Nightcrawler ran into his suite, ready to fling the closet open and gather the nondescript woman triumphantly into his arms. "I am here!" he crowed, then stopped at the threshold to his bedroom, deflating like a punctured blow-up punching bag at the sight of the empty closet.

"At least I may redeem myself in her eyes," he said to himself, and extracted Elise's gator-handled knife from the sheetrock, like a small version of Excalibur from the stone. He whispered to his reflection in a mirror which had miraculously been left intact, "This is the work of a true artisan. Surely she would be upset if something happened to it." He reclaimed his sword, digging in the closet for the scabbard and belt to buckle it across his back, and searched a few moments for his X-comm, without success. It could wait. He had a quick way of finding his charge without using their fine technology.

Several fruitless jaunts later, he sagged against the wall of the pantry to catch his breath. Perhaps it would be useful in future to carry his cell phone in his uniform, in case he misplaced the X-comm again. He left the knife in a drawer where he had noticed she kept a variety of sharp gadgets.

But where to find the cook herself? Certainly she would need him and his fighting skills. The sulky young men skulking about the campus would no doubt have evil intentions toward a young, isolated Fraulein. "I'm no hero," he thought, "but rescuing damsels could easily become my specialty."

Certain shuffling noises from above aroused his suspicion. Nightcrawler scampered up the walls to the ceiling. Better to lie in wait and assess the situation by careful listening than 'port into the middle of an enemy who might be a walking arsenal.

Elise surveyed her arsenal, keeping an ear out for any suspicious sounds. Sure enough, there were footfalls at the far end of the hallway: how best to discourage them from coming near until she could figure a way out of this room?

Guns would only be good when they were close enough to shoot back: nix that idea. Nail gun? Nah, same limitation. Concussion grenades. If she lobbed one several feet in the direction of the main staircase, it might not do much damage to the far end of the hall but would still leave the rest of the wing accessible to her. "Please, God, don't let anyone be close enough for this to do any serious damage to 'em. They're just a bunch of dumb males. No offense."

"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" Elise pulled the pin, chucked one out, skittered back to the far corner of Colossus' room and hunkered down behind his massive bed.

Nothing. "They don't make ordnance like they used to." She stroked the shark-shaped knife handle peeking out from where her crouching caused the overalls leg to ride up. "People have no pride in their craftsmanship."

In the opposite direction from the spot where Elise had tossed the weapon, the man in the stairwell heard her shout, but soon found out why there was no explosion following: the locator disguised as a grenade wobbled harmlessly down the corridor like an avocado on vacation.

The cook reflected that, while there is bound to be a dud in every crowd, some crowds are made of nothing but duds. With luck, that would not be the case with her pilfered ammo. Again she yelled, pulled, galloped, hid as the rumbling jolt shook the room.

Directly below the spot where the real grenade landed, The Incredible Nightcrawler felt the earth move under his feet. Actually, he felt the ceiling quake; the shuddering caused him to lose his grip and plunge to the floor, pieces of sheetrock still clinging to his feet. "This drywall is not sturdy. Nobody plasters as firm as they used to!"

Little flakes of paint snowed down on him following impact. He blinked at the sudden shower of specks and pulled the sword belt back in place, then massaged his shoulder. Tiny crimson drops, spotted with minuscule debris, fell on his elbow from his re-bloodied lip. But his concern was not for his own troubles. "Those evil miscreants! Tossing such dangerous devices when there are civilians about!"

"Not bad for a civilian," Elise whispered to her reflection in Piotr's full-length mirror. "But that'll only slow 'em down. There will be 'gentleman callers' at the door before long." She wondered why Scott hadn't sent reinforcements or at least a search party. If they had reached the shelter far below the mansion proper, surely by now they should have noticed her absence, and that of the newbie too.

Scott and Hank heard the thunder, exchanged looks, and returned to their activities.

Hank, looking at the the device they'd carried into the Professor's study, said, "The conception arises that, after defending herself in multiple incursions by hostile elements, Miss Stringfellow may garner the designation of a code name, albeit she is not in the strictest sense of the term an X-man."

Cyclops snorted. "I can imagine what she'd come up with." He stuck his fists out, stretching. "Something like Spatulista, or Whack-a-Moley."

Hank put down the disassembled Neutralizer. "It would appear that the mere mention of our mislaid domestic triggers a long-buried sense of humor, mon Captain. Being somewhat neutral politically, she may not be enraptured by the suggestion I would make: a moniker given to former Prime Mister Thatcher." He grinned, sharp teeth not at all frightening when framed by the friendly furry face. "Attila the Hen." A stunted, grunt-like laugh escaped from Cyclops. McCoy gestured toward the front window and asked, "Shall I reconnoiter the grounds and convey possible lingerers to a secure point?"

"No, head below. Your medical expertise may be necessary."

Beast gathered his contraption pieces, bundled them in a table runner, and shuffled toward the door. He said, "Would I be correct in presuming that you expect our newest cyan-colored team member presently, with Elise in tow?"

The leader continued to untie Mindbender. "I assume that's what he was telling Storm before he left. If not and she's attempting to fight solo, Rogue and Kitty can't get hurt by her antics, but at least they'll eventually search that area and bring Elise to safety."

In the opposite wing, Kitty "Shadowcat" Pryde phased through the ceiling to the second-floor hallway. She'd taken out several of the enemy clowns with a few simple martial arts techniques mastered during bone-bruising sessions with that scary Wolverine guy, and now was on her way from the rear patio area. Scott had said it shouldn't be difficult to sweep through the third floor in search of marauders, hired help, wounded X-men, etc. Phasing would be quicker than walking; Shadowcat went through the parlor, literally, then walked on air up to the ceiling. She materialized through the floor of the second-story hallway, shoulders poking up through the carpet like a piece of fallen statuary, her back toward Rogue who, unaware of their potentially dangerous encounter, zoomed along toward the sound of Elise's first hollered warning in the east wing.

The Southern belle with the white streak streaked millimeters above Kitty's noggin. Shocked by the sudden rush of wind, Kitty solidified, momentarily stuck in the floor. Turning to see the near-miss, Rogue angled down. The momentum and trajectory caused her shoulder to clunk to the floor, which in turn crumbled. "Sometimes invulnerability and super-strength jus' stink," she muttered as the two women plummeted into the room below, falling on and then through a pool table as Kitty's composure returned and she went into phase mode, clutching Rogue's gloved hand.

Flustered by the impromptu get-together, the pair crawled from under the pool table, dusted off, full of giggles, and hit the wet bar for a moment.

Kitty said, "We deserve a quick drink. What do you have back there?"

"Ginger ale for you, li'l miss jailbait," Rogue said with a grin, chest still heaving from the surprise and the laughter.

"No sign of the cook yet - do you think she's okay?"

"Leez has a knack of gettin' out of trouble almost as good as gettin' into it."

"But Cyclops says you can't trust to luck."

"Much as I hate to agree with him, he's right." Her bayou accent made the word sound like "rot." Perhaps on purpose. "But we'll be along soon enough, Honey. If we rescue her too fast, she'll think we're bein' patronizin'." She cocked her head. "Didja hear that? Somethin's shakin' 'round here, an' I mean literally."

Kitty nodded, then put down her can of soda and placed one arm around Rogue's waist. "Let's investigate, pardner."

"Hi-ho Silver an' all that."

They phased up through the ceiling like a pair of ghosts in an elevator, separated, and headed past the huge balustrades of the main staircase. Ahead of them a villain in a neon-blue vest and royal purple silk pantaloons stalked, peering into the door next to Nightcrawler's room. He veered across the hall to push open another door, then crossed again. His feet crunched on some of the debris from the mess up ahead.

The female duo looked at each other, winked, and launched themselves at the enemy, Rogue tackling him as Kitty squatted to cover his mouth and suppress any vocalizations. She whispered in his ear, "The lady on top of you has the power to toss you out that window at the far end of the hall. I suggest you co-operate."

Rapid head-nodding ensued, his eyes almost showing the whites as they strained to see Kitty on his side and Rogue on his back.

"Keep your voice down when you answer or you'll regret what might be your last yell."

Rogue added, "No use alertin' every crazy cohort around here. How many more of ya are there?"

The teen slid her palm from the captive's mouth, keeping it close enough to clamp again in an instant.

"I dunno. Lots. I woke up to that grenade and went looking for any of the other fellas." He changed to a mutter. "Stupid broads can't leave a guy alone."

Rogue, in hushed tones asked, "You expect us to think YOU didn't throw that explosive? Gimme a break, ya houn' dog."

"If I'd known it'd bring out all you babes in skin-tight uniforms, believe me, I woul—" Kitty's furious fist silenced the sexist stream.

Rogue climbed off the prone form and, keeping her voice low, said to Kitty, "Guess we'll assume he was lyin'." She nodded to the wreckage in front of them. "Musta been what we heard at the bar after our li'l escapade. If that is 'Leez's doin', she'll come a-trottin' out here any minute."

Kitty nodded, circling in a 360 inspection of the hallway. A hand flopped out of the doorway to Nightcrawler's room. "Let me slip in," she mouthed. Once inside, she surveyed the tangle of bodies and reached for her X-comm. "Cyclops, this is Shadowcat. We have a lot of perps in a room up here. Most of them seem to be out cold."

"Bring them to the holding cells."

"I still haven't memorized all the escape routes and secret passageways. It's like a super-sized game of Clue!"

"Rogue can show you where they are." There was a brief pause, followed by some quiet words in the background, before Scott spoke again. "Good work."

"But we still haven't found Elise. What should we do?"

"If she's not in the pile of bodies, we'll assume she's safe for the time being. Nightcrawler was carried away too, but Storm said he broke free and was going to save the cook. Cyclops out."

Kitty smiled and relayed the info to her compatriot who had walked in, the insensible bad guy slung over her shoulders like a gym towel. Rogue asked, "Can a li'l slip of a thang like you haul some o' these big ol' fellas alright?"

Shadowcat straightened herself and said, nose a tad in the air, "That stinky Wolverine's been showing me some kind of mystical samurai secrets. I think I can handle it." She selected a suitably small runt from the pile, grabbed him, and arranged him so he wouldn't disrupt her center of gravity. "It might be easier for me to take the straight route," she said, finger pointing downward.

Rogue nodded toward the pool area. "I can fly out the window to the bunker entrance and show you how to find it." She adjusted her burden and grabbed another man in each arm. "Ready, Sugah? Let's do some bad boy collectin'!"

Storm returned from a fly-around over the grounds. "I found nothing amiss."

Kurt entered the study.

"Nightcrawler, where have you been?" Cyclops' voice was steady, but his taut frame lent a severe cast to the words.

"Looking for the Fraulein. She is not in the safe spot where I left her."

"Of course not. Took matters into her own hands. It's time for us to visit the underground complex, assess everyone's situation in person."

Storm, pacing, asked, "Do you prefer that I continue patrolling for the duration of the crisis, or join you below if there is nothing new?"

Jean waggled her head, her words blurred. "Nobody new coming. Is it dinner time yet?"

Cyclops ignored Storm's small smile. "I trust your judgment. For once we'll play it by ear." He scooped his wife up in his arms, gestured with his head at Xavier, and addressed the blue mutant. "You guide the Professor's chair."

"What about the cook – you told me to look after her!"

Storm said, face calm as a hidden lake, "Now that Elise is aware of our plight, I pity anyone foolish enough to cross her." The lovely African approached an open window and flew into her beloved outdoors.

Charles Xavier, a model of dignity despite a head currently prone to nodding, tried to reason with Kurt. "By your account, she helped fight even while hidden in your closet. And most of the infiltrators have been caught." To the veteran X-men, but not the newest addition, he added mentally, Heaven help the ones who might stumble across our dear friend.

"It's every man for himself at this point," the tactical leader replied aloud, a grim expression fixed on his features.

Kurt blurted, "But she is a defenseless lady."

Jean wriggled in her husband's arms, gave a far-away smile and murmured, "Wrong on both counts, Nightcrawler," then lapsed back into a gas-induced stupor.

Scott paused for a moment and turned his crimson eyepiece toward the fretful German acrobat. "She should survive, although the second floor might not."

[To Be Continued ...]

[Author's Note: Thanks again to my incredible Hubby who advised me on various matters and even donated a few of the funniest lines. And certain people (including "Boom") who filled me in on the finer points of grenade types.]