Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing, you hear?! NOTHING!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I'll bet you weren't expecting me to say that, now were you?

Thanks to my reviewers:

Red Witch: Glad to see you're still humouring me, and while there will be some humorous bits, I am going to have a very nasty bit involving... well, that'll reveal too much.

Light Derived from Darkness: Hope I've still got your interest with this update. If I haven't, tell me so.

Pyros-gal: Yeah, I added this bit to add, I dunno, a bit of reality. Something a bunch of teenagers would argue about for no reason.

By the by, the Jacob-Monod hypothesis is actual genetic terminology.

&&&&&&

Jean looked up from her notes on the Jacob-Monod hypothesis as she heard the door behind her open slowly. She smiled slightly

"Hello, Scott."

There was a slight sigh of amusement. "I know I shouldn't be surprised when you do it, but still... It's slightly unexpected when you do it."

Jean turned around with a wry grin on her face, and shifted a strand of her hair behind her ear. "How are things with you?"

Scott shrugged slightly. "Not much. I've just been discussing with the Professor about tomorrow's class, and just sent an e-mail off to my brother." He shook his head. "I still can't believe he enjoys surfing."

"Different strokes for different folks, as my mother says."

"Still, the idea of balancing yourself over a giant watery body filled with dozens of deadly creatures and undertows is not my idea of a good time." He sat down with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Jean raised an eyebrow. "Something bothering you?"

Scott shook his head wearily, letting Jean instantly know he was lying.

"There's no point in hiding things from a telepath, you know." She crossed her legs and made a mock serious expression. "Out with it, then. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"C'mon, tell me."

"It's nothing, really."

"C'mon..."

Scott sighed. "Everything."

Jean paused, then made a slightly perturbed face. "Well, now that we've gotten that generalised..." she trailed off, and looked at Scott. "What's going on in the big wide world then?"

Scott paused, then chewed on his lip slightly. "I was just thinking back to the days when we weren't known to be mutants."

Jean nodded slightly with a knowing look on her face. "Ah, the old 'nostalgia' conundrum."

"I really didn't care for these powers. Yeah, I know the Professor always said they were a gift, but..." he paused, considering the right words. "...I didn't want to be like this. All I wanted was to have a normal life, not be bothered by the world, not needing to care too much about what other people thought."

"I know that I really shouldn't listen to these doubts, and wonder about 'what-ifs', but I really just sometimes wish..." he trailed off. "...I sometimes wish we were normal."

Jean paused, tapping her hand on the desk delicately. "Wow..." she muttered, and then pulled a rather gloomy face. "Why are you listening to these thoughts now?"

Scott shrugged. "Before we had this whole Apocalypse thing, and before we graduated from school, there were basically too many things happening. I didn't mind it back then, I suppose. I was too busy trying to help other people, but now, since things have quietened down a bit... I seem to be thinking a lot more about our powers."

"I'm surprised to hear you come out with this, Scott. I always thought that Kurt would come out with something like this, maybe even Mr. McCoy or a few others, but not you."

Scott shrugged. "Kurt's not really that bothered now. He has the image inducer, and only one person outside of our group really knows his appearance. Mr. McCoy likes being alone. I'm not saying he's a hermit or anything; it's just that he doesn't mind being cooped up in a house all the time. I suppose... I just want to be accepted."

"Scott, don't say that." Jean placed her hand on top of his. "Despite what Kelly and other bigots may think, despite the fact we have been oppressed by dozens of people, despite the fact that we may get dirty glances in the street, we've accepted each other. No matter what happens, no matter our differences, all of us in the mansion look out for each other. We have accepted each other for what we are. And... I've accepted you."

Scott smiled faintly. "Thanks, Jean."

"Hey, I'm always here to help."

"You're more than a helper, Jean. You're you." Scott got up. "Care for something to drink?"

Jean looked at her notes momentarily, then got up off the chair. "Sure, but it's your treat, buster."

"Of course. How else could I maintain my gentlemanly conduct if it wasn't...?"

&&&&&&

"...yeah, that's cool. About seven, huh? Yeah, I'll see you soon. Bye, Kitty." Lance smiled faintly, then put the phone down. There was a distinctive whoosh, and a blur materialised into Pietro.

"Boy, oh boy. You are a piece of work, y'know?"

Lance raised a weary eyebrow at that comment.

"First you're obsessed with her, then you try to kill her, then you ask her out on dates, then she dumps you, then you get back together after a global plot..." Pietro smiled infuriatingly. "Not exactly a poster-romantic relationship, Lance."

"Pietro, to be frank, you're not one to comment on relationships, Mr. 'I'll get four dates on the dance night, and not care when they all dump me at once.'"

"Hey, I know how to engage a relationship." Pietro smirked. "Besides, I didn't want to engage a serious relationship with any of them."

There was the sound of a slow plodding gait, and Freddy walked in, followed by Todd.

"What's going on in here?" Fred asked slowly.

"Lance is just going through another 'I love Kitty' phase." Pietro replied.

Todd snickered. "Man, even I know not to mess with any of the X-chicks."

"Yes, you instead chase after the criminally insane." Lance retorted.

"I'd be careful, Lance." Fred sniffed. "Those X-chicks give you heartache, and only heartache I tell ya! You're better off going after someone not so inclined to stab you in the back." He opened the fridge. "Ooh! Chocolate flavour."

"All we're saying Lance, is that you're a tad 'head over heels', over this."

Lance sighed. "I can't help it." He looked up at the ceiling. "'My love is like a red, red rose.'"

Pietro groaned, and slapped his face. "It's worse than I thought. He's reciting poetry."

Lance shrugged. "I dunno. There's just something about seeing her in the morning, looking at her eyes, hearing her talk... it just... does something to me."

"Yes. That's called irreparable brain damage." Pietro sighed. "Look, if you're looking for the right quote when dealing with the opposite sex, it's this;" He accented each word with an upraised finger. "'Women are crazy.' Yossarian, Catch-22. That, my friend, is all you have to remember."

Lance scowled in an annoyed fashion. "Listen, just because that quote fits your sister does not mean it's applicable with every other woman."

"Hey!" Todd snapped. "Just because Wanda's a little different does not mean she's crazy!"

"Yeah, if she was crazy, then she'd be dating you in a shot, Toad." Pietro quipped.

Lance glanced at the clock on the wall. "Well, as much as I'd like to continue this conversation, I have more important things to do, like get ready to see Kitty."

"Oh boy. Now he thinks that our conversations are less interesting than dates!" Pietro cried in mock horror. "Surely not!"

Lance shook his head in comic disbelief, then walked upstairs to get changed, ignoring the pointless, but heated, debate down in the kitchen.

&&&&&&

"Hey, Kitty."

Kitty smiled slightly at his voice. "Hey, Lance." She twisted around in her seat. "What's shaking?"

Lance sighed. "You have obviously spent far too much time around me. I'm the one who's supposed to crack those things."

Kitty smirked slightly. "Well, we all deserve a little break from everything once and again."

Lance sat down beside her and smiled. "It's nice to see you too, Kitty. How are you?"

Kitty shrugged. "Things are alright, I suppose. The Professor has been considering our requests for new uniforms, Jean and Scott have been getting closer, again," Lance made a 'being sick' face. "There's no need to be like that Lance. It's sweet."

"It must be love." Lance said wryly. "Anything else new with you?"

"Well, I've been trying a new recipe of muffins, this time, I remembered that Diet Pepsi is not a substitute for baking soda, but people are still hesitant to try them." She tutted. "So I made a few dozen mistakes around cooking. Is that any reason to be treated as a pariah?"

Lance looked from side-to-side. "Uh... what does pariah mean?"

Kitty winced. "Oh, it means someone who's shunned because of what they do." She looked apologetic. "I forgot you weren't in English anymore."

Lance shrugged. "Well, my vocabulary's fine enough as it is. I don't need anything overly flowery to get along..." he sighed.

"What's up?"

"I was just thinking... what with us being expelled... what are we going to do?"

"I thought Magneto was funding you lot."

Lance nodded. "Yeah, but... without any good grades... I don't know what we are going to do, basically."

"There's no need to get upset if you don't know what you're going to do when you're older. We've all experienced that."

"Yeah, but you're okay with that now. At the mansion, you have all the money, food and housing you want. While I admit that the house has been in relatively good condition, it won't stay that way forever." Lance shrugged morosely, "I basically don't know how we are going to get a steady flow of income. After all, who in their right minds would employ any of us? There's an egotistical speed demon, a mentally unstable woman who can cause things to spontaneously explode, another guy who would have trouble fitting through doors, and a squirt who smells worse than a sewage treatment plant. Admittedly, you do get used to it. Finally, there's me." He sighed. "The walking Richter scale."

Lance shook his head, then smiled faintly. "Sorry about dumping that all on you. That was kinda selfish of me. Heck, we're supposed to be enjoying ourselves!" He stood up and offered an arm. "Would the lady approve of a couple of ice-creams around the park?"

Kitty smiled and accepted the arm. As the two teenagers walked off, she started to think...

&&&&&&

Kitty opened the institute door and activated the security system, she leaned against the door, and sighed happily.

"That good a date, huh?" Rogue asked from kitchen.

Kitty smiled. "For all his rough and tumble appearance, Lance is actually a very sweet guy. And a gentleman." She walked over to the other girl. "How were things back here?"

Rogue made a non-committal gesture. "Meh, just a few brake-ups and get-togethers. Especially now that Rahne and Jubes are back." She smiled slightly. "I'm glad we girls aren't quite as out-numbered now."

Kitty smirked. "That's the last thing I think I'd hear from you, 'chere'."

Rogue scowled. "Don't even hint that swamp-rat. I just spent a full half-hour escaping his attempted flirting." She snorted in an annoyed fashion. "Why does he have to be such an annoying, big-headed, over-attentive, arrogant-"

"-romantic?"

"Yes. No! Not romantic!" Rogue quickly corrected, but Kitty noted the faint blush. Rogue continued listing Remy's shortcomings, but Kitty noted a familiar walk of Logan.

"Yeah, look, I'm sorry, but I've got to go right now." Kitty apologised. "See you in the morning." She walked out. "Have a nice night." She paused, then. "I notice you've still got that card he gave you." Kitty smiled at Rogue's colourful curse, then walked out the door.

&&&&&&

Logan looked up as Kitty walked into the living room, and sat opposite him. Logan looked back to his book he was reading. There was a brief period of silence, then Logan looked up. "What do you want, Half-Pint?"

"What makes you think I want anything?"

Logan put his book down, breaking the spine. "Whenever you sit opposite someone, sitting like that, and staring at them, you want something off of them."

Kitty made an affronted expression. "Why sir! I'm insulted that you think I'm some form of opportunist! I'm sitting this way on this chair because I find this way of sitting the most comfortable. Shame on you for thinking any other way!"

Logan mumbled an apology and picked his book up from the side-table.

"But, now that you mention it..."

Logan put the book down again, and glared. "What?"

Kitty explained Lance's predicament to Logan, who responded with a snort. "Well, if the boy was foolish enough to get himself expelled, then he's too foolish to listen to me."

"C'mon, Logan. You know as well as I do that they were expelled because Kelly could make them into a scapegoat. It was unfair."

Logan paused, then nodded. "You know what. You're right. Get me a violin." He picked his book up again.

There was a slight noise, almost undetectable, but it disturbed Logan's reading. He looked up at Kitty.

Her eyes had widened slightly, and her lips were trembling just ever so slightly. Logan frowned angrily. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That!" Logan snapped, pointing at her face. "The whole 'Bambi eyes' look!"

"What look?"

Logan breathed in through his nose testily. "I don't care how long you stare at me with that look, you are not going to get me help those losers." He picked up his book.

Slowly, almost immeasurably, his eyes moved across the pages, then trailed to the top of the book. He closed them tightly, then stared down at the book. A few seconds passed, then his eyes went back up. He shut them again. His eyes went to the top almost immediately. He slammed the book down on the table. "FINE!" He yelled. "I'll help. But I warn you here and now..." he leaned over Kitty. "Don't ever pull that tactic on me again, okay?"

"What tactic?"

He shuddered, and then walked out. "Never mind..."

Kitty waited until his footsteps had faded into the distance, then grinned. That look gets 'im every time... she thought.

&&&&&&

The woman sat on the bench, watching the last few kids run out of school. Youthful chatter floated around as parents met up with their children. The women sighed, then shifted slightly.

"Excuse me?" A teenage boy stood in front of her. "'Woman on the bench'? I've got a message for you." He handed a small letter to the woman.

She waited for the messenger to leave, then tore it open. A handwritten note fell out, and she unfolded it. It was written immaculately, with old-fashioned ink and in a highly educated cursive style.

Hello. Glad to see you kept your guard up, and did the sensible thing, i.e. listen to me. My people have finally verified their job for you, so if you would humour me, please read on.

Time is an illusion, lunchtime doubly so. This device can measure it, but is of no use at night.

She looked at it cautiously, checking for any hidden message. She flipped it around, but nothing was on the other side. She thought briefly, then walked off quickly, thinking, then paused.

To her left was the old fashioned sundial.

She walked over, and looked over it quickly. Nothing was on it. Another quick check showed that no message was on the ground nearby... she followed the half-arrow's point, and looked up.

The tree which it pointed to had a note stuffed in a knot.

Congratulations. Sorry about this, can't reveal all of my messages to you in one go. Too risky.

Have you ever heard of an organisation called SHIELD?

There's a natural post facing the lake where I'd love to take a nap in the sun all day, but I must stay on my toes. North for a dozen steps by a baker and find the peace-maker.

She thought briefly. Somewhere near the lake...

The lake was in the middle of the park, with people walking or sitting around it. A natural post... that must be a tree, but which tree? There was at least a dozen around the lake.

...a nap in the sun all day long...

Where could you sleep under a tree, but not get put in the shade?

The south side of a tree, which is facing the lake... The northernmost tree!

Thankfully there was only one tree, bordered by a few low-lying shrubs. She walked around it.

...North for a dozen steps by a baker... obviously a baker's dozen of steps, so thirteen paces...

...find the peace-maker. What was that?

She looked around briefly, seeing only a little grassy knoll. She remembered the spot she was on, then paced around briefly, searching for something...

She walked back over the spot she had walked to, then paused. She looked at the spot again, and then walked over it again. She slipped off one of her shoes and walked over it again.

There was a change in texture of the ground...

She slipped on her shoe and slowly felt the grass. Her fingers trailed a rough, woody patch on the ground that had been painted grass-green. She looked around quickly, then found the edges of the patch. The grass separated easily, it had been loosened recently. The patch turned into a handle, which she pulled. There was a moment of resistance, then a hatchet, with a note wrapped around the blade, came out of the ground.

She removed the note, and scanned it quickly.

Most excellent! Well, this is what we intend to utilise in order to initiate... the plans I mentioned to you earlier. Sorry about the ambiguous language. Can't have this falling into the wrong hands, now can we?

We shall bring a car to a certain area to pick you up. The last note will tell where and when.

Leonardo was famous for making these; 1.618. Lincoln is one and Donald Dewer is one too.

She sat down and thought. Something in the park... Greeks are famous for these... the number phi... Dewer and Lincoln are one of these?

Leonardo invented many things, and paintings..., no that wasn't it. Dewer and Lincoln were elected politicians... she shook her head. Phi had nothing to do with politics. So what else...

Dewer and Lincoln were politicians. One American, one Scottish. Dewer was the First Minister, Lincoln was assassinated in a theatre... Both were important people... Both had represented a country. Both had statues made in their honour. Lincoln abolished slavery-

Statues.

Leonardo made statues. Phi was the number used to correctly proportion statues and... there was a statue in the park!

The note was folded and weighed with a small stone, just in front of the statue.

Ah, good! You managed to find all of the messages! So, meet us at five 'o clock, two days from now on Main Street. We'll drive a red car, you won't miss us. Remember; no police, no recording equipment, no plots. Believe me, we'll know.

Cheeribye!