Oh my goodness-all of you reviewers who badgered and PM-ed me and told me to get my rear in gear-well, I never thought this story would get this much love, and for all you to be hanging with me after my utter lack of anything even resembling updating is just completely, utterly fantastic. I love you all.

Please note that there are NO OC's in this chapter! I liberally looted from the stores of X-Men comics and movies-points if you can find all the references and identify all the characters (although I did play merry hell with them. Ah, the joys of fanfiction).

Disclaimer: I own nothing even vaguely associated with Marvel Comics or Stan Lee.

(page break!)

Moira McTaggert's living room was…tailored. Nice couches, beige carpet, stunning landscape photos of Scottish scenery. It was scrupulously neat, but still comfortable and welcoming.

Scott Summers hated the place on sight. He slumped on one of the couches, hesitant to move for fear of waking Jean, leaning against him.

Evan snored away softly on the other couch, although his uninjured fist kept clenching and unclenching. Every time he tensed, a spike popped out of his hand, then schlepped back in when he relaxed.

Carefully shifting out from under Jean, Scott reached for a throw pillow and slipped it under her head. She murmured softly in her sleep, and he felt a feather brush across his mind. (Shh…I'm here.) Jean relaxed, turning her face toward the couch. Scott walked to the wide window that showcased a stunning view of Muir Bay. The churning sea and stormy skies was the perfect clichéd backdrop for his emotions, he mused bitterly.

He whirled, heart in his throat and hand poised at his visor, at the brush of a shoe on the carpet. Framed in the door was a teenage girl, perhaps Kitty's age. Grinning wryly, the girl held up her hands in surrender.

"Sorry." Scott said softly, lowering his hand from the visor.

"It's all right. I'm Theresa, Moira sent me to check on you three." She may have looked like a red-haired version of Kitty, but her accent was purely Rahne. Scott's heart contracted…both girls were who knew where. From Jean's initial emergency call, they'd known roughly who had gone with whom. Who knew now, though, what had happened to them all-his responsibility, his team, his friends?

Theresa coughed lightly, and Scott realized he'd been blankly staring off into space.

"Sorry, again. I'm Scott. Scott Summers." He crossed the room to shake her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Scott Summers. Wish it were under better circumstances." Theresa concealed her anxiety under a matter-of-fact tone and a firm handshake. "Now, Moira told me to see you settled. There's beds, showers, food…" She trailed off and looked at Evan and Jean. They were both out for the count.

Scott scrubbed the back of his neck with one hand, grimacing at the ache of an acute case of whiplash. "A shower, maybe."

Theresa nodded, "I'll stay out here with them, in case they wake up."

Scott smiled gratefully. Sometimes it was nice to have someone else managing things.

(erm…page break's cliff diving.)

After he'd stood under the showerhead long enough to nearly drain the North Sea, Scott emerged with hair damp, looking slightly better than he had. Theresa sat in an armchair, reading a dog-eared copy of The Once and Future King. Scott stopped dead at the sight of the book, feeling as if the world were compressing around him.

"What's wrong?" Theresa had looked up from her book to greet Scott, but now she put the book down and stood. "Are you all right?"

He shook himself, more of a shudder than anything else. "Um, yeah, sorry." He glanced at her worried expression, wondered how much to confide in this stranger. "It's just…that's the Professor's favorite book."

A pensive look landed heavily in her eyes, and Theresa settled back in the armchair almost cradling the worn paperback in her hands. "I know," she said, "Professor Xavier gave this to me, for my birthday."

Scott perched on the arm of Jean's couch. Silence suffocated, and he felt like possibly the world's biggest jerk as he watched Theresa lovingly trace the scrollwork title. After a moment, he plucked at the hem of the T-shirt he was wearing.

"Thanks for the clothes, by the way."

She looked up, smiling, although sadness lingered in her eyes. "You're just about the same size as my da."

"Ah." There wasn't much to say to that. "Is your dad living here too?"

Theresa nodded, grateful for the change of subject. "We live on the other side of the island-not that it's a particularly big island. We visit Moira a lot." She hesitated, considered. "I used to…I mean…Rahne and I were friends, before she left. Is she…I mean, do you know what…what happened to her?" Theresa immediately regretted the stammered question as Scott's shoulders stiffened as if she'd dealt him a physical blow.

Way to bollocks that, 'Resa! Can't ever keep your foot out of your bloody mouth!

Before she could apologize, the older girl on the couch woke with a start. Scott rushed to her side.

"Jean, it's me. It's okay." The couple locked eyes, and Theresa sensed that there was an entire silent conversation going on right in front of her. After a handful of seconds, the older girl turned to Theresa and smiled.

"Scott said there were showers?"

(now the page break's in the hospital-leg fracture.)

Moira had emerged from the medical ward long enough to ask Theresa to phone her father. When Scott had pressed the older woman about the Professor's condition, she smiled tiredly up at him. "We'll know better in the morning, love."

After that it had been a whirlwind of introductions to Theresa's father, Sean, who was indeed within an inch or two of Scott's height and build. The sandy-haired man kissed his daughter on the cheek lovingly, asked her to get dinner going, then disappeared into the medical ward. A freshly showered Jean helped Theresa, who never even so much as blinked when floating paring knives neatly peeled potatoes into the sink.

Dinner was a subdued affair, the three X-Men exhausted and tense, Moira, Theresa and Sean no less so. Scott and Sean did the dishes while Moira ordered a bleary-eyed Evan back to sleep-this time in a guest bedroom. Sean and Theresa said their good-nights, promising to be back in the morning for breakfast.

Moira sunk into the armchair that Theresa had previously occupied, while Scott and Jean sat side-by-side on one of the couches. Sighing heavily, the older woman scanned the couple's faces.

"I know I shouldn't ask this of you right now, but I need to know: what happened?"

Jean tensed, felt Scott beside her do the same. She clasped his hand in her own, linking their fingers in a comforting gesture.

Scott cleared his throat, gripped Jean's hand. "It started about ten last night…I heard the helicopters before I saw them…"

(page break)

Jubilation Lee lay on yet another lumpy motel mattress, staring up at the featureless ceiling through the dark. The soft sounds the others made as they slept did nothing to comfort or reassure her. She wasn't even sure how they were able to sleep.

A muted whimper drew her attention. Sitting up silently, Jubilee leaned over the bed to see Rahne, curled up on the floor in her wolf-form, twitch convulsively. Bad dream, Jubilee thought pensively. It was like that for all of them-fall asleep, and you were back in the Mansion…back in the dark, fire and fear…

She reached out to place a comforting hand on Rahne's back, but pulled away at the last second. The Scottish girl had been nothing less than icy the past day. Jubilee had never known Rahne to hold a grudge before, and felt more than a little persecuted. It was one mistake! Couldn't they cut her some slack?

Jamie and Rahne had been the worst, speaking to her only when it was absolutely necessary. Sam was uncomfortable, Jubilee could tell. He had always been the peacemaker, back at the Mansion-always the one to get people to make up. Well, we're not at the Mansion anymore, are we? Jubilee felt a pang of shame at the nasty thought.

And then there was Rogue. The older girl had said…nothing. She'd spoken to Jubilee just the same, no hint of anger or disdain in her voice.

But she hadn't let Jubilee drive.

When they'd stopped in Santa Fe, a worn looking Sam and an equally worn looking Rogue had conferred quietly by the gas pumps. Rahne and Jamie were in the service station using the toilet, and Jubilee had walked round the van to stretch her legs. As she rounded the back bumper, she caught the tail of Rogue and Sam's conversation:

"I'm fine to drive still, really."

"You need sleep. I can handle it."

They'd noticed her then, leaning against the back of the van. Straightening, she tried in vain to feel less like a child being caught eavesdropping on adults.

"I could drive." She'd said, as casually as possible.

"No, Jubilee, I've got it." Just like that, Rogue had relegated her, Jubilee, to the ranks of those incapable of contributing. If only she'd been a bitch about it, they could have argued, Jubilee could have fought, could have tried to do something to restore Rogue's lost confidence in her!

Even here, in this quietly dark motel room, hundreds of miles from that humiliating scene, Jubilee felt the anger nearly boiling inside her.

One mistake, and she wasn't even trusted with the simple task of driving! As stealthily as she could, Jubilee crawled out of bed and picked her way through the dark to the tiny bathroom. She ran cool water in the sink and splashed her face, trying to quell the furious flush on her cheeks.

Looking into the mirror, Jubilee studied her reflection. Familiar features greeted her, almond eyes, jet hair, so different from everyone else on this little traveling circus.

Bobby had always liked her different. He'd run his fingers through her hair, trace her features with amazing delicacy for such a rough-and-tumble guy…

Tears welled in her eyes, making her double in the mirror blur. Jubilee grabbed a swath of toilet paper and sat heavily on the closed lid of the toilet.

The last time she'd seen Bobby, he'd been back-to-back with Amara…the pair unleashing fire and ice in equal measure at the soldiers harrying them. Jubilee's firecrackers were taking their own toll on the Mansion's assailants.

A terrified scream from the distant dormitory wing was echoed sickeningly a moment later when Amara took a bullet to the leg. She collapsed, fire fading, agony twisting her normally lovely face as she clutched her leg. Bobby de-iced immediately, dropping to his wounded teammate's side as Jubilee upped her bombardment to try and cover them. A second, frantic cry tore the air down the hall.

Jubilee hesitated, torn between wanting desperately to stay and help Amara…but whoever had called out didn't have any back-up.

Bobby took the decision from her. He looked up, met her eyes from his position by Amara.

"Go help Rahne!" He yelled, managing to be white with terror and commanding all at the same time. She nodded, released a final blast of rainbow light, then darted for the dorm hall, praying fervently that he would be okay…

Jubilee came back to the present, shaking. She felt something slip in her grasp, than realized the toilet paper was now a sodden, twisted mess in one fist.

She got up, threw the toilet paper in the trashcan, slipped back into bed. No one stirred. Staring up at the featureless ceiling through the dark, Jubilee contemplated teams and trust until she fell into an uneasy sleep.

(page break. Oh yeah, baby.)

A girl in a black dress sat in a café in Boston and watched a news story about mutant attacks across the country while she ate a croissant.

Eventually, she gave up and just watched the news.

It wasn't a very good croissant.

Collating data, categorizing the news' information as slightly suspect…one had to consider the source.

Abruptly, the girl stood, leaving a five-dollar bill on the table to pay for the (inedible) croissant. Within five minutes, no one in the café would remember the girl at all.

(Erm. Yes. Another page break.)

The girl in the black dress sat at her desk in her featureless flat. There was almost nothing in the way of personal touches-clothing, toiletries, and one battered paperback. Other than that, all the furniture had come with the apartment.

Sitting at her desk, the girl stared not off into space, but into the environment inside her own head. Data streams rushed by, dates and facts and figures clamored for attention, but the girl calmly sorted them out. She placed facts in files, files in categories…

Then she extrapolated. Before the café, she'd been at the library. The Internet carried a wealth of information to any who sought it. Among the information was data on recent seismic activity around the Chicago area-recent unusual seismic activity.

Seismic disruptions on the reported scale were consistent with the abilities of at least one of her quarries. Therefore, she would go to Chicago.

The girl packed a well-worn backpack with some of the clothes, the toiletries, and the paperback book. Picking up the phone, she dialed, waited.

"Tell Sebastian that I will be out of touch for two weeks." Her flat voice invited no questions, not that anyone delegated to answering phones would question her. Her position in the hierarchy was…quite well established, especially for one so young.

The girl left the apartment, walking to the train station and boarding the express line to Chicago.

(page break)

Yes, the girl at the end is mysterious as all hell on purpose. I felt like I needed to build her up a little before I said her name-though some of the comic readers should already know who she is.

Thanks muchly if you've been with me this far, and I will do my best to update in a more timely fashion in the future.

Cheers!