A/N: Naturally I forgot the disclaimer. I have no ownership over the X-Men or Marvel or related trademarks, nor any other trademarks mentioned. This story won't earn me money even if I wanted it to. My only claim is to Sabere.

Chapter 3: Paid Up

"There! Drink up!"

Eight bottles tilted up as the One Ring was sliced dramatically from Sauron's hand and fell to the earth – for the third time in the movie.

"Where did you find this game, and why did they use such a long damn movie?" Logan grumbled. His healing powers meant his tolerance was through the roof – good for reflexes, bad if you actually wanted to get drunk and ignore a movie you weren't fond of. Sabere hadn't expected him to like it – he seemed more like a Die Hard fan.

"Google is an amazing thing," Scott said.

"Logan, you just wish there was more blood," Jean grinned.

"Or sex," Bobby offered cheekily. Logan responded with a glare that made Bobby hastily ice another beer and send it sliding down the table. Kitty and Colossus sat on the floor, nursing root beers and trying to hide their jealousy. They were still a couple months away from uniforms, and a couple years away from the drinking age. Still, they'd been a part of the bet, and so got to watch their elders get drunk to Lord of the Rings.

"You know, that Gandalf looks a bit like Magneto," Kurt observed drowsily. It was past one and he was enjoying a third bottle of his favorite brew.

"Nah. Nose is too big."

"Maybe, if he cut off all that hair…and shaved…"

"Then he wouldn't really be gray!"
"Kitty, you're such a geek."

"Sabere, grab me another bottle of that beer you so graciously purchased for us." Scott grinned at her from the couch. They'd been giving her crap all night – the guys delighting in placing defeat solely on her shoulders, the ladies also placing defeat on her shoulders, though less cheerfully. Sabere had hoped the movie would distract them. It hadn't.

She didn't even move from Kurt's warm embrace as she lifted a bottle from the box and deliberately floated it past Scott, just out of his reach. He stretched for it and Jean had to make sure he didn't fall out of the chair.

"You haven't had anything to drink, have you?" Scott accused, settled safely in his seat.

"I've been playing." She pointed to her mostly-empty bottle as proof. "Just taking sips."

"Cheater."

"Look, I'm a bit distracted." Instantly she regretted her word choice.

"I didn't think furry-footed midgets were your type," Storm chucked.

"Maybe the girly blond archer?" Logan suggested.

"Hey, pointy ears, matched knives, he's tolerable," she replied with a grin, and felt Kurt kiss her cheek. "What I meant to say was that I'm still preoccupied by Emma's little discovery."

"I thought we were tying not to think about that," Logan scowled.

"I'm just glad she's out of the mansion," Jean said vehemently, and the bottles on the table rattled a little. "I don't trust her."

"No one does."

"D'you think it's a trap?" Bobby asked.

"Are you guys gonna talk over the whole movie?" Kitty asked.

"Probably."

"About that lady in white?"

"Probably."

"And we're not supposed to know about that, right?"

"Definitely." Storm's tone was light, but it was clear that it was time for the kids to go.

Kitty obediently took the DVD and phased herself and Piotr out of the room. Storm stood up to pace.

"I had my suspicions, but you're the telepath," she said to Jean. "What do you think is going on?"

Jean shook her head. "It's very unlike SHIELD to be sloppy with something so critical, and it's even more unlike the Hellfire Club to ask us for help."

"These guys aren't friends of ours, I take it," Logan said.

"They're dangerous," Jean said simply. "They play power games on the global level. They've been around for centuries, pulling strings, orchestrating revolutions, crowning kings and maybe a pope or two, and making a lot of money in the process. But they just do it because they can – even I don't know what their final goal is."

"Why would you?" Kurt asked.

Jean made a wry face. "I was in it…for a while. I was the Black Queen for about a month before Emma figured me out."

Logan grinned. "Didja keep the outfit?"

Scott started to protest, but Jean fixed Logan with a glare that rivaled the one he'd given Bobby. "Burned it," she said.

"Why in the world were you in that club?" Sabere suppressed images of herself in Hellfire garb.

"Spying. We'll leave it at that." Jean clanked her bottle down on the table, signaling an end to that discussion. "But yes, I think this Bishop annual party and new drug research could very well be a trap."

"No matter what, Charles isn't letting us go into this blind," Storm insisted. "He may be ethical, but he won't restrain himself if he thinks there's a greater danger. He'll get the truth somehow."

"And what if it is all true?" Rogue asked quietly. "What if they are making another drug?"

"They won't, because we're gonna burn their factory to the ground," Logan growled.

"It's painful to say, but I agree with Logan," Scott said. "Even if they're planning to release it in a more publicly attractive way, like Emma said, we have to make sure nothing survives."

"Wouldn't it be better if it was like that? If the public knew about it?" Rogue continued. "I mean, they tried to force it on us, and that's wrong, but there's gotta be mutants who want to be cured. I don't think it's up to us to say whether they get that chance or not."

Sabere hadn't given that any thought. She had no doubt that Rogue was talking about herself, and that she would have certainly considered mutants outside the mansion. She felt a flash of fear as she realized Kurt might want the same chance.

Scott nodded slowly. "I'd thought about that," he mused, "but I haven't thought of a solution. Unless we controlled every step of the production, there's no way to gauge the outcome with other organizations involved."

"Even the government?" Rogue pressed.

"Especially the government. This whole thing started with Stryker, remember? I don't trust Emma, but we can't trust the government."

Sabere mentally probed the box and floated out the last bottle. "Last call," she announced sleepily, determined to end the night on a different note than "paranoid." Worried as she was about Emma and the new drug, worrying wouldn't bring enlightenment, and besides, it was giving her a headache.

­No, that's from the beer. Sabere rolled her eyes at Jean, who nonchalantly drained the rest of her bottle.

Logan swiped the last beer and pushed himself off the couch. "It's mine, anyway. See you kids in the morning."

"It is morning."

"Not 'till you wake up again," he corrected from the hall.