Disclaimer:  If you recognise it, then I probably don't own it. 

Kurt wandered upstairs, scowling at his bandaged shoulder (and at Hanks admonition to not teleport while injured).  Jean and Remy were going the opposite way; Jean actually had a smile on her face, as opposed to her usual sour half-frown.  Kurt didn't even want to know what had transpired between them to cause that to happen. 

"What's wit' de arm, Kurt?"

"Long story."

Jean gave him a sharp look, but Remy just said.  "Tell us later, oui?"

Kurt nodded, and continued upstairs; or at least tried to.

Appearing out of midair, her hands suddenly tight around his throat, was the girl from his room.  He struggled, although it was difficult with one arm practically tied to his side by Hank's enthusiastic application of bandages.  Then she disappeared into shards; beside him, the reason for that stood in a battle stance, another glowing card held ready.  In a second the glow disappeared; the card returned to one of the many pockets of his coat, Remy surveyed the scene, confused.

"Merde."  he concluded.

"She does that." croaked out Kurt, rubbing his throat with his one free hand.

"Y' met dis one before?"

"Ja, not even an hour ago.  Where do you think I got this?" Kurt asked, indicating his wounded shoulder.

Jean, standing a little behind Remy, looked confused.  "I couldn't read a thing off her."

"So she shields?"

"No.  If she was shielding I'd at least be able to detect her, sense the shielding."  Jean put one hand to her temple.  "It was as if she wasn't there at all."

~Could you all please come to the briefing room?~

"Guess the professor found out about my little problem." said Kurt.  "Suppose we should go."

"Y' good?" asked Remy.

"I'm fine."  Kurt grinned.

Xavier winced as his headache came back with a vengeance.  He'd taken to Cerebro, looking for Erik, really, but he'd found something quite different – and painful.  Four of his prescription painkillers went down easily with the glass of water kept on his desk; aided by a good swallow of whiskey, from the secret drawer just under his desk.

~ "You take too many of those, you know." ~

~ "I know."  Calm blue eyes boring into him, until he sighs and looks away.  "Don't give me that look, Ororo."~

~ "Is it because of Jean?  And you always said I was the one who gave you all the headaches." ~

~ He smiles, thinking of his new student.  "Jean is very well behaved, unlike some I might mention.  It is only that training a telepath is… very intensive."~

~A sceptical laugh, a toss of the white locks.  "Fine, have it your way.  But no more of these…" indicating the pills.  "And…" reaching underneath the desk to retrieve the flask " much less of _this_."~

~ Another sigh.  "Fine."~

~ "Promise?"~

"Promise." he said aloud, slipping the whiskey back into it's hiding place.

"Promise what?"

He looked up, to see Jean standing in the doorway, hands on hips.  Behind her, Remy helped an injured Kurt into the room.  He frowned.  "What happened, Kurt?"  God, please let it not be anything serious.  He didn't think he could take much more stress.

"Kurt got attacked by some mystery femme." supplied Remy.  "Comes at 'im out of nowhere, den disappears"

Xavier gulped.  He needed a drink.  No, he needed many drinks.  He could feel Jean staring at him.  Was she in his head?  Hard to know – he'd almost taught her too well.

"Isn't that why you called us here?" asked Kurt, frowning.  Bobby and Jubilee filtered in, followed closely by Scott and Kitty, the latter two with identical blushes on their cheeks. 

"No, that was not it," began Xavier, only to be quickly interrupted by Bobby.  "What was?"

"I got attacked by some phantom mutant." said Kurt.

Jubilee popped her gum.  "Phantom mutant?  That's a new one."

"Are you okay?" asked Kitty, at the same time as Scott said "Is that what happened to your shoulder?"

"What did she want, ya think?" added Bobby.

"Other than my shoulder, I'm okay." said Kurt, revelling in the attention.  "As to what she wanted, I think 'to kill me' mostly seems to cover it."

"Harsh." voiced Jubilee.

Xavier cleared his throat.  "Ahem.  Excuse me.  Could we just…"

The babble continued.

Just as Xavier was about to give up and retire to the nearest corner with his whiskey and a nice book, Jean caught his eye, albeit still giving him that cold look she'd been bestowing upon him since she found out about Ororo, and called order to the meeting quite effectively.

The babble subsided.

"The reason I called this meeting." announced Xavier, "is that I have detected one or possibly two mutant signatures in the Canadian wilderness."  He frowned.  "Where is Wolverine, by the way?"

Kurt shrugged.

"You don't know?"

"Nein, professor.  He just said he was going away for a bit."

"One or possibly two?" asked Jean.  "Cerebro isn't usually that inaccurate.  Either you detected one, or you detected two.  Which is it?"

"Either I detected one mind with a strongly dual personality, Jean, or two minds working in synchrony.  Which it is will be up to you to find out."  He frowned.  "I would suggest that the team be Jean, Gambit, Beast and Iceman.  The rest of you can help keep an eye on Kurt and track down this 'phantom'"

More discussion occurred but Xavier hardly heard the questions – let alone was able to formulate sensible replies.  Finally the X-Men filtered out; but he called Jean back.  The door slammed shut with telekinesis; she stood hands on hips.  ~What?~

"Jean." he said, out loud.  "I know that you're angry with me."

"Angry with you?"  One delicate brow arched.  "I've gone far past 'angry with you', Xavier."

He reached out to her with his mind, but she'd slammed her most formidable shields up, forcing up to fall back on meagre, faltering, words.

"Try to understand, Jean.  I don't deny I made a mistake.  But no-one is perfect…"

The look she gave him reminded him somewhat of a cat examining a wounded bird – as if she was wondering whether or not she should put him out of his misery now, or play with him awhile longer.

"Did it ever occur to you," she asked. "That maybe you're not trying hard enough?"

He would have laughed if any had said that except Jean, who seemed to regard the shortcomings of others as a direct result of them not putting in enough effort.  Obviously the 'we're all human, we all make mistakes' tack was not going to work with her.  He tried a different route.

"May I put to you a hypothetical situation?"

The corners of her mouth twisted with amusement.  "Go ahead."

"What if Remy were to change sides.  What if he threatened your team-mates, acted in such a way that it was made clear to you that he was not joking or bluffing.  What if you feared that, if you did nothing, that he would end up hurting one of the X-Men.  That you would end up having to kill him.  What would you do then, Jean?"

Her face was solemn.  "Remy is evil.  I am entirely sure this is the case, that it is not a trick or bluff.  He represents a danger to the team." She tilted her head slightly as she ticked the points off, one by one, on her slender fingers.  "Is this the situation you present to me?"

"Yes."

"Then my answer is simple.  I would kill him."

One look at her face was all he needed to know that she was not joking, nor bluffing, although her shields remained impeccable.  And in a sudden rush of understanding he knew that standing before him was yet another of his sins.  He'd taken the quiet redheaded girl, afraid of her own strength, almost hidden half the time behind a curtain of hair and he'd taught her not to be afraid and he'd taught her how to use her talents, how to fight with them.  He'd turned that child into a soldier of his cause, brave and beautiful and he knew he'd do it all over again in a second.  Because she was necessary.

But somewhere along the way, he'd also destroyed her.

A tear slid down his cheek, disregarding his attempts to keep his composure, and she noticed it and flew into a fury, no less deadly for the fact that she retained her outwards poise.

"Don't you dare." she hissed, eyes narrowing.  "Don't you dare weep for her, Xavier!  She's dead, and good riddance!  She was as weak as you are now – she'd never be able to fight, let alone kill.  And one of these days, you're going to need that.  You're going to need me.  So quit your snivelling – I've got to go.  Got a job to do, you know."

With that last sally she exited the room, the door opening and closing for her of it's own accord, as if it was scared of attracting her wrath.  She stormed down the hall, to where the other team members were no doubt already prepared.  This proved to be true, so she used her telekinesis to put her uniform on, not smiling when Gambit thwapped Iceman around the ear for staring at her impromptu peep show, and took her place in the back of the Blackbird.  Soon they were on their way, Beast and Iceman taking the pilot and co-pilot seats, and Gambit smiling sadly at her in the back.

"Y' okay, chere?"

She nodded, as the plane banked sharply to the left, heading north. 

Through out all of it, she didn't cry.

Standing on a bridge over the river Thames, a short, powerfully built man puffed thoughtfully on a cigar, watching the water move.  From somewhere distant behind him and a little to his left a chorus of sirens was audible.  He grinned, sourly, and flicked ash into the river below.

Examining his watch, he shook his head and sighed.  "Taken yer long enough.  He's been dead near two hours already." 

He'd spent that time enjoying himself at the local bars, as James Logan, a Canadian 'businessman' who refused to be drawn on the nature of his business.  "Come on, darlin'" he'd said, buying another round of drinks for the local girls and tipping the barmaid heavily.  "No talking work while I'm on holiday, alright?"

When the bar eventually closed he'd wandered off into the night, lighting a cigar, and letting the sights, sounds, and scents of London by night waft across him.  His flight wasn't until eight the next – or rather, checking his watch again, this morning; he had a couple hours before he had to pack.

It was almost meditative, leaning there against the cool stone of the railing, until a scent reached him that made him bolt upright, a curse crossing his lips.  Sabretooth.

He let the girl he was holding go when he saw Logan; she flashed a quick, dark-eyed glance at him and then ran, her high heels clicking on the pavement. 

"Hey, Runt." Victor greeted him cheerfully, a smirk across his face.

"What ta hell are ya doing here, Victor?"

"You're in a pissy mood, Logan.  What's the matter, not getting enough?  That red-head bitch not putting out?"

Wolverine lunged for him.  The moment of red-hot satisfaction at feeling his claws sink into Sabretooth's flesh diminished as he was flung away.  The pain in his side, accompanied by the strange but now well-known prickling sensation that was his flesh knitting itself back together, helped to focus his mind.  He was on a job.  He couldn't afford to draw attention to himself, particularly the sort of attention that would be caused by an all-out war between himself and Victor.

"Or are ya still mad about that friend of yers I gutted?"

~ "She said yes!"~

~ "Hey, congrats, Mikey!" "Sit down, have a drink, celebrate your impending doom"  Laughter fills the room~

~ There is the usual round of congratulations, jokes, dirty jokes and obligatory shots of whiskey, although the crowd that fills the small bar wall to wall is not, strictly speaking, a usual one.  It will be a while yet before the word 'mutant' filters its way into the vocabulary – nor do they talk, among themselves, of 'gifted' or of 'powers'  This is merely one of the places where they gather, among them  members of travelling freak-shows, faith healers, medicine-men, hedge-wizards, the occasional well camouflaged bank clerk or something of the like, and a fair number of gentlemen of uncertain but probably illegal occupation, one of whom is currently occupying a large area of bar, empty glasses scattered before him like autumn leaves. ~

~His name, in this company, is 'Patch', and Mikey is about to do the unthinkable.~

~ "Hey, Patch!  Ain'tcha gonna congratulate me?"  And he flings his arms, long and skinny like the rest of him, around the stocky figure on the barstool~

~The rest of the bar takes a collective breath; the figure turns, half hidden in shadow.  Little is known about Patch, but most of the regulars could tell you a few pertinent facts.  He's a man who gets things done, for the right price, which is a relatively high price.  He's also a man who starts fights, often for little reasons, sometimes for no reason at all. 

In a brawl, he's always the last one standing.  ~

But now he just lifts one eyebrow to the ceiling.  "Congratulations, Mikey."

"Ta." says Mikey, wandering away into the crowd.

"Oh, and Mikey?"

"Yeah?"

"Ya wanna live ta see your wedding, then don't ever touch me again."

"Sure thing, Patch."

~

None could know the struggle that ran through him to keep from attacking Creed again.  The background of sirens grew closer.  The girl had probably called someone.

"You just gonna sit there, Runt?  Do something already."

He just flipped Creed the bird and grinned.  "You'll keep, Creed.  You'll keep."

Sirens grew more distant as he moved through the city with the ease of long familiarity.  Buildings came and went, but the roads of London stayed more or less the same.  And this was a shortcut; although it took him down a street he'd rather not think of.  It was a block of flats now, squat brick creations, but just here there used to be narrow steps, leadings down to a small room filled with smoke; across the way, a skinny winding road would eventually take you across the local park and up to the side entrance of a little cemetery, where a girl made widow before she was made wife had wept, and he had stood off to the side, not part of them, not ever.

~ "You'll not tell him, Logan.  Not while I live."~

~ "Annie… fer God's sake!"~

~ "He's lived long enough without a father, he doesn't need one now, poking around in our business."~

~ "Ya should've told me of him."~

~ "And then you would have stayed?  I know you better than that, Logan.  I always knew you were leaving when the winter came.  I just wanted to keep a piece of you."~

~ "Hmmph.  He's a piece of me, then how come he's so tall?"~

~ She laughs then, and he is suddenly reminded of how she was all those years before.  "You still smell like strawberries, Annie-girl"~

~ She pouts.  "Don't talk nonsense."~

~ "It's not nonsense.  The scent of strawberries always reminds me of us, you know.  Of Prague."~

~ "A thousand years ago."  Her laugh is bitter.  "How I've changed!  And you've not at all.  You'll remember it, always?"~

~ "Of course, darlin'"~

~ "You never loved me."  It isn't a question, and her quiet certainty robs him of the ability of lie.~

~ "No, darlin'  But I'll remember ya."~

A/N:  I'm pretty sure 'Patch' was one of Wolverines long ago alibi's.  He's got a few, rattling round.  I will write more of Storm, some Rogue/Magneto stuff, and get some actual plot going at some point g  As always, will sit up, roll over, and beg, for reviews…