"From what I've heard, he's kind of like your leader, right?" he said sourly, turning away from her gaze.

"Leader?" Jean frowned slightly. "Yes, in a way, I suppose you could say that." She stood up, like she knew what he was thinking. "But he's really more of a father to us than anything else."

He arched a brow suspiciously. Father, huh?

"You see," Jean continued, starting to pace in front of him, "he took us all in when no else could help us or, actually, was willing to help us. He helped us accept who we are, and understand our responsibilities by having these... abilities. He was like a second father to all of us, especially to Scott. And in one way or another, we're all indebted to him. Take me for example... " Jean paused. "I owe him my life."

Duncan looked up to meet her eyes, and he couldn't help but wonder what had happened. He wanted to know, but... he was afraid to ask. He turned his gaze onto the floor. His stomach was suddenly felt uneasy as he realized that he barely knew this woman, this girl whom he claimed to have loved.

"Why don't you just read my mind or something?" he asked instead. "Aren't you supposed to be a telepath? Why go to all this trouble when you could've just read my mind at the coffeehouse?"

Jean cocked her head slightly, but she had decided to ignore his questions. With one wave of her hand, the ropes loosened around his wrists and ankles. "I have to go and talk to Scott. Feel free to take a walk around if you want," she said, "just be careful not to try anything stupid. This place is crawling with mutants, you know."

She was smiling.

Duncan watched her leave in confusion. What was she up to? Surely he was being set up. He couldn't understand why she would actually set him free, just like that.

Maybe, maybe she was trying to earn his trust?

He waited a few minutes, and when he could no longer stand it, he threw the ropes to the floor and got up in haste. Cautiously, he stood against the wall near the doorway and with a light nudge of his finger, pushed the door wide open. To his relief, there was nothing. Careful not to let his guard down, he wandered through the dark passageway. From the smell of it, he was almost certain he was underground in the sewers of New York. However, it seemed like the mutants had improvised. Every now and then he would see wooden doors to his sides, no doubt leading to other rooms of some kind.

All these years the Friends of Humanity had been searching for mutants roaming free in the streets, and the damn things were right under their noses—literally! Duncan shook his head as he continued walking. Really now, who would have thought to even look here? These mutants were smart; he had to give them that. Filthy, —he smirked— but smart.

After a few turns, he finally heard voices. They came from a room whose door was slightly ajar. Quietly, almost without thinking, he approached it and peered in, his heartbeat quickening.

From what he could see, the room looked almost identical to the one he woke up in, except that there was a plain-looking table in the center of it instead of a lonely chair. Scott Summers walked into what little view he could see and half-sat, half-leaned on the table. Scott didn't look too happy.

"Whatever you say, Jean. But I still don't trust the guy."

"Okay," Jean's voice said, "I can accept that. But look at it this way, Scott. I know we're taking a big risk here, but I'm sure he knows where the professor is. And if we're finally able to get him back... don't you think it's a risk worth taking?"

Scott slumped, shaking his head. "Please understand, I'm only trying to— "

"It is not good manners to listen to others' conversations," a voice suddenly spoke behind Duncan. The blond almost fell through the goddamn door. Luckily, he was able to quickly regain his balance. He turned around cautiously and came face to face with someone's huge chest. Much to his disappointment, it was a man's chest.

Duncan looked up. The man in front of him was at least a head taller than him. Heck, maybe two heads, Duncan thought. He was heavy, bulky, and wearing a strange red and yellow costume.

"I have not seen you before," the man continued in a deep, very distinct accent. Russian, Duncan guessed.

"Uh, well, this is my first time here, after all," Duncan answered, nervously wondering what would happen now since he'd been caught eavesdropping...

"I see." The man hesitated, but nonetheless held out his hand. "My name is Piotr Rasputin."

Duncan stared at the giant hand for a moment, then he shook it firmly with his own. "Duncan Matthews. Nice to meet you, uh, Pee-oh—uhm, er—"

To Duncan's surprise, the man smiled. "My friends call me Peter. They say it is easier."

The door behind Duncan opened, and Jean appeared, her thin brows furrowed. "What's going on?"

"Uh, hi Jean. Just meeting a friend of yours here," Duncan answered quickly, nodding to Peter.

Jean's lovely eyes squinted with suspicion, no doubt still wary of what had just happened. "All right," she said slowly. Peter must have sensed something was wrong, and he quickly — politely — said goodbye to both of them, disappearing off into one of the dark ends of the corridor. As soon as he was out of sight, Jean shut the door behind her and turned her attention to Duncan. "How much did you hear?"

"Wha—? What do you mean?" Duncan asked, innocence displayed on his handsome face.

"Yeah, right. You're getting bored, aren't you?" she said, heaving a fake sigh. "I guess it's time we let you go then."

Duncan's mouth fell open. He couldn't believe his ears. Really? he thought in eagerness. But rapidly his excitement dissipated, as his mind began to work properly again.

She's kidding. She can't possibly just let me go after everything I've just found out! Hell, if I could just even hint to the boss that mutants were lurking here underground, soldiers would be here in a matter of minutes…

"We'll have to tie you up again, though. Scott will freak out if he finds out I let you loose," she said, a soft smile on her lips.

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Duncan felt the rough texture of the rope tighten around his wrists, and for one quick moment, he considered making a break for it. But then, him —completely armless— against two very powerful mutants? No chance.

Half of his face was covered by a white handkerchief. It smells pretty nice, Duncan thought absently. Probably Jean's...

As they began walking, Duncan was quick to realize that Scott was the one behind him and Jean was the one who led the way. It was easy to figure out since the one following him kept poking him hard against his lower back with some stick, to force him to keep going forward.

Left...eight steps forward... right... ten steps... ladder up... seventeen steps forward...

He tried to remember every step, just in case. However, there were quite a few turns, and there were a couple of times when Jean had to levitate them because there was water. It was an uncomfortable situation. Not only because he couldn't see and every once in a while he would stumble —and he'd always hear snickering behind him— but the entire time there was silence. No one spoke, though it wasn't like anyone actually tried to start up a conversation. With Scott following right behind him, it was just too awkward, he decided.

And hell, if that wasn't enough, the place reeked! Thank God for the handkerchief, Duncan thought. It actually made breathing easier.

Finally, they climbed up the last ladder, and though still blindfolded, he knew they were out of the sewers, as the fresh night air caressed his nostrils through the cloth. Duncan knelt on the cold cement, his back itching terribly from all the poking.

He felt soft hands brush against his ears, and soon the blindfold was taken off. Duncan opened his eyes. It was still dark and... he recognized the street. He couldn't see anyone nearby; the entire block was completely empty. It was the same place where the club was burning down earlier that night, and both openings to the street had been blocked off.

The entire street was probably still being scanned for mutants...

Now, Duncan realized that this was a stupid process. Mutants weren't dumb; they'd have escaped the premises and been miles away before even the cops or the Friends of Humanity troops came.

Squinting to get a better view, Duncan saw that the place had not burned down. The nightclub looked all right, he thought. No real damage done, at least on the outside.

The club's front doors suddenly swung open, and two soldiers walked out, talking. Their uniform was similar to the one Duncan was currently wearing, and his eyes widened as the first soldier then stopped abruptly, pointing to Duncan's direction.

"Uh-oh, they've spotted us," Scott muttered.

The soldiers started to walk towards them. Jean nodded at Scott, and with one last glance at Duncan, levitated herself down the manhole.

When the two soldiers saw that spectacle, they began to run towards them. "Hey, you! Stop!" one of them shouted, taking out the guns from their holsters.

Scott turned around to follow Jean, but suddenly stopped mid-step. Looking back at Duncan, he sneered. Scott formed a fist with his right hand, drew back his arm, and swung hard. It connected with Duncan's left jaw, and he fell on his back against the floor, his mind spinning.

"What the fuck, Summers!" He practically yelled, trying to move his jaw. "What the hell was that for?"

"Had to do it," Scott replied smugly, "to make your story more believable." And with that he climbed down the hole, leaving Duncan lying on the ground in pain.

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Duncan Matthews was pissed.

He had just come out of the shower, and was now staring at the bathroom mirror above the white sink. His blond hair was wet and disheveled, his green eyes shone with anger, and a dark red -almost purple- had begun to appear inches below his left eye. He continued to stare at the growing imperfection as he grabbed a white towel that lay folded on the shelf and tied it firmly around his naked waist.

With a careful hand, he lightly touched the swelling on his left jaw, and sighed. There goes your perfect face, he thought, well, for a couple of weeks anyway. He scoffed. He had thought he was over and above the superficial things, but apparently not.

Exercising his jaw in a counter-clockwise motion, he left the bathroom and sat on the bed.

A big brown envelope lay on his nightstand. "TOP SECRET" was stamped in front of it: big, bold, and red. His eyes caught sight of the words, but he hesitated. Douglas Smith had personally given it to him a few hours before in the street, where he was previously found by the two soldiers.

After the two had found him, back-up soon showed up, and all available soldiers were soon underground in the nearby sewers, scanning and checking for any mutants.

Duncan almost rolled his eyes as he leaned against the side of a police car, a health care professional standing in front of him and carefully treating his left jaw. The woman was gentle with her work. She was also a brunette, and very attractive. He appreciated it.

"Matthews."

Duncan froze. He knew that stern voice and he had a feeling –a nasty one- that the voice was going to reprimand him.

Duncan didn't turn to face the voice, hoping that the current ongoing treatment for his jaw would be enough of an excuse. "Sir."

"Heard what happened tonight."

"Yes, sir. We were surprised, ambushed, and… they attempted to keep me hostage. They wanted information from me, sir. But I was able to escape, with only a minor beating."

There was a moment of silence as a thoughtful expression appeared on Smith's hardened face. "I see," he said. Standing in front of the police car, he laid his black briefcase on top of the hood and opened it. He pulled out a Manila envelope. "These mutants are clever, Matthews. They know that I won't trust you with anything anymore, since you were so quick to fail me today."

Duncan's jaw involuntarily clenched at those words, causing a sharp pain to course through his lower face and upper neck. He ignored it.

"But, I am one step ahead of them, my friend," he said quietly, almost a light tone in his voice, and handed the envelope to Duncan. Quickly, Smith inhaled sharply, and pursed his lips. "No mess ups this time, Matthews."

It was not so much a command as it was a threat, Duncan thought wearily. Taking a deep breath, he finally grabbed the envelope, and opened it.

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Life used to be quite simple. At the age of seventeen, all that mattered was winning football games, maintaining a C average, and making sure the other boys knew well to stay away from his girlfriend. Indeed, life was good, despite the constant pressure to keep winning the football games, to keep passing those exams that always seemed to creep on him at the very last minute, and to not be afraid to throw that punch towards the other boy's nose every time he got too close to his girl.

This nostalgic contemplation was currently preventing Duncan Matthews from drifting off to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, memories of football practice appeared. And every time he glanced at the alarm clock to see how late the time was, he unconsciously thought of the time when he was stuck seated in class, staring at a history test on his desk about the American Revolution, and how he couldn't remember whether it was Jefferson or Adams who became president first.

And every time he forced those memories out of his head, images of Jean Grey kept replacing them. Making out in the theater instead of paying attention to Titanic (Jean's choice)... Her head on his chest as they slow dance to Boyz II Men during Homecoming... A passionate goodbye kiss that accidentally leads to something else inside his car...

Never mind that those images were more welcome than the others, but he knew thinking about Jean would do him no good. She was out of his life, and their relationship was done and over.

Except she wasn't out of his life. She came back.

Duncan grabbed a pillow and buried his face under it. He screamed, letting go of all his frustration that had quietly been building inside of him, ever since he had seen that lovely face again.

It would have been so much easier, so much simpler, if he knew she wasn't in any way involved in his next mission. But he knew, without a doubt in his mind, she would be. She would be there, and Summers would be there as well. He grimaced.

His assignment was to supervise the transport of one of the most dangerous mutants alive. He was to make sure that Professor Charles Xavier, currently held prisoner in the island of Genosha by the government, was finally going to be put in the hands of the Friends of Humanity. They had their own secured facility located in the deserts of New Mexico. It would be along trip for Xavier, Duncan thought, since the heavily guarded Genosha was located off the east coast of Africa.

Duncan was not high enough in ranking to know how the Friends of Humanity were able to acquire the prisoner, but he was high enough in ranking to know that this was only a temporary situation. The Friends of Humanity would have three weeks to gain whatever information they wished from the mutant, and then Xavier would be transported back to Genosha.

Top secret.

Five years ago, when the true identities of the X-Men were ratted out by the media during the giant robot incident, the U.S. Government discovered Professor Charles Xavier being held prisoner in Stokes County Maximum Security Facility, the same building that the mutant Juggernaut had been held prisoner in. The professor was unconscious, and he was found floating in green, bubbling, cellular paralysis bio-fluid inside a glass cylinder containment prison. No one knew who put him there, but no one seemed to care much either. They had the most powerful mutant in their hands, and that was in itself a huge achievement, considering the rest of the X-Men had been able to escape their clutches.

Five years later, the body of Charles Xavier still floated inside the cylinder filled with green liquid. It seemed the U.S. Government had not been willing to take any risk that involved Xavier. No one knew the extreme, perhaps unlimited, capabilities of Charles Xavier.

Maybe this is how the Friends of Humanity was able to get their hands on Xavier, even if it's just for a few weeks. Who knew better to control the most powerful mutant in the world than the Friends of Humanity?

Silently he ran his fingers through his blond strands and sighed. He felt a strange pressure growing in his heart. It wasn't the familiar feeling that he always craved whenever he was about to begin another assignment. This wasn't adrenaline, nor was it excitement. It was dread, he finally realized.

Draining, unbearable, nagging dread –not because his next mission was a particularly dangerous one, but because he knew not whether he had the strength to pull the trigger the next time he saw those lovely green eyes.