Lance sprawled across about half a bench at the McDonalds', arms folded, occasionally scowling at the empty ketchup-streaked burger paper in front of him. Blob was the only one still eating, as usual. The guy spent a fortune just for a lunch out. Nine ripped and masticated Big Mac containers were scattered in front of dear munching Fred. Slobbering was more like it. Toad picked at a small scrap of lettuce, looking like he'd rather be somewhere else. Pietro let out an exaggerated yawn and glared at Blob, whose elbow had just knocked a couple of empty styrofoam cups into his lap. Not quite empty. Pietro muttered something not particularly nice under his breath as he swiped styrofoam and flicks of Coke off his pants. But even Pietro didn't seem to have the energy to snap at Fred, as though Fred would care anyway.

Silence for another stretch. Pietro started to fidget. But it wasn't much of a fidget. Lance was starting to feel really comfortable . . . sinking into the fake-leather of the seat. It was warm and although it was dead boring waiting for Fred to finish, it wasn't altogether unpleasant just to sit there. His thoughts went into kind of a haze and he started to doze. And then, something caught the corner of his eyes. Scott Summers had entered the restaurant.

Lance slowly sat upright, nudging Toad beside him. Toad shifted, startled, then followed Lance's gaze. Oh well, whatever. Toad had positively no interest in picking a fight with Scott, thank you very much. Pietro snickered a little in derision, obviously remembering a couple of fun encounters, but he wasn't particularly in the mood either. Fred, slow on the uptake, as usual, finally realized what was going on. Now, he was in the mood. You could tell the way by the dark, if dull, expression on his face and the fact that his fist was grinding the last burger into the table.

Lance shook his head, lowering his voice, "Not now, Blob. Let's see what's up." And . . . as he might have expected, the rest of the X-men filed in, slowly, but most certainly. "See? They don't travel alone much. Besides, this ain't exactly an abandoned construction site." He wanted to watch what the X-men were doing, sure . . . (probably just eating), but, well, he was feeling pretty comfortable just where he was.

"So?" Fred didn't quite manage to keep his voice down. Pietro flinched in annoyance.

A quick glance in their direction from Jean. She saw them and her eyes narrowed. Lance smirked back at her and folded his arms casually behind his head. "Now you've done it," he muttered between his teeth. Fred's face clenched further.

"Aw man, Fred, you're not serious. This is the Mickey D's. They gotta eat too. Even if not half as much as you. Just don't do nothing." Toad leaned his face on one hand, exasperated. Toad didn't really like Blob . . . he was so big and out of control. Being built smaller and slimmer than the average kid, he was more intensely aware of every move and threat Blob made than the others and thus, felt more edgy. He did not want Blob to stand up and start throwing things around. The very idea tightened his muscles and made him want to be somewhere else even more powerfully than before. He idly wished for Kurt's teleportation powers. Lucky kid hadn't even shown up.

The X-Men were ordering now, every once in a while throwing looks back at the Brotherhood. Evan and Pietro made eye contact in their traditional manner, but for once, Pietro found something else to watch relatively quickly. "He's not worth it," he said to himself, trembling a little with pent up emotion . . . mainly resentment and old old anger, but he could handle it.

Lance smiled a little. Blob was slowly quieting down and no one else seemed inclined to start something. Which was perfect, because he certainly didn't want to start anything. I mean, you gotta keep up the appearance, but there are days to rumble and there are days to relax and this is one of the latter.

Despite all this terrific sullen nonchalance they were pulling off, Scott had already finished ordering and was striding right toward them. Lance swore lazily and Pietro started to pull apart one of them paper straw-cover things. Well, at least Scott was alone and for the moment that was a good thing.

Lance didn't move or change expression until Scott was right there at the table. Then he yawned and gave Mr. X-Man as calculatedly bored a glance he could manage.

Scott didn't seem to notice. "Lance, I'm sure Kurt is one of yours?"

"Eh?" Lance squinted, scratching his stomach. "Really?"

"Look, you ought to know that he was picked up today. Ambulance."

That was news, but Lance couldn't show it, and was annoyed at Blob and Toad for staring at Scott so hard he could practically grab hold of their gazes and yank them. "Oh. Why?"

"I don't know. I couldn't get close. But there were stretches and sirens . . . and talk. Someone saw him teleport and you know that's not a good sign in and of itself. This might be very serious."

A proper response might have been "Yeah? Why do you care?" but Lance knew very well that Scott cared about whether some transfer kid was kicking some anthill, let alone . . . You could accuse the guy of being indifferent and it'd gall him all right, but there was, again, a time and a place for everything. "Might be. We'll have to drive up and check it out, I guess."

"If you need it, we'd help on this kind of thing. Come on, if he's sick or . . . "

"We'll handle it," Pietro snapped, flinging a scrap of paper at the table.

"Thanks, though," Toad added.

Scott nodded and walked back to his people. Lance sighed and crashed his usually casual elbows into the table.

"Great."

"Rescue mission time?" Pietro sounded non-commital.

"Nah. We'll give it a week, unless something turns up. You know, haunt the hospital, figure what's up, but no move or nothing until we got info. He could really be sick. There's always that."

"He would . . ." Toad prompted, "be safer at the Institute."

"Safety ain't an issue unless we know it's bad, right? We hang too much with the X-Geeks and we'll become X-Geeks, right? And Kurt ain't that fully one of us yet as it is. We watch."

"You watch." Pietro stood up, angling his body away from Blob with obvious distaste. "I've got . . . somewhere to go for a couple weeks. I'll pick up on the news when I get back."

"What are you talking about, Pietro?" Lance growled, standing up himself.

"Listen, I thought I cleared this right off. You guys do your thing, but I've got my own 'special' assignments, remember? It shouldn't be hard, watching Kurt and making sure there aren't evil mutant haters trying to turn him into super-powered dog food anyway."

"Maybe not, but the whole thing . . . "

"Yeah, it's fishy and sudden and that junk, but sometimes life is just because it wants to be." Pietro yawned. "Kurt's never been in the best of health anyway. Can't take the cold, you know? Maybe he got a whiff of a bug and you put that with a touch of hypothermia . . ."

"Maybe," Lance muttered.

"They might let him out tonight . . . " Toad mused uncomfortably.

"Of course they will! What could have happened? Fatal heart attack? He's, what, sixteen? There's nothing to worry about."

"Maybe."

"Oh, maybe, maybe." Pietro looked disgusted. "You guys mutant-sit and I'll see you around."

Blob was picking up the tray in an oddly fastidious manner by the time the door swung shut with Pietro outside. Lance grumbled to himself. So much for relaxing.