until he was above the tail end of the unlikely surprise Wanda had docked in the base.

"…I'll dispose of this derelict ship."

A few gestures of those hands that dripped with all that erupting power and the ship shredded apart. Pieces flew here and there, all under his control, as he reshuffled them, reshaped them, and molded them into a new wing of the base before their very eyes. And, so many eyes there were. The damp courtyard below was filled with dozens of gasping and cowering mutants as they watched in awe and fury the impressive impromptu remodeling.

"My fellow mutants," Magneto boomed to his recruits. "My brothers in arms!" He regaled in that awful roiling energy that lapped at his body as his audience lapped up his words. "My Acolytes! I have promised you a home, and so I provide this."

Several more chunks of the ship slapped and then melded together.

"But this is nothing compared to what we will gain from our victory over those who pledge to decimate us," he continued in his speech. "Those inferior humans tremble with the nightmares derived of the mere idea of what our superiority will do to them."

Their cowering lessened. They stood straighter, more secure, more confident and gathered closer, unified.

"For we are superior. We are Gods among insects. If they nip at our heels we will crush them. If they pursue this war, they will die. And then, then, we will finally have a permanent home. It will all be ours."

Their cheers pierced straight to the heavens. Their applause shook their very foundations.

And through it all, Destiny sat idly in her quarters, sipping her tea, trying not to roll her eyes at the inane, belligerent, egotistical, overestimating deluge that bellowed into her peace and quiet solitude.

"Escort him to his room," Scott ordered Logan. "Watch him."

"Do ya one better," Logan said as he pulled out a set of the adamantium cuffs they brought back from the Diamond Research Facility. "You're not slipping out of these this time." The locking mechanisms were visibly mangled. Logan had done it with his own claws.

"You're making a mistake," Kitty told them. She latched onto Gambit's arm and phased him, made it impossible for Logan to apply the cuffs. "I won't let you do it."

"Two weeks suspension," Scott threatened.

She held her ground.

"Three weeks."

Kitty went ghostly herself as well. Their shoes disappeared into the floor.

"You're being ridiculous," Logan said. He was losing what little remained of his temper. "Turn him over, half-pint."

"Maybe we should hear her out," Kurt suggested.

Scott ignored him. "A month."

"He isn't our enemy," she said. They sank to their knees.

Not liking where this was going so quickly, Kurt teleported to the Professor.

"Sink any lower and you'll have your diploma before you're on another mission," Scott said with finality.

"Do what he says, petite."

Kitty stared at Remy aghast.

"Remy ain't worth it," he reasoned to her and she dejectedly raised them above the floor.

"First thing you've said that I believe," Logan said.

"Vache!" Gambit cursed. "I haven't spoken one lie t' y' yet."

"You haven't been very truthful either," Scott said. "In fact, you haven't said much of anything." He watched as Kitty and Gambit solidified, then ordered, "Kitty, step away from him."

"You know what, Scott? Leading the team doesn't make you dictator," Kitty said. "You're not even as good at it as you like to think. If you were, you'd have paid closer attention." She snatched up the files she was helping him research and flung them at him. "Finish it yourself." Then she air-walked up through the ceiling.

Gambit put out his wrists in melodramatic surrender. "If she can't earn y'r trust and respect, ain't no way I ever had a chance."

"She'll get over it," Logan said. He slapped on the cuffs. "We'll get over you."

As Logan made sure the cuffs were tight, Gambit leaned in and spitefully whispered, "I've seen Stryker's files, couchon."

Logan shoved him out the door like shoving the need to know deep inside his own gut.

Gambit stumbled ahead but spat back, "Y' volunteered t' be his prize pet."

Logan yanked him by his collar. "Keep it up and you'll be volunteering a claw in your back."

"Roughin' up prisoners be just y'r forte, don't it?"

"Logan, release him." It was Xavier. Kurt, Jubilee, and Colossus were right behind him. "What is going on out here?"

"I caught him in the records room," Scott told the Professor. "He was manipulating Kitty so he could spy on us."

"Is this true, Remy?"

"Just being my usual charming self."

"He had his hands on the personal files," Scott said.

"That what that mess on the desk be? If they so important y' probably shouldn't have left the kid with them unsupervised."

Xavier forwarded the question to Scott with an inquisitively raised eyebrow.

Scott held his head high. "Kitty offered to help with some of the research."

Xavier measured them all with a heavy gaze before deciding. "Let him go."

Logan grumbled, but obeyed it with a close slice of his claws, which Xavier also watched profoundly.

"Piotr, take Remy to his room," Xavier continued. "Don't let anyone disturb him. That means you, Logan."

Logan grunted his assent.

"Now, if you all can behave yourselves for a while, I would like to attend to our traumatized guests."

"Professor—"

"I won't discuss it. I extended him the invitation and it will remain until I say so."

"He claimed we were harboring Essex's investor."

"I don't know much about them yet, but Moira sent then. I'll find out what I can now, but more than likely it will wait until tomorrow, so expect a meeting over breakfast. Whatever this all turns out to be about, I don't want any of you to give them a hard time. Remy included. This institute is a safe haven for mutants, regardless of their pasts, present, or future. We will welcome them all equally."

Scott nodded wearily, but grudgingly accepted it for now. It was almost as if he were humbled.

Essex set Warren's remote nano program to record and to download to the log three times a day. Then, he stood to tower over Forge.

"You assured me they would work," Essex sneered. "Are you trying to sabotage my work?"

"I told you there would be greater limitations with greater distance. I also told you that there could be glitches if there weren't at least three nanos used in tandem. And, I warned you of the potential difficulties due to unpredictable variables were it applied by someone unfamiliar with it, especially when not done under controllable conditions. If that does not fit in with your agenda, it's not my responsibility. Even the things I build have their restrictions."

"Oh, I can and will hold you responsible for whatever it is I choose."

"Yeah, I know. Because logic and morality are irrelevant to you."

Smack! Forge tasted blood. The force of the blow had split his lip.

"You will fix this problem. You will do it from the confines of the lab. You will not return to Trask's petty chores until it is done."

Forge wiped the blood from his lip. "Is that all?"

"No," Essex said and returned to his seat. "Creed is having obedience difficulty with Caliban. It appears his mutation interferes with his chip. I ran a diagnostic and I believe the error can be fixed without further surgery. Use Cypher if you need to. Fresh cold water works best. Rectify that first."

"Match found," the computer relayed.

That announcement paused Essex for a moment before he completed his orders to Forge. "But, before you address the nano issues, you will finish preparing and then verify the stability of Malice's new host. It is imperative that everything goes smoothly with her."

He turned back to his monitors as though he'd been alone all along.

MATCH FOUND. It was the comparison program. MUNROE, ORORO aka STORM.

Forge was struck with a pang of pity for the pretty woman who was now ensnared in Essex's crosshairs. A face to a name was only one step away from Essex's tender care.

"Oh, and Forge," Essex threw over his shoulder. "I advise you not to permit another failure to come to pass. You will not outlive your usefulness."

Indeed, Forge did not bode she would enjoy even Essex's most gracious attentions.

The students of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters dined upon Xavier's gracious and plentiful dinner in their typical rambunctious fashion. However, since only Kurt and Colossus chaperoned them, it was a little out of hand. The other X-Men had kept their distance. Some had been tied up with pressing priorities. Xavier and Hank attended to Betsy and Warren. And before they called it a night, they had agreed upon a suitable, relatively simple procedure for the repetitive use of the adamantium tipped syringes. Scott, alone in his recovery, continued his research into Irene's journal, the possible source of the mutant power surges/advancements, and any connection the two may have shared. His pursuit continued beyond the witching hour and well into his dreams themselves. The remaining X-Men all passed the evening in similar, though individual ways. They lied in their beds. They fidgeted. They watched the clouds disguise and then unveil the constellations. Most of all, they brooded. It was what Gambit had done as well. The only adult in the mansion to have received a restful, unbroken sleep was Major Carol Danvers. She had slept like the dead.
Musty. Stale. Dusty. Pale. Dank. Fetid. Rank. Indebted.

"Cypher."

Musty. Stale. Dusty. Pale. Dank. Fetid. Rank. Indebted.

"Hey, you awake?"

Musty. Stale. Dusty. Pale. Dank. Fetid. Rank. Indebted.

"Of course you're awake. You don't sleep. You just go into standby."

Musty. Stale. Dusty. Pale. Dank. Fetid. Rank. Indebted.

"Hey!" He clapped his hands. The air stirred. Or had he breathed… "Don't make me turn on the light."

Musty. Stale. Dusty. Pale. Dank. Fetid. Rank. Indebted.

"Cypher?" He felt cold. Chilled up his whole spine. He felt alone. Empty as a corpse.

Musty. Stale. Dusty. Pale. Dank. Fetid. Rank. Indebted.

"Ramsey, man..." Nobody had been in there in quite a while. It disturbed even Creed.

Musty. Stale. Dusty. Pale. Dank. Fetid. Rank. Indebted.

He waved a quavering hand in front of where he suspected the eyes to be. "Doug?"

"I do sleep." Metallic.

"Holy!" Kerplunk! He fell right on his hind side. He had tripped over one of the many, many, many bundles of cables fanned across the floor.

"It's exercise that I don't get much of." Electronic.

All the bundles of cables plugged into the central processing unit in the middle of the floor.

"Company, either." Cypher.

The voice came from the center of the room.

"Or fresh water. I am rather thirsty." Ramsey.

Forge popped up the sip-top of the sports bottle. He reached carefully between the densely woven myriad wires and brought purified liquid sustenance to the boy's lips.

"Thank you." He sipped. "For the water." He swallowed. "And for leaving…" He gulped. "…Off the lights." Doug.

Forge shamefully shared the kid's gratitude. One was sensitive to the light, the other, to the sight.

Musty. Stale. Dusty. Pale. Dank. Fetid. Rank. Indebted.

End Chapter 04 of 05.

(I can't guarantee the final chapter will be up within 24 hours, but I will try.)

Next Chapter: "Well, the solution to that is easy, Sugah," Rogue said with a flip of her hair. "We make the highest bid."

Edited/rewritten May 24, 2006
Posted May 30, 2006

Thank you for indulging.