Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to you-know-who. I own this crazy story, and the various throw-away 'mutant of the week' characters I keep inventing.
This episode is brought to you by the letter S. (Don't ask)
She walked through the store slowly, considering each purchase, weighing it against their dwindling supply of money. When this ran out they'd be living off the land again, probably for some time. Part of her thought maybe it was better that way.
Her hair, beneath the hood of the cloak she wore, looked black, although the roots were growing in again, a multitude of colours. No more money for dye; she'd just have to stay away from people once she could no longer hide what she was. Beneath the sunglasses her eyes swirled, blue and grey, projecting an emotional field of calm and boredom around her. Those who looked at her would find their gazes skidding across her. She was a phantom, whose presence was forgotten as soon as she was out of sight.
She paid for their scant purchases, thinking of food. Hopefully he would have had luck hunting, up at the cabin. As she walked to her car, pulling her cloak around her, for it was cold, she though she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eyes. For a moment there was a red glow beneath the glasses, as she picked up on a darker emotion behind her.
Surely she wasn't being followed? No flat-scan had been known to break her shields but if there were other mutants around… She shrugged off the thought, getting into her car, but cold ran up her spine, and she drove more quickly than usual to their temporary home. Once he and she were together, they were stronger.
She had had a name, once, and so had he. Both were forgotten, now, in the beautiful maelstrom that they called 'the Twain', a unity beyond all else, beyond the understanding of any but they.
And in the shadows, something was following.
Kitty wandered downstairs, bored. Prof. Lensheer was gone, and Prof. Xavier was currently having a nervous breakdown in his office. No-one had said that to her out-right, but Kitty's Mom had done something similar when she'd first found out her daughter fell through walls. She recognised the symptoms.
Scott and Kurt were in the kitchen; neither of them would be affected by the lack of lessons today, as Kurt, at the insistence of Wolverine, had never taken any classes – instead doing correspondence courses from some German university or other and learning how to wield a variety of sharp edged weapons in a variety of fairly deadly-looking ways. Scott wasn't quite up to the level of the others his age, so Jean tutored him when she had the time.
But Jean had disappeared off somewhere with Remy, after spending the morning snapping at everyone throughout training. Xavier had popped in half-way through to check on their 'progress', looking like he hadn't slept all night, and she'd bitten his head half off about interrupting before destroying what should have been a high level program practically without help, methodically ripping the imaginary attackers apart with telekinesis before Gambit finally had enough and dragged her off to talk some sense into her.
Kitty snorted. 'Talk some sense into her' was probably code for, as Bobby had so charmingly put it, 'banging her into next week until she forgets what she was mad about'.
Kurt was speed-eating his way through a large pile of anonymous leftovers. He looked up and waved, still chewing. Scott, nibbling on a more modest portion of food, a simple cheese sandwich, just smiled shyly at her. Abruptly Kurt swallowed the last of the food, like one of those birds on the Discovery Channel, and stood up.
"Eww." she said, rolling her eyes. "What's the rush, Kurt?"
He shrugged, taking quick a swig of cola. "Essay. Due soon. Can't talk now."
Kitty sat down next to Scott, as Kurt turned to leave. "Hey," she called after him. "Where's Wolverine at?"
"Somewhere that's not here." came the reply, followed, once he was out of the kitchen (Jean having declared that room, as well as a few others, as a 'brimstone-free-zone'), by the usual *bamf*.
At the same time, a tastefully decorated and very expensive Manhattan apartment was being destroyed by what was technically sex, but from most angles resembled a type of war. Neither bore any serious wounds – the scratches along his back were healing almost instantly, and the bruises, he knew from experience, wouldn't appear on her delicate body for a few good hours after they had finished.
A small table went flying as they grappled for dominance, matching each others thrusts while twisting and turning. Briefly, she was on top, and behind the wisps of blonde hair that stuck to a sweated brow were blue eyes gleaming with triumph. It was all too brief, as he managed to capture her wrists and executed a neat twist, pinning her beneath him with superior strength, letting the beast out, just a bit. It roared in triumph, marking her shoulder with it's teeth, and then he pushed it back, noting faintly the trickle of blood, but mostly feeling the tremors that indicated his victory.
Timing his movements to extend her peak, he felt her shudder beneath him, before finally letting himself join her. It was only in these moments when he would show tenderness, and she would let him, as he moved them both to the bed. There were a few minutes of silence, as they lay, neither touching the other.
He sat up first, examining with careful fingers the wounded shoulder. She spat a curse out, beneath her breath, but he caught the gist of it and smiled.
"I think you will find, Frost, that that is illegal, immoral, and probably impossible. But thanks for the suggestion, anyway."
"Bastard." she replied.
"Not technically. Let's talk business."
She rolled her eyes. "How romantic." From somewhere she produced a piece of paper. On it was a photograph, a name, and a few pieces of pertinent information. He examined it, committing the contents to memory.
"Time-frame?"
"We need this within one week." She regarded him with narrowed eyes, unashamed of her nudity. "That won't be a problem?"
He was already pulling on his jeans, as well as a slightly tattered shirt. "It's never a problem, darlin'. Payment by the usual method?"
"Of course. Make it a clean kill?"
Logan raised an eyebrow. "I always make it a clean kill – at least, when it's business."
She snorted at that. "And when it's for pleasure?"
A gesture indicated the decimated furniture surrounding them. "It generally gets messier."
He was about to leave, when she felt like taking one last shot. "Does Little Boy Blue know what you do on these trips away, hmm?"
She'd forgotten how fast he moved. In a second, one hand wrapped itself around her throat, pinning her to the mattress. Three sets of claws ran along her side, making an odd noise against the diamond form she'd instinctively shifted into.
"Leave the boy outta this, Frost. Or things are gonna get very messy indeed."
The next second, he was gone. She exhaled.
Funny, she hadn't realised she'd been holding her breath.
Kitty leaned up against Scott, eating her own sandwich – sliced tomatoes on white bread, because they were out of the brown. Someone really needed to go shopping. He leaned back towards her, a little, and inevitably, as seemed to be happening lately, their lips met in a soft kiss.
The kiss deepened a little, Kitty growing a bit bolder. Scott paused, as if not sure what to do, but slowly began to mimic some of her movements.
A wolf-whistle from the doorway stopped them abruptly.
"Hot-damn!" cried Jubilee. "You go, sister!" Beside her, Bobby grinned and made a couple of obscene hand movements. Scott blushed bright red, to match his glasses. Kitty just glared at the two interlopers. "What are you two doing here?"
"Getting food." Bobby breezed past her, and began rummaging through the fridge. "It's the most common use of the kitchen, you know."
Half a tomato sandwich (on white bread) hit him in the back of the head. "Come on, Scott."
Regally, Kitty swept out, a blushing Scott trailing behind.
Jubes and Bobby just looked at each other, and burst out laughing.
They retreated to the relative safety and privacy of a far corner of the gardens. Kitty smiled at her boyfriend... although technically, they hadn't, you know, like, mentioned those sort of words.
Scott was just smiling at her in his gentle way. She took his hand in hers, and then took a deep breath.
"Scott… uh… would you… y'know, like, wanna be my boyfriend?" The last came out in a rush of air. There. She'd said it.
He blushed, and then stuttered, and then gave up and just nodded, a bright smile on his face. She leaned over and kissed him again… she was kinda getting fond of doing that. It was just so much fun. They ended up lying side by side on the grass, and the next time they kissed, she slid a wandering hand up his shirt, the other slipping up into his hair. She'd never been this forward with a guy before, but then again, this was Scott, not some high-school jock. And months upon months of listening to the tales of Miss Jubilation 'technically, I'm still a virgin' Lee had definitely put her in the frame of mind for some action of her own.
It was only when she started considering whether or not she was going to be bold enough to let her hands go below the waist, that she realised that Scott wasn't kissing her back, not really. And beneath her (when had she ended up on top?), he was shaking like a leaf. She pulled away from him. "Scott?"
Tears leaked out from behind his glasses, and she wiped them away. "Scott? What's wrong?"
He just moved away from her slightly, sitting up and pulling his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.
"Nothing. I'm fine."
And there was nothing she could do, except wrap her arms around him, feeling him stiffen, momentarily, before relaxing into this gentle, benign, embrace.
"I'll take care of you, Scott, I swear. I'll make it all better." At this whispered promise, his hand found her own, and in peace they sat for quite some time.
Kurt frowned, examining the pages and pages of scrawl that were his unfinished essay. The two texts he was meant to be comparing the themes of were littered with bookmarks. He'd only been back at his desk for half an hour or so, and already his attention was wandering. Maybe there was more food downstairs. He'd swear that there was a tub of chocolate fudge ice-cream somewhere at the very back of the freezer.
Sighing, he turned back to the essay. He better get the verdamnt thing finished. Behind him, there was a slight noise, but he ignored it, concentrating at the work at hand. At least, until some instinct made him leap to the side, rolling away and ensuring that the blade that had been meant for his back only sank into his shoulder.
Hissing at the pain, he turned to face the attacker. Tiny, about the size of Kitty, blonde and with a maddened gleam in her eyes, she held aloft the blade she'd attacked him with, which looked like it was made of glass.
"Such a lovely boy." she said, looking at him. "It's a pity he has to die. But our Logan was a naughty, naughty, boy, and somebody must pay for his sins."
She lunged for him again, but Kurt had managed to lay his hands – or more accurately, his tail, on the sword Logan had given him for his last birthday, hanging on the wall, near the door. He blocked the wild swing, and his opponents blade shattered into pieces. The next blow was not intended to kill, but what should have been a small wound caused her to scream, fall back from him, and then shatter.
Yep, shatter. Cautiously, he moved forward to examine the pieces on the carpet, but they disappeared into thin air. His shoulder reminded him that he really ought to get it looked at; blood was soaking into his fur.
Cursing in fluent German, with one or two other phrases he'd picked up from the many languages Logan spoke, he wandered downstairs (to teleport would only make his shoulder hurt more) to find Hank, clutching an old shirt to his shoulder to try and stop the flow of blood.
"Oh, my stars and garters!" was the response he got, as he stumbled into the medlab.
He rolled his eyes. "Ja, tell me about it." He was never going to get that essay finished at this rate.
She brought the shopping up to the cabin and he met her by the door.
~Are you being followed?~
"Maybe." she allowed. "There was something…"
~I have sensed it also.~ He looked around, suspiciously, but the trees betrayed nothing. ~We should pack up. We have stayed in one place too long already.~
They moved swiftly, packing up their few precious belongings with the ease of long practice. She didn't ask where he thought they should go next; he didn't ask either.
It was becoming more and more dangerous to stay close to people. Not just for their own protection, but for those living near. The Twain had a tendency to affect people, even if that was not their intention.
Just as they were almost packed up, an earthquake rocked the earth beneath them, knocking them both over. An earthquake in this area was unusual, but what made her realise that they were in trouble were the voices, low and dangerous.
"Arclight, you ass. We're trying to capture them, not kill them."
The answering voice was feminine, and sarcastic. "And I suppose you've got a better idea."
~Time to go, I think.~
She nodded her agreement, and they grabbed what items were in reach. Just then, the door was kicked down, several menacing figures standing in the doorway. One came forward, arms outstretched for them. They scrabbled back towards the back wall of the cabin – and then he took off one of his gloves and the Twain touched, skin to skin.
From one of the would-be attackers came a shriek, but neither of them noticed as the cycle built to a peak. Telepathy and empathy, out of control, each feeding on the others love, each helpless to shield or resist. Suddenly there was heat from the outside, and she noticed that there were flames, arising from the floor as a shield between them and the others.
That had never happened before. But she didn't have time to think of it as they broke the connection and, pushing aside the wall-hanging that hid the back door, escaped out into the forest. They just ran, stumbling, trying to get a head start on those left behind, who would no doubt soon recover and come after them.
There was a river, they knew, just a bit beyond, and they stole a dinghy and made their way a little downstream, crossing over to the other side. Hopefully that would slow the pursuers, as they started to make their way through country growing ever wilder, further away from the small towns that dotted the course of the main highway.
As they slowed to a walk, her hand in his, the artificial barrier of leather gloves becoming ever more an annoyance, they had a little time to wonder. Wonder at the flames that had come from nowhere, when neither of them held that power. Wonder that at the base of his dark brown hair, his locks grew in rainbow-coloured as her own. Wonder that her eyes, usually a plain, ordinary blue when she wasn't using her powers, had taken on the features of his own, a deep purple speckled with white that made looking into his eyes like looking into the night sky.
Wonder that the longer they stayed near each other, the more alike they became.
But it seemed normal to her, as she projected to him. Normal, for them to be this way. They were the Twain.
And none would separate them.
A/N: Ack, I don't know why I keep writing more of this, when nobody reads it. If you are reading this, then click that little button down the bottom, that says 'Review'. Write Hi. Write 'you suck'. Write anything – it will help keep me (vaguely) sane.