The hanging infrastructure below Cloud City, Bespin…

With his slick black trenchcoat billowing in the high altitude winds, Sabertooth slowly advanced across the catwalk.  Holding his lightsaber loosely at his side, he stared seriously at the wounded fighter in front of him.  "Mystique never told you about your father, did she Kurt."

Kurt panted hard, and desperately wrapped his tail tighter around the communications array.  He had already lost his only weapon, and his right hand in the process.  Now he could only hope to flee from the black-armored Jedi that menaced him.  "She told me enough!"  Kurt managed to spit out.  "She told me you killed him!"

Sabertooth paused.  "No, Kurt," he said condescendingly.  "I am your father."

Kurt lost his grip in surprise and tumbled to the base of the array.  With a horrified look on his face, he slowly backed away.  "No…  It's not true!"  Kurt violently shook his head in denial.  "It's not true!"

Sabertooth raised his right arm and displayed an exposed patch of skin.  "Look at my fur, Kurt.  Search your feelings for me and you will know it to be true!"  Slowly, he extended his arm and began approaching again.  "Join me, Kurt.  Join me now, and together we shall rule this Galaxy as father and son!"

Lying on the catwalk, Kurt stared at the hand in outright horror.  Swallowing hard, he looked his father in the face.

"No Kurt…"  Interrupted a booming voice.  "I am your father…"

Sabertooth whirled around, while Kurt crawled to the side to get a better view.  Standing defiantly at the other end of the catwalk, was none other than Victor Von Doom.  The despot was completely encased in polished chrome armor, and had a jet black cloak billowing in the wind behind him.

Kurt's mouth fell open.  "Va?"

"What do ya mean 'your son?!'"  Sabertooth spat out.  "Kurt is my boy!"

Doom's expression was lost behind his steel mask, but his voice carried all the emotion that was needed.  "Spare me your pathetic claims, you overgrown mongrel."

Sabertooth snarled at the insult.  "Mongrel?!"

"You could no more be the boy's father than you could spell your own name," continued Doom as if Sabertooth hadn't spoken.  "You lack all but the most rudimentary requirements necessary for the position."

"Hey!"

Doom began walking meticulously forward.  "Your combat experience is limited to fighting a handful of pathetic mutants, and your strategy consists of nothing more than grunting and charging.  You could not hope to wield a sword, and you wouldn't know a TIE Fighter if one fell on you.  Even the most disciplined underlings could only stand your putrid countenance for so long before breaking ranks and fleeing your overpowering stench."  Standing face to masked face with Sabertooth, Doom paused.  "You are only half clad.  You are not fit to play this part.  You lack armor.  And more importantly," Dooms voice deepened, proving once again that nothing was impossible for Doom.  "You lack honor."

"Oh, yeah?"  Mocked Sabertooth, tapping his claw against his brow.  "Well I also lack a little, incey-binsey scar on my face.  And the stupidity to slap a mask of molten iron on my head."

As the two Jedis faced off, Kurt slowly pulled himself back to his feet.

"Kurt is my son," continued Sabertooth, completely unintimidated.  "I slept with Mystique."

"The highpoint of your pathetic existence, I'm sure," droned Doom.  "You think that giving her one son means you gave her both.  Your logic is as foul as your stench.  The whelp Grayden Creed is a powerless grunt.  A no-count, capably only of leading the unfocussed rabble who call themselves the Friends of Humanity."  Doom sidestepped his feral adversary, gesturing his hand towards Kurt.  "My son's powers are manifold.  Speed.  Agility.  A prehensile tail.  Transdimential travel.  The ability to blend in with the shadows.  He is a marvel among marvels."  Doom trailed off, returning his gaze to Sabertooth.  "Only my genes could sire such a child…"

Sabertooth snarled.  "Bah.  You're not even German."

"Nor are you," came Doom's cold reply.  "You are Canadian.  I am of Latvia.  A Baltic people of proud history and noble Teutonic heritage."  Doom paused, and his voice dripped with disdain.  "It is French blood that runs through your veins…"

Sabertooth's crimson lightsaber flared to life.  "He's my kid, tin man, and if you've got a problem with that—"

Doom silently raised his right hand, bearing a lightsaber with a deep green blade.

With the hum of lightsabers drowning out the wind, both combatants moved grimly forward.

Kurt stared in dumbfounded confusion.

"Kurt!"  The sound of his name pulled Kurt's attention away from the fight.  Blinking in surprise, he turned around and found the Millennium Falcon hovering only meters away from the communications array.  The Falcon rotated slightly, and Kurt caught sight of Princess Rogue standing in the open entry hatch.  "Jump, Kurt!"  Called out his sister, gesturing furiously.

Taking one last look at his dueling fathers, Kurt shrugged helplessly, and leapt into the breach.

Rouge caught her brother and quickly hauled him up the ramp and onto the main hold.  "Ah've got him," the princess called out, still supporting Kurt.  "Close the hatch, Rahne!"

The feral wolf-girl growled in acknowledgment, and turned her attention to a nearby control panel.  The hatch doors quickly began closing.

Still stunned, Kurt let Rogue shuffle him up to the bridge.  "But Rogue, how did you—"

"No time for questions, Kurt," Rogue interrupted.  "Scott!"  She called ahead.  "We've got him!"

Kurt blinked.  "Scott?"  Still reeling, he darted past Rogue and into the bridge.  As he supported himself against a bulkhead, he gaped in astonishment.  "But Scott…  You vere in Carbonite!"

From the pilot's chair, a scruffy looking Scott Solo looked back and grinned.  "Yeah…  Well, the Carbonite didn't agree with my glasses.  They cracked, my optic blast cut loose, and I just blasted my way out from there."

With Rogue once again by his side, Kurt shook his head.  "But…  The bounty hunter…"

"Toast," supplied Evan Calrisian, who was seated in the copilots seat.  "A little mis-placed paperwork kept him here just long enough from me to blast him.  Scotty here finished the job."

"You blasted him?"  Corrected Scott with quiet sarcasm.  "You missed.  I was the only one who actually blasted him."

"Just like you were the only one who didn't cheat in that card game," muttered Evan as he flipped on the intercom.  "Rain-nie!"  He ordered.  "Load up rear torpedo tubes five and seven, quant—"

"Hey…"  Interrupted Scott as he slapped Evan's hand away from the controls.  "I'm the captain on this boat, I'll give the orders."  After a slight pause, Scott raised his voice.  "Rahne!  Load rear torpedo tubes five and seven, quantum charges."

Rahne growled an inarticulate affirmative.

Glancing back at the two passengers, Evan rolled his eyes.

Kurt blinked.  "Vat's going on here?"

"Take a seat, kid," Scott advised as he leaned over the controls.  The Millennium Falcon backed up, and dropped in altitude.  As it did, Kurt caught a glimpse of his two fathers still dueling on the catwalk.  After a moment's delay, the Falcon's engines flared to life.  Scott smiled wickedly and leaned forward against the throttle.  The Millennium Falcon powered away from the catwalk, shooting out two torpedoes as it left.  The catwalk exploded with a burst of plasma.  Secondary explosions ensued. 

"Wah—Hoo!"  Scott yelled.  "Lets blow this joint and go home!"

As the Falcon pulled out of the atmosphere, the explosions built to a head, and Cloud City was ripped asunder by a massive fireball.

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Papa Dominique's Pizzeria…

"…Home style diced potatoes?  On a Pizza?"  Scott Summers shook his head in wonder.  "I gotta try that."

"Four Pepper Surprise," read Evan Daniels.  "With Tabasco sauce optional.  Is this place cool or what?"

Rogue smirked.  "Ah told ya.  The diced lemon chicken is good."

"Only with peppers," retorted Evan.  "Ooh!  Diced Cajon chicken!"

Hanging on Scott's arm and in full human form, Rahne Sinclair squealed.  "They give you cheese options for the stuffed crust!  Provolone, Swiss, or Co Jack!"

Scott smirked.  "Hey, there's rice on the veggie pizza.  We could put that with the lemon chicken…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…"  Muttered Evan.  "Am I reading this right?  You can replace the tomato sauce with barbeque sauce?!"

Rogue's eyes widened.  "You wouldn't…"

"They do," confirmed Scott, an amazed smile forming on his face.  "And I will if you will!"

"Barbequed anchovies," suggested Rahne, licking her lips.

"Barbequed meat lovers," countermanded Scott.  "Sausage, bacon, and shrimp."

"Then throw in that lemon chicken," mused Evan.  "And black pepper…"

Rogue's jaw dropped as she saw the day's special  "Jalapenos…"

Rahne growled expectantly.

"Oh yeah…"  Mused Evan.

With a grin spread all across his face, Scott glanced to his side.  "Hey, Kurt, you're pretty quiet over there.  What'ch thinking?"

Blinking away the last remnants of his waking nightmare, Kurt stared at the menu in abject horror.  "Ahh…"  Kurt quickly shook his had and suppressed a shudder.  "How about ve just get a pepperoni?"

The others looked at Kurt for a moment, and then collectively shrugged.

"Nothing wrong with old-school," Evan conceded.

"But make it half-chicken," added Rogue.

Rahne looked pleadingly at Scott.  "And stuffed crust!"

With mock bravado, Scott strode forward and slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter.  "Large Pepperoni!"  He loudly declared, ignoring the look the cashier was giving him.  "Stuffed crust with Co Jack, half lemon chicken, and cover it with black peppers, my friend!"

"Sure thing," the petite cashier raised an eyebrow as she jotted down the order.  She gave Scott one last look before shuffling off to the chef.  "It'll be about fifteen minutes…"

Scott walked back to his friends and received a high five from Evan and Rahne, and an amused look from Rogue.  Only Kurt remained subdued, still staring at the horrific menu, and dreading the convoluted nightmares that lay in store for him…

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