This is a shorter chapter, but the chapters ahead have a little more to them. We're at about the halfway point of this novella.

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men: Evolution, but I hope you knew that by now.

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My Extraordinary Work Ethic

Benedict Kine was not a man Lance was especially pleased to be spying on. Everything about the man screamed intimidation. His eyes leered out from behind his thick glasses like those of an alert predator stalking its prey's every move, and long, flowing black hair parted to each side in the middle of his scalp, framing his sharp face with perfect symmetry. His mustache was well-kept, and his teeth gleamed an untainted white in the low light of the restaurant.

"You want to stick around, huh?" Kine opened his mouth wide in a grin as he continued chewing his stick of gum. "Interesting. Very interesting. But I like it. I like that kind of dedication. People are always talking bad about this generation, but stuff like this gives me hope."

For a split second Lance felt a burst of joy spread all the way to his fingertips, and then there was a burst of pain, but as soon as the sensations had come they left. Kine seemed to notice nothing.

"So, just hang out. The kitchen's back there – you know, the place marked 'kitchen' – and you can introduce yourself to some of the wait staff and ask them how we do things around here. I'm not going to bother to actually start training you until Monday, but you can learn a little this weekend. The best way to do these things is to just throw yourself straight into the fire. As I always say, you're never going to learn if you've never felt the burn."

"That's the story of my life!" Pietro exclaimed. Lance recognized that his friend had gone into Full Suck-Up Mode and watched as he worked his magic. "I hate just sitting around and waiting. I like going head on and tackling things that way."

Kine laughed, but Lance thought it sounded more like a cackle. "I like you, Wayne. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership."

"Me too, sir." Pietro shook Kine's hand. "We'll head straight to the kitchen."

"You do that." Kine offered his hand to Lance, and Lance shook it, a tingle running up his arm as he did. "I've got to go deal with one of our suppliers. The wait staff knows what they're doing, so don't worry about me."

"Right on. See you later, boss."

Kine moved past them and headed for the elevator. Lance placed his hands in his pockets and gave Pietro an expectant glare. "What now?"

"We go hang out in the kitchen and acquaint ourselves," Pietro said, sounding fully confident in his plan. "They'll probably just tell us to get the hell out of their way, which is perfect because then we can walk around and eavesdrop on people."

Pietro's prediction proved to be accurate. The wait staff hardly paid them any attention, as each member was busy with their tables, and the cooks were even busier. Lance and Pietro settled themselves against a wall between the kitchen and the main restaurant area.

"Who're we supposed to spy on now?" Lance asked.

"Don't know." Pietro shrugged. "Whoever looks like they're important."

Lance's tongue rolled over the toothpick in his mouth. "Sounds like a plan."

The two soon found out that it was a lot harder to pick out potential spying candidates than they ever would have guessed. Most of the patrons of the restaurant seemed to just be talking about normal things – family, religion, the Republican Party, drugs, sex, Lost – and while some of the things they said might have been scandalous on a personal level, Lance doubted that they were of any concern to a national security agency.

"Maybe they're talking in code," Pietro suggested after some two hours of this espionage. It was clear that the speedster was beginning to get irritated: he wasn't exactly very patient. "Like in those secret agent movies."

"Fury's taping all this, isn't he? So I'm sure he can get his lackeys to go over the tapes and figure that crap out later. Not our problem." Lance leaned his back against one of the walls and crossed his arms. "We need to rethink how we're doing this."

"No shit, Alvers. Did it take you this long to come up with that bright idea?"

If it weren't for Pietro's superhuman reflexes Lance would have smacked him across the jaw. "Shut it, Maximoff."

Pietro's jaw bobbed up and down as he chewed on a piece of gum. "I've got an idea," he said after taking time to deliberate (meaning five seconds, tops).

"Shoot." Lance beckoned for him to continue.

"Well, it kinda depends. When I go really fast, can you see me?"

"Yeah. Not well, but yeah."

"I thought so. But we'll have to risk it." Pietro spat out his gum onto the floor. "Listen, here's the idea: I check that other hallway that we didn't check out, but I need you to distract the hostess. Karoline or whatever her name was."

"And how the hell am I s'posed to distract her?" questioned Lance.

"I don't know. Hit on her. Ask her out. You can do this. Come on, I'm just asking for thirty seconds. Maybe forty-five."

Lance felt himself growing irritated and knew it was showing – after all these years he still had something of a temper – but he knew it was best not to argue. "Okay. Fine. But after a minute of small talk I'm done."

"Good. You head over there first. I'll come over once I see you've got her attention."

Lance shrugged himself off of the wall and began to wander over to the entrance area. Once he'd passed the main dining sector, he sauntered up to the hostess and leaned one elbow on the podium, offering her a grin.

"What's up?" he said. The girl barely moved. "I didn't catch your name earlier."

"Then I guess you weren't listening," said the hostess. Someone was feeling icy.

"Yeah, I do that sometimes." Lance decided to take a small gamble and turned to face the spot that he had previously occupied. Pietro was gone. "Where's Clark? I coulda sworn he was right there."

The girl's eyes followed his for just a moment, but that was all Quicksilver needed. A faint breeze tickled Lance's shoulders, informing him that Pietro had gotten by.

"I don't see him," she finally stated.

"Me neither." Lance rewarded her with a smile. "Thanks for looking, anyways. Most people would've just told me to eff myself."

"It's funny that you think I won't do just that."

"A sharp tongue. I like that!" It was a half truth. Kitty could giggle, but in between fits of ditziness she could also be the most misanthropic, sarcastic cynic the world had ever seen, albeit with a streak of annoying idealism. Thinking about it made his head hurt. "What other good qualities are you blessed with?"

"The common sense to ignore the advances of a coworker."

"Ouch, blondie. Ouch." The mutant flicked his head back and rested his chin on his palm. She was a pretty girl, all in all, but a bit too pretentious for his liking. But it didn't seem unnatural to hit on her. "Let's just forget about common sense for a second. You got a cell phone number?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember it off the top of your head?"

She looked at him like he was an idiot. Not far off, said a nagging voice in his head that sounded too much like Fury. "Of course."

"Ooh, we've got a child prodigy here," commented Lance. He inflected a hint of disbelief into his delivery. "You can remember your own number? I never remember mine. I always have to program it into my phone."

"So sad for you."

"Ohhhhhh. I get it. You're bluffing." He stood up and laughed. "I knew it. Just trying to impress me is all. That's why you said you remembered your number."

"Don't be an idiot," harrumphed the girl. "Of course I remember my own number!"

He bent over the podium, challenging her. "Oh yeah? Prove it."

This act of bravado actually earned him a laugh. He nearly dropped dead right there of shock.

"Oh, that's marginally clever," admitted the hostess. "For a second there I actually thought you were a complete imbecile. That's one of the better ones I've heard."

"I thought so." He grinned at her. "So… are you going to give it to me or not?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On what you're looking for."

He cocked an eyebrow so far that his hair hid it. "And what are you looking for?"

"A woman."

Several seconds passed as he processed this. At first he thought she was being intentionally oblique, but the more and more that the cogs of his brain whirred away at this answer the more he realized her true meaning. Then he thought she was being sarcastic and trying to aggravate him. But there was something about her face as she said it, something that was reserved yet defensive at the same time. He couldn't be sure whether she was joking or not, but he decided to throw all his chips in the anteceding pot and see what happened.

"Oh. Well, that's cool. Different strokes for different folks."

"Really?" Her voice rose in pitch on the second syllable. "You're one of the few people that's ever told me that."

"Nah, I mean it," he said, and he did. "I know what it's like to be an outsider."

A tap on his shoulder interrupted any further meaningful conversation the two might've had. It was Pietro. "Someone said you were looking for me, Bruce?"

"Oh yeah. My bad, Clark. I just got hung up talking. I was going to ask you about what that one waiter showed us: what we do when we refill the water glasses." After months of work in S.H.I.E.L.D., it had gotten to the point where the stories just wrote themselves. "See you later, blondie. I'll catch you some other time."

The girl turned back to her seating chart and Lance followed Pietro between the rows of tables. "What'd you find?"

"Not anything immediate," said Pietro. Something about his expression bothered Lance. "I don't get it. I can't find any cameras. It doesn't make any sense. I mean, I've noticed one at the front entrance, one in the elevator, and then a few in the restaurants, but none in any of the rooms or hallways."

"Maybe they don't need cameras," Lance offered. "Look at the X-Men. Xavier can just pop around telepathically to find out what's been going on around there."

"That doesn't stop them from having a full freaking defense system, though." Pietro rubbed his chin with the heel of his hand. "Maybe… maybe they've got nothing to hide here. This place is pretty old, anyways, so they might not have ever bothered to get cameras installed, especially if they didn't feel the need. I think that maybe this part of the Club, at least, is legitimate. There's something else here, where the real business goes on…" He smacked his hands together. "Damn it, if we could just get past that door!"

"I think it's pretty obvious that not just anyone can get in there. We're going to need to get someone to open it, and we're going to need to get one of the higher ups to do it."

"And how exactly are we supposed to do that, Fearless Leader?" Pietro asked.

Lance double-checked to make sure no one else was in earshot and then lowered his voice regardless. "Well, I don't' think we're gonna be able to trick them into doing it or anything. We're gonna have to figure out who's important enough to be able to get in, and then we're going to need to make them open it for us by force. I know it's probably not the safest option, and we're only gonna have an hour or two before they figure out what's going on, tops. We've got one shot at this. Let's do our homework and make sure we don't blow it."

"Sounds unnecessarily dangerous," Pietro remarked.

Lance hid his grin from the businessman walking by them into the cigar room. "It fits us perfectly. Just our style."

"My thoughts exactly, Lancey buddy. My thoughts exactly."

After some heavy brainstorming the two decided to hang around the restaurant and listen in on conversations to see if they could pick out any of the high rollers. It was harder work than they would've thought, but they kept at it for an hour or two before regrouping.

"Any luck?" Lance inquired of Pietro as the latter approached him.

He received a shake of the head. "Nope. A few people mentioned, but mostly it seems like they're talking about activities outside of the Club. You?"

"No. Every time I think I'm getting close they start staring at me like I'm about to pickpocket them." He directed his glare towards an extravagantly conspicuous couple sharing lobster a few feet from them. "Stuck-up assholes."

"We're approaching this the wrong way. Again." With a sigh Pietro adjusted his shirt collar, perhaps too quickly for a normal human. "Any more bright ideas?"

"I wish." Lance's eyes scanned the room. He'd noticed that there was no table larger than four, and that conversations were usually quiet and reserved. He wasn't sure if this was how rich people acted normally, or if they figured they needed to put on a good face in public, but either way it aggravated him for some reason he couldn't figure out. His gaze swept from a table of three to another elderly couple and to the hostess, and that's when another "bright" idea came to him. "Actually, yes."

"Really?"

"I think so. Remember the hostess? She kinda started to warm up to me at the end. We could always talk to her, act like we're just interested in the restaurant and see what she knows about the Club."

"Have I ever told you you're a genius?"

Lance's laugh was sharp and staccato. It reverberated off the walls, each note swirling in an oscillating echo. Weird, he thought. "You can never say it enough, Quicksilver."

"Don't let me hold you back, man. Go take care of business!"

Pietro flicked his head towards the girl and then at Lance, who just nodded and turned away. He did his best to appear casual as he sauntered up to the hostess and her podium.

"Sorry about the interruption," he said. The hostess's head made a bare movement. "Had to go take care of Official Waiter Business."

"Do you know how to refill the water glasses now?" she asked, but her smirk was almost playful now.

He puffed out his chest. "Oh yeah, I'm pretty much an expert. Soon I'll be able to refill sodas, as well. It'll be pretty badass."

"Sounds like it."

"Yep." With a great yawn he stretched his arms high above his head. "Now what exactly were we talking about before Clark pulled me over there?"

"I don't remember."

"Thanks for the help, Barbie. And by the way, are you gonna tell me your real name, or do I have to keep thinkin' up these awesome nicknames? I'm starting to run out."

"You'd better think of some more."

"Fine, will do."

A thick man of perhaps fifty walked by them, a voluptuous brunette at least fifteen years his junior holding onto his arm. He had hair nearly as blond as the hostess's, although thin strands of white fell in his eyes. The hostess bowed her head to him as he walked past. He waved in response.

Lance watched the man as he pulled out a chair for his date. "Who's the geezer?"

"Edward Buckman, one of the Club's higher-ups." This caught Lance's interest. "Comes in every Saturday with a different woman, comes in on Sundays alone, and comes in on either Wednesday or Thursday with a group of business associates. I'm off on Mondays and Fridays, so I can't tell you anything about those days."

"He does the same thing every week? Seriously?"

"Yeah. When you stand at a podium all day, you notice these things."

"So he'll be in here alone tomorrow?" Lance asked, only realizing how conspicuous it sounded after he said it. He quickly added, "And on Wednesday I'll have to wait on him and all his friends? There's no doubt in your mind?"

"No. I'm certain. Club members tend to be creatures of habit."

She didn't seem suspicious, and he internally sighed in relief. All right. Tomorrow one of the big dogs is gonna be alone. Looks like I've got my sucker.

"So people get rich, they buy their way in here, and then they do the same damn thing day after day," he mused, keeping his thoughts to himself.

"Pretty much."

"That's boring."

"That's why they buy sports teams and yachts," she replied. "I imagine they do it to break the monotony."

"Huh. Wish I had that much cash to burn whenever I get bored."

"Don't we all?"

Lance jutted his hand in his pocket and chanced a glance in Pietro's direction. His partner was leaned against a column, watching him with crossed arms. "I should probably get back to Clark. He gets bored easily, you know. I think we forgot his Ritalin today."

"You two live together?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," Lance said, glad that this time he wouldn't even have to lie. "We live with a couple of other guys and Clark's sister in a house we all, uh, rent. It's not much, but we have a good time together."

"Sounds fun." She looked at her seating chart. "You should go. Kine will get mad if he thinks you're distracting me."

"Oh. My bad." He delivered a sheepish grin. "I'll catch you around, blondie."

She said nothing. Apparently she wasn't much of a talker. Like he hadn't figured that out by now.

He turned away from her and walked back to Pietro. The silver-haired agent surveyed him with attentive eyes.

"Well?" he asked, expectant.

"I got a name," Lance said. "One of the big dogs, Edward Buckman. He comes in with a bimbo every Saturday, and with business friends every Wednesday or Thursday." Lance's eyes flashed. "And he comes in alone every Sunday."

"All right!" exclaimed Pietro, pumping his fist into the air. He nearly hit one of the light fixtures and quickly withdrew his hand. "So it looks like we've got something to do tomorrow, huh?"

"Yep. I'm thinking we should probably get in touch with Fury, see what he can tell us about this Buckman guy. I don't want to try to mug some super secret extra powerful mutant and really piss him off."

"Good thinking." Pietro grinned the stupidest grin all of a sudden. "See? We make a great team, Alvers."

Lance snorted. "Yeah, we really do, Maximoff. Whatever. I just want to get this shit over without getting my ass kicked or making a complete fool of myself."

"Attaway to shoot for the stars, buddy."

Lance just gave his friend a sloppy punch in the arm.

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