At long last, another chapter. -cringes- now please stop threatening me with sticks and pudding-bombs.

My lord, it's been three frickin' months since I updated last! That 13th chapter really is the unlucky one--so hard to get past. I swear, I didn't think it had been that long. But school and all. It's my first full week off, and yesterday "Push" "My Immortal" and "Love Song" came on in a row (three songs that I use to get me in the mood to write this particular bit), and I decided it was a sign from on high that it was about time for me to force myself to sit down and write. The first paragraph or so was like pulling teeth, but I think the rest came out fairly smoothly.

A HUGE thank you to everyone who's been reviewing, encouraging or "bothering" (not really) me to get me to keep going. I'd have given up long ago if it weren't for your support, so thank y'all all. big hugs and cookies all around
X-men and Toad (c) Marvel. If they were mine...well, something would have been done differently in X2....

After negotiating a somewhat tricky landing, given the ruddy machine's preference to pull to the right, finding the one bleeding secret entrance that was not locked (an entrance that could only be used by someone who could fly, or--in Toad's case--stick to walls), making his way verrry cautiously to the security room, and disabling all but the outer defense systems, Toad finally made it to his quarters. With a sigh, he flopped down onto his bed and lay there limply, relishing in the feeling of being back home. Visiting, vacations, whatever had just happened, those were all nice, but when you got right down to it, nothing felt better than being back in his own room.

Not bothering to look up, he stretched his right leg out and pressed the button on his stereo system with his big toe. A cacophony of heavy metal pour from the speakers and he twisted the volume up, still using his foot. Muuuuch better. The stereo and his CDs were the only possessions that he really cared about, but they did make the room his.

After he had lain there for a good long while, letting the cathartic sound of harsh rock wash over him, he rolled over with a grunt and stayed on his back, still not moving. Finally, he forced himself into a sitting position and turned the music down. A bit. He stretched and looked around, silently greeting each of the few objects in his room. H'llo, clock. Hiya, Beatles poster. Miss me, computer? Just being back made him feel good enough to forget Ga-- to forget the whole Liberty Island fiasco. He shook himself from that line of thought and sprang off the bed.

The first thing he really, really wanted, he decided, was a hot shower. Then, dinner and a cold beer. Then a nap, and after that, he'd see what came next. He quickly shucked his jacket and paused, looking down at the borrowed shirt. Still clinging to the chest and sleeves were a few yellow hairs. Hers. He picked one off and stared at it for a while, lost in thought. Had it just been last night that she had lain against him, warm and vulnerable, her soft hair tickling his face, the rise and fall of her breathing soothing him to sleep-- NO! He wasn't going to let himself brood like this, he was just going to take the shirt off and throw it in the hamper and...It still smells like her... he thought, with the shirt halfway over his head. Sighing, he pulled it off, but couldn't toss it away. He held it to his chest for a moment, then reverently laid it down on the bed.

The shower was nice. It was a relief to have soap that he could actually use. And shampoo as well, he thought, working up a thick lather and vigorously scrubbing the remainder of the green gel from his hair. He stepped out of the shower, towel-drying his hair somewhat roughly. When he lowered the towel, he glanced in the mirror to see his dark brown hair sticking out in all directions. He ran his hand over it quickly, trying to at least muss it up in the same direction--not that it mattered; without the gel, his hair was a mess-- and flashed his reflection a quick grin. Maybe not so bad...

After grabbing some food from the kitchen, he went back to his room and ran the security scans on his computer. No one had been in the Lair for the past five days. Satisfied that everything was in order, he set up the camera images from around the compound to show up on his screen, alternating every ten seconds, and to alert him if anything moved.

His bed--really just a mattress on the floor--called to him, and he responded, falling back on it and curling around a particularly squishy pillow. Within moments, he was fast asleep.

Toad blearly opened his eyes and blinked a few times. Across from him, the clock read 9:00. Nine AM? He jolted to a half-awake state, starting to sit up and look for Gabby. Wasn't she supposed to be up by now--? Oh. Wait. He closed his eyes and rubbed his head, trying to wake up. That's right. Not at Gabby's anymore. Back at the Lair. Back home. Right? Right. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, sitting up.

A million thoughts flooded his mind, problems with tiny incoherent voices babbling at him. No! It wasn't fair! He'd done the right thing--he'd left Gabby, left the humans. He'd come back...back to the Brotherhood. Back where he belonged. So why did something feel wrong? What was missing?

Well, Magneto, of course. And Mystique. And, sort of, a little bit, even Sabertooth. Wasn't a Brotherhood with only one person. But, he reminded himself, standing up and clapping his hands loudly to shake the last of the sleep from his mind, that was only a temporary problem. Mystique was still at large, and she was almost as clever as Magneto when it came to making bold plans. All he had to do was wait for her to come back, then the two of them could rescue Magneto, rebuild the Brotherhood, and...and...

And there his thoughts faltered. And then what? Take over the world? Eradicate the human menace? Toad had known most of Magneto's plans for the future, enough to know that the "turning world leaders into mutants" was probably the most benevolent idea that his boss would entertain. And now that that had failed--miserably--Toad realized with a sinking feeling which plans they would fall back on once Magneto was free. Things like the Silicon Valley incident. Terrorism. Carnage. Public displays of power. Death tolls. Civilian death tolls. Which might include...

He sat down quickly, holding his head, shaken at the thought of seeing Gabby as one of the faceless casualties of the war between mutants and humans, lying under a pile of rubble, torn up by Sabertooth's claws, or just shot down to make a statement. The idea of her, or the perpetually bouncy Zoey, or the big, cheerful Michael lying cold and still made his already cold blood freeze. What if...

NO, already! He'd sworn, years ago as an abandoned teenager, that he'd never care about another human. Hadn't he seen throughout his life that humans were scum, that they didn't deserve to be considered mutant-kind's equals? Hadn't the humans forced him to abandon his own name, to take arms against them to make them fear the new one they had given him? Magneto was right--when mutants finally triumphed over humankind, things would be better for everyone. Magneto was his leader, his father now. He was right, wasn't he? Wasn't he?

Toad raised a hand to his face, and to his surprise, felt tears there. What was wrong with him? When had things gotten so hard? When had they changed? He knew. The moment that the four flat-scan humans had pulled him out of the Harbor and taken care of him, regardless of who or what he was, things had changed. Images from the past few days ran through his head: Michael and Gabby carrying him into the apartment, Gabby sitting up with him as he fought off old nightmares, Gabby's intense expression as she drew and posed him, Gabby and Zoey laughing and throwing popcorn at each other and him joining in, Gabby's hands running up and down his back, soothing away the pain, Gabby's hurt expression before she left on her date, Gabby curled up against him on the sofa, Gabby, Gabby, Gabby...

"GOD!" he seethed, gritting his teeth and holding his head between his hands, willing his infatuation to die off and leave him in peace. Was this what it was going to be like? Her constantly on his mind, the memory of her touch, her smell, her voice? "No," he said firmly, forcing it away and locking it in the back of his mind with the rest of the memories he didn't want to look through, with a deliberateness that came from years of practice. Whatever happened, she was out of his life. But...

But still, with or without her, something was different. Something in him had changed, somehow. Toad sat very still and probed this new concept with a grim determination.

And suddenly, he knew. A cold, numb certainty settled over him. He couldn't go back to the way things had been. He couldn't go back to Magneto, back to the Brotherhood. Even if Magneto was right about everything. Maybe he was right. Maybe Xavier was right. Or maybe no one was. Whoever was right, the only certainty that Toad had was that he didn't want to be a part of this war anymore.

He swallowed nervously. Suddenly, self-stripped of his purpose, he felt empty in a way he never had. He wasn't sure what to do, where to go, or even who he was any more. Mortimer, Toad, Todd, or someone else? Without Magneto, without the Brotherhood, what was he? Another memory broke free from it's hiding place and floated to the surface of his mind.

"Mortimer, what are you doing under there? I've been looking all over for y-- who did this?"

"M'name's not Mortimer."

"Come on, Mortie, let's get you cleaned up. Was it Brad? Or Hal?" Brother Sensei picked up the boy with surprising ease--he was still small for his ten years. "What happened, Mortie?"

"It's not Mortie, it's Toad!" yelled the boy, angry tears in his eyes. Sensei put him down and knelt so that he was eye-level with the boy.

"What are you talking about, Mortie?"

"It's w'ot everyone calls me," the boy sniffled, wiping his blood and snot nose on a filthy sleeve. "An' they're right. I'm just Toad."

"Mortimer," Sensei began, his voice becoming stern. "What is a toad?"

"It's a gross, slimy frog-thing with warts...like me."

"It's one of God's creatures, Mortimer. But it's an animal. What are you?"

"A toad."

"Mortimer..."

"A mutant," grumbled the boy, making the word sound worse than "toad."

"A human being," Sensei corrected, anger making his voice tight. The boy looked up, frightened, then realized that his Sensei's anger wasn't directed at him. "You're a human being, Mortimer, not an animal. I know at times that there will be people who will try to make you feel like you're less than that, but they're wrong." Sensei's met his eyes with intensity. "You are worth...so much more than they want you think..." He broke off and crushed the boy to him, holding him protectively. A hiccuping sob escaped the child's throat and his grubby hands clung to the monk's robes as he let the tears that had been unshed through his recent beating finally fall. After a long while, Sensei spoke again. "You are a human being, Mortimer. God created you differently, but He has a plan for you. You just have to remember that, no matter what they say. You are Mortimer Toynbee, you're my deshi, and I love you. And there's nothing any of them can do to take that away from you, Mortie."

The mutant called Toad raised a hand and wiped the bit of moisture that had formed in the corner of his eye and stood.

"Mortimer," he whispered to himself. "Well, it's a start."

Mortimer Toynbee hunched over the keyboard, gnawing on his lip in concentration. Hacking was more Mystique's thing than his, but he'd been taught how to make up and switch bank account in case of an emergency. Currently he was in the process of making an account for one "Ian Moore," a pseudonym picked as a nod to one of Sabertooth's nicknames for him for the first couple of years in the Brotherhood. To his dismay, all of Eric Lensherr's assets had been frozen upon his capture, but there were still several accounts for the Brotherhood members under various names, and it was these accounts that Mortimer focused on.

The Brotherhood did get paid. Technically. Many of their earlier escapades had been to build up enough capital to start a decent, respectable terrorist organization, complete with doomsday weapons and secret lair. Mort still remembered days of motel-hopping, eating Chinese take-out in a dingy, 20-buck-a-night room, while planning the next attack. It had all seemed so romantic and thrilling to a seventeen-year old boy, like something out of Treasure Island or Indiana Jones. Those days were long past, however, and money had ceased to become quite the problem it once had been. Each brother had their own false identities and accounts into which Magneto had discreetly distributed money on a monthly basis. It was a formality, mostly. A way for Magneto to show that should any of them choose to leave the Brotherhood, he or she would have something to show for their time spent with the organization to start a new life with. Mostly, between Toad and Sabertooth, the money had gone towards beer, CD's, and porn--the latter being Sabertooth's purchases, of course. Mort flushed slightly, remembering a certain incident involving his eighteenth "birthday."

But now he was taking up on the ever-present offer of leaving the Brotherhood peacefully. Mort leaned back and cracked his knuckles with a satisfied smirk as the last of the money transferred from "Nigel White's" account (Lord, how he had hated that name!) to his new one. With a few, swift strokes of the keyboard, he exited the window and erased any evidence of what he had been doing. Now came the hard part: packing up.

He swivelled around in his chair (resisting the urge to spin wildly) and eyed his stereo system. It was big, the result of years of accumulation of parts. But it wouldn't be too hard to take apart. He bent over it and began unhooking the main player for the system, when he heard a tinny beep from the computer. Quickly he rushed back and clicked on the screen. The motion sensors had detected something. Another helicopter was closing in on the island, circling for a place to land. Mortimer didn't need to see the pilot to know who it was. Mystique. His heart suddenly pounding, he grabbed a change of clothes and an armful of his favorite CDs and shoved them into a knapsack. He could feel the clock set--he was being timed now.

While the actual subject of resigning from the Brotherhood had never come up, Mortimer somehow thought that it would be less than welcome, especially to Mystique and Magneto. After all, he was turning his back on them in a time of need. And he definitely didn't want to be around to confront either one of them. He turned back to the security cameras and cursed. The helicopter had landed--thankfully on the other side of the island--and Mystique had gotten out and was walking around. What was she looking for--? Of course. The spare "key," a sequence of buttons, hidden in the rock face. She'd have to scale about ten feet of sheer cliff to get to them, but knowing Mystique, that would be no problem.

Mortimer cursed again. His original plan had been to leave his room like he'd found it (with the exception of a few CDs that no one would notice), erase any of the security footage with him in it, and leave before anyone was the wiser, hoping they'd think him M.i.A. But there wasn't any time for that. She'd already seen the helicopter; it wouldn't be hard for Mystique to tell that someone had been here, and from there it certainly wouldn't take a telepath to figure out who. So all he could do now was make a run for the back passage he had come in, and hope that he could avoid her. But he'd have to time it right. Too early and she would be able to jump back in her helicopter and give chase, and Mortimer knew that the Apache wasn't up to that. Too late, of course, and she'd see him, and he didn't even want to think about what would happen then.

Sweating, he eyed the security camera. There was about a two second delay, so... She'd keyed in the access code and was sliding down the rock face. Not yet. She paused, looking around suspiciously for something. Or someone. Not yet. She walked in through the door that had opened in the metal "rock." Not yet...The door slide closed. Mortimer held his breath and counted two incredibly slow heartbeats, then... NOW!

His heart in his throat, he bolted for the back exit. He had the sickening feeling of being hunted, which was ridiculous. Mystique might know that he was here, but she had no reason to suspect that he might be leaving. But that didn't stop the image that popped into his head of her chasing him down, face alight with a predatory grin.

After what seemed an eternity of running, he made it to the back exit and tightened his knapsack. With no time to take his shoes off, he'd have to climb down the sheer tunnel only using his hands. Just as he was getting ready to go, he paused. This was it. He'd never had two choices so perfectly laid out for him before. He could just stop right here, turn around, and go greet Mystique. He could just go back to the way things had been and forget about all the confusing thoughts and feelings that the past week had created. He could...but he couldn't. Never again. Slipping down the dark, metal tunnel, Mortimer Toynbee left the last of the mutant known as Toad behind him.

Well, that wasn't so hard, now, was it. I swear, I'll try and get the next chapter of this up soon. Although... -grins evily- technically, this would be a pretty good place to end it....
Ohh, but I've got so many plans. To a degree, the major conflict is wrapping up, but I've got this other plot bunny that I'm trying to decide where to put. Either it'll go for several more chapters at the end of this (not likely), I'll make a second part (more likely but iffy, cuz I'm not a fan of sequels to an OC romance, or I'm not sure how much more people'll put up with), or I'll drop it.

One thing I would like to do is make a sort of trilogy, starting with "I'm Still Here," ending with "A Second Chance," and telling about Mort's time in the Brotherhood as the second part. Wow, if there'd be a more unorganized way to write it, I don't know it, but there are so many plot bunnies hopping around in my head. D-mn things multiply like rabbits. ...wait a minute....

Anyway, thanks again to everyone who's encouraged me to keep writing this. I heart you all so much, and I promise I'll try to never again leave off so long. Thanks, y'all.

Oh, right. M.i.A.: Missing in Action.