JUBILEE: Hi and welcome to part 5 of "Once her name was Melusine." Since it's been a while, the Zeldster and I thought it would be a good idea if I gave you a quick run-down of the action so far.
Z: (frowns, mouthing "Zeldster?")
Ju: Chapter One, wearing this fabulous ensemble (the backdrop lights up with a picture of Jubliee in an elegant dark blue formal dress) I chased Melusine and her kidnapping victim through the halls of a swanky hotel. And let me tell you, those heels hurt like hell when you're running! But not as much as getting clocked by a Lizard's tail. Ow! But by the time I woke up, Melusine seemed to have had a crisis of conscience and she helped me escape from the bad guys, conveniently wiping my memory of the event in the process. I don't appear in Chapter Two, so on to Chapter Three, (the author begins to wave frantically to attract Jubliee's attention) where I'm not either, so then it's -- Hey, what's with the lights?
Zelda's frantic waving having been ignored, she's flicking the lights on and off.
Z: The *whole* thing, Jubliee. Otherwise I may have to get someone else to do the summary.
Ju: Okay, sure, whatever. (mutters) That is *so* irritating! Chapter Two, Melusine takes a header off a building and is rescued by Beast, Storm and Wolverine, losing her own memory as a result of the fall. Isn't life ironic? Ha, take that, Alanis! Chapter Three, Mel's memory returns and the Professor finds out that Melusine was the one responsible for my temporary amnesia. I'm back in Chapter Four, wearing my usual yellow jacket, and quickly forgive Melusine for messing with my head. And we discover that Melusine used to work for the Petrucci crime syndicate as bodyguard to Diana Petrucci. But the greatest news is that Diana owns a beach house in the Caribbean, and Melusine's invited us all to come along! I can hardly wait ... sun, sand, waves ... and little tiny Speedos. What more could a teenage girl ask? Jubilee's expression grows vacant.
Z: She could ask to finish the disclaimer. (There's no response from Jubilee, who's apparently still lost in Speedo-rific contemplation.) You want something done … KINCAID!!
A young man, late 20s, saunters in, picks up a sheet of paper, looks to Zelda, and at her nod, begins to read.
K: We don't own the X-Men. This fiction is not committed for profit of any sort, save Zelda's own personal amusement. Melusine's French phrase should roughly translate as "You're not afraid?" (Kincaid lays the sheet back down, and chuckles quietly to himself.) Heh heh. I rule, Jubilee drools.
PART 5: BEACH BLANKET BINGO
"I think it sounds like an excellent idea," said the Professor firmly, bringing the strident debate to a close.
"But," stammered Scott, not yet ready to yield his ground.
"Scott, these are the facts. After extensive testing, we've yet to alleviate Melusine's amnesia, though we have determined that the memory blocks she placed on Logan and Jubilee were created by a mix of both her telepathic and her healing powers. We've spoken to as many people who were at the fundraiser as possible. The police are no further ahead in their investigation, and Mr. Doors has been returned none the worse for wear, after a short stay in the hospital. I repeat, a vacation sounds like an excellent idea."
***
Scott was still grumbling the next day as he loaded their baggage on the Blackbird. Jean sighed in frustration. "Problems?" asked Ororo sympathetically.
Jean shook her head. "Honestly, I love him, but sometimes he can be such an old man!" She surveyed the little group. "Wish you could come with us, Storm."
"Someone must stay to mind the store. And keep the Professor company." Jean sighed again, recalling the conversation she'd had with Xavier that very morning. "Jean, you have a very important mission to fulfill. You're returning with Melusine to a familiar location, and I'm hoping that familiarity will cause more memories to surface. The presence of Wolverine and Jubilee should aid in that process, but I'm counting on you and your telepathic abilities, to help guide Melusine to the truth." Her reverie was broken as Jubilee began to argue with Scott over the placement of her bag in the compartment.
Jubilee had leapt at the chance for a tropical vacation in Melusine's beach house, which turned out to be on Isla del Sol in the Caribbean. Logan had been more reluctant, even under the combined urging of Jubilee and Rogue, whom Xavier was sending along "just in case. Though she could use a holiday too." It wasn't until Gambit declared his intention of accompanying them that Logan withdrew his objections. Even after three years, he's still looking out for Rogue, Jean approved, then winced as Scott, pushed beyond tolerance, snapped at Jubilee. Yep, just a happy family party, she thought as she went to resolve the squabble.
"I wish you were coming, too," Melusine said wistfully, unconsciously echoing Jean.
"Now, now," Hank soothed. "Jean is just as qualified a physician as I. And I'm afraid my appearance might cause some disquiet among the general public."
"Not on my island!" Melusine threatened, then relented in the face of the undeniable truth. He was seven feet tall, and covered in entirely in blue fur. "People are stupid," she agreed, then stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."
"Oh my stars and garters," said Beast, blushing furiously under his fur as Melusine got on the jet.
***
"Welcome to my home," said Melusine, as Jean, Scott, Rogue, Gambit, Wolverine, and Jubilee dropped their baggage in the quiet, cool front hall. A gentle roar from overhead was the last they heard of the Blackbird, Storm at the controls, winging her way back to Westchester. "Miss Melusine," a voice cried happily.
"Abigail!" Melusine smiled warmly at the housekeeper.
"We've got some lunch laid out in the breakfast room for y'all, after you've unpacked and sorted yourselves out. And of course you'll be wanting to go to Riccardo's for dinner." With astonishing speed, the six guests were disposed of in their rooms, and Melusine was installed in her own blue-green retreat. She wandered around the room for a moment, soaking in the reassurance of her own things; a picture of herself and Diana, a filmy scarf thrown over the back of a chair, the tall, narrow lingerie chest. She opened the doors and pulled out a drawer, running her hands in awe over the collection of thin, shiny, and extremely sharp knives resting within. "Hello, babies," she crooned, then closed the drawer. Now was not the time for them. Maybe, not ever.
***
Six mutants lay all in a row, soaking up the tropical sun. "C'mon Melusine," Jubilee's sleepy voice urged. "You gotta catch some rays!"
"No thank you," replied the seventh mutant primly, reapplying sunscreen to her arms in the shade of an enormous beach umbrella. "UV rays are extremely damaging to one's skin."
"Shouldn't matter to you, belle," Gambit drawled lazily from one side of Rogue. "You get de wrinkle, bam, your healin' power fix it up."
"Ah don' think it works that way, Remy," said Rogue, her voice becoming more amused as she continued. "Logan's got the same power, and look at him."
"Hey!"
"Oh, I don't know, Rogue," commented Jean. "Given Logan's probable age, his mutant healing factor is likely keeping up as best it can, all things considered."
"That's it!" growled Logan, scrambling to his feet. "This old man is goin' for a swim. Anyone else comin'?" Melusine watched from her shade as Wolverine stalked to the sea, followed by Jubilee, Gambit, and Scott. A perplexed frown crossed her face. Something very odd had happened to her when she'd taken him Within in the Professor's study, something she'd spent several sleepless hours trying to puzzle out. Somehow, in those few minutes, she'd felt more alive than she could remember feeling in a long time. She could hear more, see more, smell more. She'd tried to chalk it up to interference, his healing abilities unconsciously conflicting with her own. Yet she wasn't entirely sure that was the complete explanation. Because the word that kept coming to her mind wasn't conflict. It was attraction.
***
Riccardo eyed the group of well-dressed foreigners coming down the path to his restaurant with satisfaction. Three men, one in white shirt and dark pants, wearing sunglasses, another, tall as the first, in a wine-red shirt and dark pants, and the last, shorter than his companions, also suitably dressed in a light shirt and dark pants. And the women! Ay carumba! Two tall redheads, one bright auburn, the other darker, with a distinctive white-blonde streak around the face, both wearing colorful sarongs and tank tops. For some reason, the younger one was also wearing a white shirt, tied at the waist, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal chocolate brown gloves. Riccardo shrugged. There was no accounting for taste. Behind them came two shorter women, showing off a little more skin than their companions, in short sundresses. The dark-haired one, Oriental in appearance, was dressed in yellow, and her friend, a blonde, was clad in purple. She was laughing as the group came up the steps, and Riccardo nearly yelped in surprise as he recognized her. He waited for them to be seated before heading to their table to pay his respects.
"And the seafood is just to die for," the blonde was assuring her friends. "Isn't it, Riccardo?" she asked, somehow knowing he was there without even turning her head. He swore to himself. How did she do it? And then he caught her laughing eyes in the mirror over the bar, which showed him clearly behind her. "Isabella," he chided. "You've stayed away too long, amiga." She stood and exchanged air kisses with him. "Thank you, Riccardo. May I introduce my friends?" She rattled off a series of names, which he filed away for later use, already furiously calculating how he might persuade her to accede to his request. "Isabella," he pulled her a little away from the table, "you must dance tonight. Roberto is here-it would mean so much to him. And to me. Please, say you will do it."
Gambit watched the conversation between Melusine and Riccardo with veiled interest. He'd been caught napping by her once. 'Dere's not gonna be a second time, cher, he vowed, wondering briefly if he'd bitten off more than he could chew as Rogue smiled her lopsided grin at him and his stomach began turning a series of lazy cartwheels.
***
Jubilee looked around the restaurant with increasing anxiety. Melusine had excused herself from their table almost fifteen minutes ago, and still hadn't returned. "Jean!" she hissed, giving an accusing glance at Melusine's empty chair. Scott's fiancée closed her eyes for a moment before replying. "She's alright, Jubilee." Jubilee gave her best imitation of Logan's glower, earning a smile from Jean in response. Just then, the restaurant lights went dim, and a spotlight illuminated Riccardo, in the middle of the dance floor.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Riccardo's! We have a wonderful surprise for you. Those of you who are regulars will remember this evening's dancers from last year; and I guarantee, all of you here tonight will remember this evening for the rest of your lives! I am proud to present the greatest dancer on Isla del Sol, Roberto, and, making a triumphant return, La Splendida, Isabella!" He began clapping frantically as his spotlight was extinguished and a tall, dark-haired, and extremely elegant young man was revealed at the far end of the floor.
Roberto raised his hands and the crowd fell silent. He clapped an insinuating rhythm: once, twice, three times. On the third time, a woman stepped forward from the crowd, drawn by the rhythm. Jubilee gasped. It was Melusine! Dressed in a fantastic, blood-red, flamenco-style dress, with her hair pulled back in a huge bun, garlanded with roses the exact shade of her dress. She danced around Roberto, gesturing and posing. He stomped his feet imperiously; she imitated him exactly. Finally he condescended to dance with her, stopping and starting his movements in a way that demonstrated his control of the situation. The dance ended with Melusine sinking to the ground at his feet. He offered her an arm up, and she ran off.
Melusine peeked out at Rob from behind the curtain. He was really in his element now, heels flying, arms posed just so. What had he told her, the first time they'd rehearsed this routine? "Our job, Isabella, is to make the entire audience want either to be us or to do us." She took a deep breath as Rob brought both his heels down and flung his arms in the air. That was her cue.
Rogue snuck a look at Gambit under her lashes as the male dancer strutted off the floor. Oh, he thought he was pretty hot stuff, that guy did. And come to think of it, so did the guy sitting next to her. He looked over and caught her staring. She blushed, jerking her eyes back to the floor show, where Melusine was beginning her own solo. She moved delicately, hesitantly, at first, as though she were afraid. I know that feelin', Rogue thought. Afraid of the music, afraid of the movement. Afraid o' the unknown, like as not, she recognized, her gaze drawn again to Remy. In the spotlight, Melusine's movements became more assured. Giving herself to the music, she danced with more bravado, and more abandon, until both she and the music finished with a triumphant flourish. Into the silence that followed, arms still upraised, she clapped the same rhythm that had drawn her from the crowd originally. This time, drawn like a moth to a flame, Roberto emerged from a group of men at the bar. Rogue looked at Remy for a third time, a speculative gleam in her eye.
Melusine's eyes sparkled as she and Rob continued their dancing drama. Teasing and flirting, she seemed to draw him to the brink, then give him just enough encouragement to continue. Her skirt tangled and untangled in her legs so frequently she lost count altogether. Just like always, she realized, still buzzed by the return of her memories. The music began to build towards the climax of the dance; the pace of the steps intensified. Melusine lost herself in the purity of movement-step, step, clap, turn, pivot-until, at last, the dance was over, Rob sinking at her feet, both her hands thrown over her head, palms out, her head proudly raised. They held the pose until the crew cut the lights, the applause of the crowd the same rush that she remembered. The lights came back up and she and Rob gave their bows. As she rose from her curtsey, she caught Logan's frown. Okay, that's it, she thought. I'm taking care of this tonight.
Riccardo stepped back into the spotlight. "Ladies and gentlemen, Roberto and Isabella!" The applause continued. "Now if you will kindly give our dancers time to change, we'll honour a long-standing tradition at Riccardo's-dance lessons from these wonderful artists!"
***
Wolverine took another sip of the whiskey he'd been nursing throughout the night. So far, he'd managed to avoid all this dancing nonsense, though it'd been a close shave with Jubilee. He didn't know whether to slap or thank the kid who'd finally come along to ask her to dance, after she'd sat beside him for five minutes, blushing hotter than a neutron star. No, I'm not gonna dance, he thought sourly. I'm havin' too much fun torturing myself watching Jean dance with Cyke. He allowed himself another long stare at Jean's happy face as she swayed to the music in Scott's arms. Some things couldn't be helped by a mutant healing factor. He gave the merest breath of a sigh as Melusine approached the table.
"Have you been sitting here all evening?" she asked. "Come, you had much better dance." He glared at her, but she didn't take the hint. "No one should leave Riccardo's without at least one dance," she urged. He picked up his drink in dismissal. She leaned in closer to him. "Tu n'as pas de peur?" she whispered in his ear. The drink slammed down on the table and Logan stood.
"The last dance of the evening, ladies and gentlemen. The most dangerous dance known to man-the Tango!"
Melusine stepped into Logan's arms and knew within moments she was in serious trouble. Whatever it was she'd felt during their telepathic encounter three days ago, it wasn't being dispelled by the dance as it should have been. No one had kept up with her tango, except Roberto, for years. But Logan, once past his initial awkwardness, just kept gaining in confidence. With a twitch of his wrist, he sent her spinning outward, then just as casually reeled her back in. She impacted on a solidly muscled chest. And his legs were well-muscled too, she discovered when she hooked a bare leg around his calf and sensuously slid it upward. Their gazes clashed as Melusine snapped her head around in a classic move; a thrill shot through her as she realized he was not as unaffected as he seemed. Well, then, she decided, throwing her fate to her feet, let us see who wins, M'sieu.
***
Rogue twisted in Gambit's arms. "Look!" she said. In the middle of the dance floor, Wolverine took three steps back, dragging Melusine along. One step forward returned her to her feet. A stamp, and the purple strappy sandals flashed in and out of Logan's legs, stiletto heels narrowly missing his feet. "Are they dancin' or fightin'?" she wondered.
"Don' know, cher," he replied, then chuckled as a third possibility suggested itself. Better take care, mon ami. You t'ink she be dangerous now, jus' wait till you get her alone.
***
The music crashed its final exultant chord, and Logan and Melusine froze in position. She was cradled close against his chest, her crisp, clean scent overlaid with sweat and the musky tint of desire. She looked up at him, moistening her lips, and he could feel her breasts heaving with her short, rapid breaths. He stood, mesmerized, reveling in the overwhelming sensations of the moment.
"Excuse me," someone tapped his shoulder. He turned, snarling, but it was just a kid. "For you," the kid said, passing a flower to Melusine. She accepted it with an amused smile for his reaction, then took a good look at the flower. Her flushed cheeks paled in an instant.
"Oh," she said, as if that said it all.
END OF PART FIVE
Kincaid: Next installment: The secret language of flowers revealed!
Ju: (coming out of her Speedo-daze) Yum. I mean, what the hell are *you* doing here? (Jubilee's palms begin to glow.)
K: Well, it's been a slice, but time to go! Please review! Kincaid takes off stage left, the "paff" of Jubilee's fireworks just missing his head.
Z: What he said. I'm not above bribing you with cookies, either. Or a Terry's Chocolate Orange.