TheDreamerLady: Yeah, sorry about killing Destiny. (Shrinks under TheDreamerLady's evil glare) But she got a whole chapter to herself? Glad you like my interpretation of Scott . . . and yeah, the mystery man is a canon character, just altered a bit for the purpose for this story. Oh, and it's not Angel. He's in this chapter, and the evil mystery man is not him. Shh! Don't give it away though if you think you know!

Thanks to Kernl Toad Sandrz for the review! Enjoy the next chapter! Oh man this chapter's kind of long too . . . can you believe that I was actually worried that this chapter would be too short?

Back at the Brotherhood, John was extremely bored. There was work to be done, and he knew he and Blaze had to do something about it.

Except he had no idea what they could do.

He shifted slightly in his seat, playing with his lighter again. This new Brotherhood seemed to want to do nothing but party. Word was that training would start soon, but it's been a week since John first heard that rumor.

Now he was beginning to think that he was going to die of not doing anything. He hated just sitting there while he knew something was going on. Always had.

So John was uncharacteristically excited when Magneto approached him and Blaze for a "special" mission.

"What is it?" John asked casually, masking his happiness about this break from the rowdy boarding house.

Magneto smiled wisely, a smirk tugging on his lips. "It's very important; I'm sure you'll like it."

John's jaw dropped slightly when Magneto told them; but it was not out of excitement and awe, but of disbelief that it could be something so utterly boring.

"Grocery shopping!" Blaze shrieked when Magneto was out of earshot. "His idea of a special mission is grocery shopping?"

John grimaced. "This must be his way of punishing me for not making up my mind about which team I want to be on." He paused. "Actually, it makes sense, 'cause I'd punish myself if I were him too if I left the X-Men, joined him, left him, then joined again. I must really cause him a headache." John smirked happily at the thought.

Blaze scowled. "And of course I get attached to the punishment because I happen to have come from Xavier's with you."

"There's nothing wrong with a good healthy trip to the supermarket," John replied cheerfully, thoroughly enjoying the irritated look on his friend's face.

He received no answer, only another death glare and some inaudible mumbling. John thought he distinctly heard her complaining, "I liked him better when he was evil."

John merely smirked. Without Bobby around, there just simply was not anybody to irritate and know that they're not going to try to kick his ass. "Try", of course, being the key word there, because despite most of the adut X-Men thinking he was competely void of talent and the ability to defend himself without using fire, John was very capable of beating someone to a pulp. Although he's kept himself restrained every since that last time . . . he shook his head, clearing his thoughts of the memory. There was shopping to do.

At the supermarket, Blaze was peering around the shelves. "What does one get for a bunch of rowdy, always partying teenagers?"

"Gatorade," John answered, swiping it off the shelf. "And beer," he added as an afterthought.

"Why?" she asked, skeptical.

John stared at her. "Haven't you heard? We're going to start training soon,"

"I thought Magneto was going to stop some of the, um, more radical stuff?"

"Doesn't mean we can't know self defense."

"But, I meant the beer . . . we're kind of underage to buy and/or drink, you know."

John shrugged and proceeded to grab a couple packages of Ramen from the shelves, successfully ignoring Blaze's suspicious gaze.

"Goody two shoes," he muttered under his breath. Judging from the scoff, she had heard.

"We're going to be a really unhealthy bunch, aren't we?" she commented dryly, choosing to ignore John's previous comment.

They proceeded to wheel the shopping cart around various aisles, collecting food and drinks, occasionally arguing on what to buy.

While Blaze went off to look at something else she had just spotted, John continued to lazily scan the shelves for something interesting.

As he turned the corner, he was stopped suddenly by a little girl standing in front of the cart.

The little brown haired girl stared at him pointedly. "What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes wide and curious.

"Uh . . . grocery shopping?" John replied uncertainly, caught slightly off guard at the familiarity of the kid.

"Why?"

John groaned inwardly. This is why he disliked little kids. Sure, they could be cute, he supposed, but they're all mini smart butts who ask a lot of questions.

"I need to eat to survive," he answered sarcastically, preparing to wheel the cart around her.

Except she stood on the edge of the cart and hung on, a huge smile enveloping on her face. "Can I come?"

John opened his mouth to tell the kid no, but was interrupted by another voice.

"Where are you?" An older boy, around ten or so, raced around the corner and spotted the little girl. "Why'd you run off?" He pried the little girl off of the cart, apologizing at the same time, "Sorry, did my little sister bug you?"

"Uh . . . no it's okay." John said awkwardly, running a hand through his hair uncomfortably.

The boy couldn't answer because he let out a huge yelp as his sister bit his arm.

"Ow! You bit me!"

The little girl gave what looked like an innocent smirk, "No! Your arm hit my teeth."

That smirk really bugged John. It was so familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

A woman and a man suddenly showed up. "Ok, it's time to leave now."

The little boy covered up the bite mark with his sleeve and didn't say anything about it.

John had to use all of his self restraint to stop the hate from creeping onto his face. He recognized the man. He was, of course, younger than John had seen him, but there was no mistaking the face.

It was Dan Johnson, Blaze's dad and the future President of the United States.

He was also the man who had–would–condemn John, Rogue, Bobby, and his own daughter to the gallows to be hanged in the future.

That didn't exactly stir up warm and fuzzy feelings. John's fists clenched as he struggled to keep the damned anger in check, to stop himself from setting things on fire.

That's when herealized. The annoying little girl was Blaze.

No wonder. John thought, smiling slightly. So I guess she's always been a pain in the ass.

So he backed the cart up a little, watching the family. Dan picked up his daughter with a wide smile and swung her legs around his shoulders, linking his hands with hers, and exited the grocery store with a laugh.

John exhaled loudly and wheeled the cart around, only to jump involuntarily.

"Do you always sneak up on people?" John demanded, his heart thumping. It's not like he needed another surprise today. He was beginning to miss boredom.

Blaze shrugged, a small smile on her face. "I'm tricky like that."

"So . . . what's with the pushiness and the . . . biting?" he asked, unable to resist the smug smirk that was revealing itself on his face.

"I was a little spoiled brat," she admitted, "You know, being the youngest and all. That all changed, of course, when I found out that . . ." she stopped talking then, her eyes darting around suspiciously.

John voiced a different question. "So who's the guy that you bit?"

Smiling mischievously, Blaze answered, "My big brother Vincent. He still has a scar of that bite. He was the one who defied our parents and took care of me after I was disowned."

"But I never saw him in the future. Where was he?"

The smile faded from her face. "You wouldn't have. He's dead."

"Oh." John wasn't expecting that. "I-I'm sorry . . ."

"It's fine."

Obviously not. John thought, but he let it go. He knew from personal experience that sometimes things are best left answered. He would have left Xavier's place long ago if Bobby always bombarded him with questions about his life in Australia. Actually, John didn't think Bobby even knew he was originally Australian until his accent accidentally arose again when he lost his temper once in the future.

John gestured to the cashier. "Let's go finish this 'special mission', huh?"

Remy LeBeau ran as quickly as his feet could carry him. Zipping around various counters and displays, he smoothly avoided the authorities. As he neared the exit, he could see some security blocking his path.

He cursed his mistake. Of course, he never intended on being caught stealing some minor jewelry.

After all, was a couple thousand dollars worth all that much to a jewelry store?

Gambit took out his prized deck of cards and threw an ace of spades at the feet of the security guards. Jumping up in shock, some flying backwards from the force of the exploding energy, Remy was able to flee through the back door and into an alley.

His eyes darted around for an escape route. Nothing. It looks like he'll just have to meld into the crowd. Thrusting the loot into his long brown trench coat, he stuck his hands in his pockets and tried not to look suspicious, making his way into the middle of the crowd.

Too bad there wasn't that big of a crowd.

So it wasn't too long before Remy heard sirens behind him. He stayed calm and walked on at a normal pace until he felt a hand spin him around demanding, "Get on the ground!"

Before the police officer could blink, Remy whipped out a silver pole, extending it instantaneously and jabbing the officer with it, crushing the air out of his lungs. He angled the other end of the pole and smacked the man on the head, knocking him out. Them, hearing more police officers in pursuit of him, he ran, praying that he'd find some way to get him out of this mess.

Just a few city blocks ahead of where Gambit was running, a seemingly normal couple was making their way back to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters from a shopping trip.

A slightly disgruntled Bobby was stuck helping carry some of Rogue's excessive purchases.

Of course, trying to be a good boyfriend, he didn't say anything.

But all thoughts on carrying the load of bags was diminished the instant he heard the sirens.

He looked behind him and saw a figure running towards him in the distance. Bobby had extremely good eyesight and, despite the distance, he could see the face of the fleeing man clearly. He inhaled sharply.

"What is it?" Rogue asked, turning to see what Bobby was looking at. Her eyesight wasn't as good, but eventually she could make out the figure. "My god. Is that . . .?"

"Gambit? I think so."

Rogue noticed the police officers. "Should we help him?"

Bobby stared at her incredulously. "Rogue, he probably did something bad. Why do you think the cops are after him?"

"Yeah, but aren't we supposed to help him out of some tight spots? That's how we got him as a mole in the Brotherhood in the future, remember?" Rogue persisted. She clearly remembered how he had risked his cover to help them get the time machine from the future Pyro, in the end getting shot in the neck with three darts. They never did discover what had happened to him, whether or not he was merely tranquilized or dead.

Rogue figured that, for his sacrifice, they owed him.

Bobby rubbed his temples. "Damn. I hate time travel."

Gambit knew he couldn't keep on running. Sure, he could outrun the cops, but he couldn't outrun a car. Constantly on the lookout for some sort of escape, the opportune location at the opportune moment, he found that he didn't need too.

He heard a loud crashing sound behind him, and would have ignored it if he hadn't felt himself being pulled into an alley.

Remy was roughly thrust against the wall by a young woman, who covered his mouth with her gloved hands, shushing him. She waited and listened for something. Not really having anywhere else to go, he stayed put.

"I am so sorry officer!" Bobby apologized regretfully, helping the officer up from the ground. "I'm late for something, I-I didn't see you . . ."

The officer would have given a reprimand, but he resumed his chasing, angrily muttering curses under his breath and speaking into his communication device, informing the rest of the team that the thief was out of their sights.

As Rogue heard the officer pass their way, she instantly planted her lips onto Remy's, pulling away as soon as she knew the cop was gone.

However, Remy, extremely liking this, continued the kiss, and was suddenly pulled apart by a furious Bobby.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" he demanded angrily, his fists shaking in anger. He cast a slightly betrayed look at Rogue, who shrugged helplessly, as if saying, He grabbed me!

"That was not my intention," Remy replied coolly, "Thanks though, for saving Remy back there. Remy appreciates it."

Bobby groaned inwardly. He had forgotten that Remy often referred to himself in the third person.

To Bobby's further disgust, he grabbed Rogue's arm and kissed her hand gratefully. "Why did you help Remy?"

"Because we thought you could help us," Rogue replied seriously, but couldn't resist blushing slightly from Remy's traditional gentleman-like kiss.

Remy's ruby red eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And you figured this out in the instant that you saw me?"

Rogue and Bobby exchanged uncertain glances, each pondering what to tell him.

"Have you heard of Charles Xavier?" Rogue finally said, sighing heavily.

Remy's eyes lit up with recognition. "Yes, he is a strong mutant supporter." Realization dawned on his face. "You're both . . ."

"Yeah. And we know you are too." Bobby added abruptly, a brilliant cover idea revealing itself. "We'd like to recruit you into the X-Men."

Jean Grey's mind felt groggy and feverish. The blood pounded in her head, the rush of new memories and information trying to sort itself.

She was vaguely aware of huge pain in her abdomen.

Something was prodding her to wake; someone was calling her name, desperately needing her, desperately wanting her.

Scott. Scott, can you hear me?

The only way she could know is if she was awake. The pain wouldn't go away, she was weak; this she knew. But Scott needed her. She needed him. There was always time for rest later, after.

Struggling with the forces of gravity, Jean slowly pulled herself up, immediate panic and unease settling over her. She was not in the mansion. So where the hell was she?

The memories flooded back. The Phoenix. She had been stabbed in the shores of Alkali Lake . . . left for dead.

So what was she doing here in a soft, unfamiliar bed? Jean struggled to get out, but her strength failed her and she sank back into the soft pillow, only to sit up again as she tried to realize where she was.

Normally, she'd probe around in someone's mind, but there was no one to probe. It was a small, humble place. From the looks of the walls, it was a log cabin, but Jean knew looks could be deceiving.

Thoroughly engrossed in her thoughts, Jean jerked involuntarily when the door opened. If the person was really that close, Jean should have been able to sense him. But she didn't.

Am I really that weak? Jean was depressed by this revelation. After feeling so much immense power . . . that feeling of invincibility . . . it felt more of a loss than she would have imagined.

Warily examining the figure approaching the room, Jean couldn't really determine anything by the physical features, as his face was covered with a big hat. The rest of him was completely covered by a fashionable but abnormally large trench coat.

"You should rest; you have not reached your full strength yet." The man, for it was a male monotone, said quietly.

Jean stared at him defiantly. "Who are you? Where am I?"

"You're in my house, near Alkali Lake, where I found you. I was going to alert someone and bring you to a hospital, but you were muttering . . . disturbing things . . . information that I didn't believe that you'd disclose to a normal human being."

Jean's face and attention snapped immediately. "What do you mean normal?" she asked suspiciously.

"A non-mutant, of course. You are a mutant, aren't you? One of the X-Men?"

This certainly wasn't what she had been expecting. Jean was taken aback at the knowledge that the man had her. Did she say too much in her feverish state? Or did he know this information already?

She tried to probe his mind but found he had developed some sort of mind block to her. Jean couldn't get anything from him.

"You know so much about me, but I don't know anything about you." Jean stated, waiting patiently.

"I apologize," he said politely, "I'm just . . . ashamed, I guess."

Jean nodded. "Of your physical appearance? It doesn't matter. I happen to know a mutant who's blue, furry, and has a tail. After all, you saved me from death, and that proves you have a good heart." She meant some of it, of course, but she also hoped the encouragement would goad her mysterious savior to start explaining.

The man took off his trench coat and hat. Jean stifled a gasp, instead making a strange guttural sound.

He had no expression. There was a certain cold rigidity to him that disturbed Jean. It was almost as if he was a machine.

But what really caught her eye were the huge wings behind him.

"My name is Warren Worthington. Some call me Angel. I know about you because he," there was a flash of disgust on his face, "often talked about you–the X-Men. I assumed you were one of them because of the uniform."

"Did you–did you always have those?" Jean asked.

Warren absently shook the wings. "Originally, they were true wings. White feathers, soft and pure. Now, after William Stryker . . . found me . . . he changed them. He made them metal."

It was true; the wings didn't look soft or anything suitable for a man called "Angel". They were metallic with various lines, like veins, running through them. Sharp and cold, they looked sinister.

A strong wave of emotion hit Jean. This man had been wronged, been another of Stryker's experiments, just like Logan.

"I'm sorry," Jean said. What else was there to say?

He nodded. "I escaped. When I heard about Alkali Lake, I thought there may have been some mutant survivors, that perhaps I could help them. I found you on the shore, bleeding severely, brought you here, and patched you up."

"Thank you," Jean said softly, touched that he had come back to the place he feared and hated the most to try and help others.

Suddenly, Jean winced in pain. Her head felt like it had been split open as another memory flashed before her eyes.

It was enough to understand what was going on.

"Warren, can you help me?" Jean proceeded to explain the situation, about the Phoenix, and the unknown man from the future, and the Phoenix's original mission before being corrupted by the man.

Listening to all this closely, Warren was slightly skeptical. But the woman had been stabbed. She was one of the X-Men, and Warren could see the truth and conviction in her eyes. He believed her.

"Okay. What do you want me to do?"

"Why the hell did you tell him that?" Rogue hissed once they were in the safety of the mansion.

"Wasn't it your idea to kiss and rescue?" Bobby retorted dryly, throwing Rogue a sly glance.

Rogue sighed in exasperation. "Yeah. But we . . ."

"We nothing. You had no plan for after. I saved your ass."

Rogue playfully smacked his shoulder. "Don't go blaming me! Besides, how do you know we weren't supposed to recruit him?"

Shaking his head ruefully, he commented, "Damn. This time traveling business is a major headache. What are we supposed to do, when we're supposed to do it, what not to do . . . I swear this is going to drive us crazy sooner or later."

"So you've said. Let's have it be later."

Bobby nodded in agreement.

Gambit had met with Professor Xavier, who had wisely probed the couple's mind for answers, greeted him courteously, and made him an offer.

So then it was decided. Remy would be an X-Man. Nevertheless, he had given Bobby and Rogue a slightly begrudging look on his way out, but thanked them for helping him. His exact parting words were, "Remy wouldn't do this, but some things are more important than Remy's needs."

Bobby knew he was hiding something. Obviously Remy had a reason for taking a job like this so quickly and trustingly.

He still didn't understand why Xavier had sent him on a mission already. Especially in this particular place. Did the Professor know something that they didn't?

Gambit has been sent to spy on the Brotherhood.

A very skimpily dressed young woman stood on the steps of the Brotherhood, her luggage hanging loosely by her side.

Darla, or Black Siren, smirked, thoroughly anticipating this change in scenery. It pleased her to no ends that this mission, one of the better placed and easier missions her master has sent her on yet, was also a chance for her to have a little fun.

She had no doubts whatsoever that she would get exactly what she came for.

Pyro.