Well, golly gosh, I just saw the review about the guessed name, sorry I didn't see it first time round, I must've gone temporarily blind. However, McIllvanney's nickname comes from the Stephen King short story; 'The Road Virus Heads North'. It was a good guess, especially considering Piter is named after someone in Dune; Piter De Vried, the Harkonnen Mentat. Good guessing.

Oh, yeah. I don't own anything.

So, here we go. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more

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"Piter? You in there?"

Piter looked up from the package he had taken from the bottom of his closet. "Yeah, come on in, Dean."

The Scottish bat-man came in, and saw what Piter had on his lap. He met Piter's gaze angrily. "Ah thought you said you didnae take any'hing from th' Order."

"I know. I lied." Piter wrapped the package up, and shoved it under his bed. "I took that along with us because I felt I may need it. Now I know I'll need it."

"Whit are you talking about, mon?"

Piter sat down and gazed at Dean levelly. "McIllvanney's back, Dean."

Dean swallowed. "Who told you?"

"Whistler called a couple of days ago. It turns out that the Virus does live up to his name. He does keep coming back. Each time more deadly."

Dean smirked humourlessly. "Piter, when your depressed, you can come out wi' some utter pish sometimes." He rolled his eyes. "'Each time more deadly', what, did you employ a scriptwriter for that line?"

Piter grinned. "Thanks, Dean. You're right there, I suppose."

"Of course Ah am! Ah always am!" Dean sat down on the bed across from Piter. "Ah know whit you did tae McIllvanney. It was awful. Ah know tha'. But you did dae it tae rescue yersel' and me from the Order. Don't y' think that wis a worthwhile exchange?"

Piter looked to the side. "Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't."

Dean sighed. "You are tenacious when it comes tae being a depressing bastart, y'know?" He sat up, moving his wings behind his back. "Look, we came here to have a different chance at life. We told our story to the Professor, and he told us tha' he'd ne'er tell anywan about what we did, and who we were."

Piter looked back at Dean, who was smiling slightly. "I suppose so..."

"Dinna suppose, know." Dean raised an eyebrow. "Yer a 'human super- computer' as you hive put it many a time, ya modest bastart. You've got tae forget about the past, move on. We've got new friends here. Guys who'll help us, no' harm us."

Piter breathed in through his nose, slowly. "I'd like to forget the past, but the-"

"Past willnae forget you." Dean finished. He smiled toothily. "That wis what you were going tae say, wisn't it?"

Piter looked guilty. "Not necessarily..."

"Ah know you to well, Piter."

"Okay, okay... I may be worrying over nothing when I think about what we have done. But this news..." he trailed off "...it's not good. McIllvanney is back. I also think that Bosshog is using this somehow."

Dean looked up sharply. "Really? Did Whistler tell you tha'?"

Piter got up. "No. But I know Bosshog. She's a woman of devilish cunning. She wouldn't permit this to happen if she couldn't get something out of it in return."

"What, then?"

"I don't know." Piter admitted. "However, we do have an ally back in the Order, what, with Whistler and all."

Dean tapped his bony nails on his teeth. "Do you think we can trust him? Ah mean, he did 'hing about wi' that bastart Sneaky. And you know whit he's like."

Piter grinned. "You're one to talk about not thinking about the past. You still don't forgive him for beating you at poker seventeen times in a row."

"He wis cheatin'! Ah just couldnae prove it!"

"He probably was." Piter conceded. "That's exactly why he was called Sneaky in the first place. Even I couldn't see how he did it. He's I guy you can respect for his cunning." Piter then shook his head. "Look, I'm sure he's reliable. He was an okay person, unlike McIllvanney or..." Piter grimaced, "...Rosemary. Besides, it sounded as if he was telling the truth over the phone."

"But remember whit he can dae, Piter."

"He's not that skilled with his power. He may be able to imitate voices and sounds flawlessly, and do that whole eardrum-bursting thing, but he cannot disguise emotion in his voice."

"So, you think we can trust him."

Piter nodded.

"D'you 'hink he'll call again?"

Piter shook his head. "Probably not."

Dean whistled mournfully, and blew his brains out with an imaginary pistol. "And here wis Ah thinking we had gotten away wi' it." He clasped his hands in front of him. "Ah guess Ah shouldnae be so naïve, huh?"

Piter didn't respond.

"Look, whit we need is some sort o' R 'n R, as the yanks around here call it."

"How very politically correct of you, Dean."

"Look, all Ah'm saying is that maybe we shuid take a break, y'know? Like, mebbe go tae some sort o' party, or perhaps get some new stuff." Dean's eyes took on a glazed appearance. "There's this wan CD by the Boss which Ah've been trying tae get for years. It might be on sale down-town."

"And how do you propose that we arrange such an outing? The only time you could go out in public – let's be frank – is during Halloween."

"It's no' like tha' mah friend." Dean said snappily, his grin spreading lazily. "Thanks tae a little bit of ingenuity, Ah've managed tae get th' fabled image inducer off of our favourite digitally-disadvantaged Deutsche."

"What, did he give it to you?"

Dean moved his head from side to side. "No' really... Let's just say Ah felt that Ah could go out in public for a change."

Piter smirked. "Why the hell not? I could use a few posters around this place..."

&&&&&&

McIllvanney lazily pulled the bike into the gas station, and put the kickstand down. He got off, and cracked his neck and fingers. He crouched, inspecting the extra baggage he was carrying along. Satisfied that none of it had fallen off, he turned and walked into the building.

The door released a small jingle as he strode in. There was nobody at the counter. A small note on top of it said: Out for lunch. Be back in five. Don't bother trying to steal anything from the register. It's locked and I can't open it right now.

McIllvanney rolled his eyes and snorted in annoyance. He walked over to the drinks cabinet and stared into the frosty glass, checking his appearance. The doorbell jingled. A depressingly cheerful voice called out: "Can I help you, ma'am?"

McIllvanney stood up, and breathed out through his nose in a very annoyed fashion. His hands clenched and relaxed, then he turned around, and stared at the station owner with an angry expression.

"Oh. Oh! I'm sorry sir, it's just th-"

McIllvanney raised one of his fingers. "Stop right there before you insult me any further, boy." He lowered his hand, and looked around the shop. "As a way of apologising, I think that you shall let me purchase a map of this area."

"Yes, sir." The shop-keeper muttered as he reached for the pile on the counter in front of him. He looked up from the pile, and saw McIllvanney looking at a newspaper stand intently. He picked one up, and walked over to the man with a calculating look.

"Do you know what this interview concerns?" McIllvanney asked, pointing at a side article on one of the local rags. The shop-keeper looked at it, grabbing a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket. "Ah yes, the infamous Senator Kelly. He's just going on again about the whole mutant thing again." The man pulled a long face. "I can't say I fully agree with the man's policies, but what he's saying about mutants may be right." He looked back at McIllvanney, who was staring right back with a raised eyebrow. "Is that so?" McIllvanney replied.

"Well, certainly these people have caused considerable amounts of damage and suffering wherever they seem to go. It may be a good idea to at least let us know who they are..."

McIllvanney raised his hand, and opened his mouth, then closed it with extreme reluctance. He scanned the passage again. "What is this institute of which he constantly refers to?"

"Geeze, man. Haven't you kept with the news recently? There turns out that there is some boarding house for all of these mutant kids on the outskirts of New York. Some type of suburb called Bayville. Apparently, all sorts go there to keep their children safe. Run by this Xavier fellow." The man shrugged. "It's quite unusual, if you ask me."

"If this is old news, why is he going on about it?"

"Well, he practically devotes his entire campaign on mutants. But what's really got his goat is that some new kids were accepted. He's claiming that they'll cause extra unrest in the area."

"Do the media know who these new kids are?"

"Oh, yeah. They've got a listing of them right there." The man pointed out four names. "One's called Eva Morricone. Another's Alex Brookmyre. The last two are Piter Lewis and Dean McIntosh." He looked back at McIllvanney. "Why do you ask?"

McIllvannet shrugged. "No reason, just curious. If I may have that map, now?"

The shop-keeper nodded. "That'll be five bucks."

"Five? That's daylight robbery!" McIllvanney looked at the shop-keeper's face. "Alright, then..." He forked out a five-dollar bill, and lazily dropped it on the counter. He snatched the map from the counter with a grunt of annoyance, and left the shop, muttering in annoyance. He walked over to his bike, sat down on its seat, then stared at the map he bought. His finger traced the index until it reached 'B'. He quickly flicked around a few pages, then came across what he was looking for.

He folded the map up, and started the engine. He paused, then slid his hand towards the right side of the bike. His fingers lightly brushed against a package he had attached to the side of the bike. He clenched his fist around it slightly, then he moved back to the throttle. With a brief twist, he sped off, leaving a trail of dust behind him.

His eyes were glazed as they looked into the sun setting into the distance. He was close. He knew it. He could finally, finally finish this off, once and for all. Nothing was going to stop him now, not when he was so close.

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R&R, please, I know it's not very good, but eh, ce la vie n'all. Thanks to all of those who have reviewed, like.