This is my favorite chapter so far, indicated by the fact that when I edited it I couldn't find anything to really change, and from here on out the story will become more expansive. As a note, to anyone who noticed: in this story U of Chicago has been altered around to a more city/open campus school, just for plot convenience.

-

My Flashback Sequence

The two sat in their hotel room, sipping beer Lance had bought at a liquor store nearby the hotel. The more they drank the happier they became, to the point that even the nightly news program was in its own way uniquely hysterical.

"Oh – my – God," Pietro sputtered, spewing out little bits of boneless chicken wing with each laugh. "That's just like when Todd fell off the roof!"

"I know!" said Lance as he took a swig of his beer. He grinned. "You won't believe this. Then he says – I'm not kidding, he actually says this – he says that we'd better clear out or things are going to get ugly. So Wanda, you know how she is, she says, 'All right, let's get ugly,' and then –" Lance stopped to laugh again "– she turns his face into a freaking eel. I don't even mean a fish, I'm talking straight up electric eel!"

For the space of one car commercial and half a fast food advertisement the television could not be heard over the giggling. When they finally settled down Pietro let out a loud burp and clinked bottles with Lance.

"Get me another one, ol' sport."

Lance reached into the paper bag and grabbed a bottle by the neck, offering it to his counterpart. Pietro accepted it and tossed his empty bottle down on the floor between the two beds.

"So," said Lance as he unwrapped a candy bar. "Buckman tomorrow."

"Yeah. We should prolly call Fury."

"Yeah."

"Nose goes!"

Of course it was impossible to even think about the proposition before Pietro had his finger to his left nostril, smirking. Lance tossed the balled-up wrapper at him and got out his cell phone, holding '3' on his speed dial. In seconds he was rewarded with the gruff monotone of his genteel commander.

"What the hell is it, Alvers?"

"Fury! You don't sound too happy to hear from us."

"Please, Alvers," grunted the S.H.I.E.L.D. commander. "I've got at least three national security concerns on my hands, not to mention the missions I've for some unfathomable reason entrusted to you dunces." A pause on the other end. "So help me God, Avalanche, if you have bad news I am going to tear you apart limb by limb and scatter the pieces across the Sahara."

"No! The mission's going well. We've been able to get some information on the group. We've found a security door, one of those uber-conspicuous ones like you see in the movies, but it needs clearance we don't have. We're planning on, uh, convincing a club member named Edward Buckman to help us get in. We just wanted to know if we're about to mess with the wrong rich dude."

"Name doesn't ring a bell, but I'll have one of the lackeys run it through the database. Have you checked their security?"

"Besides the door not much. No guards except for the fat one near the door, and we can't find a single camera."

"At least not in the public area," Fury commented. "No need for them there. They're known for their privacy, and maybe half of the stuff that goes on in the main area is actually legal, so there's no reason to make their members feel threatened with tacky 1980's security devices the cops might subpoena. As for the guards, that's more worrisome, although pretty predictable. From what we know of the group, they've got mutants among their clientele, and I imagine many of their workers are also mutants. No need for armed guards when you've got an all-natural team of enforcers."

Lance put the television on mute. A startling sense of sobriety overtook him, along with an urgency to hear every word Fury said. "I wonder why they never asked us if we were mutants. Huh. All right. What about Buckman?"

"One second. I'm getting the report right now." Pietro glanced at him, but Lance just shook his head. "From what we know he's a human, and our information is pretty accurate most of the time. But you'd better damn well not screw this up. Buckman's got some shady associates. You don't want to piss off the wrong people. Get what you need from him and use the injections we gave you. They're brand spanking new, and they'll make him forget his name if you give him enough. Then smack a tracker on him and we'll have our agents deal with him later."

"Sounds like a plan."

He heard Fury sigh on the other end. "Be careful, Alvers, and tell Maximoff to do the same. We're not asking you to bring them down. Just get in there, get what you can, and get the hell out. Once you find something of value, bail. These people are bad news, and we don't need any casualties. Your powers in particular are useless in this situation, and we'd prefer avoiding lethal force unless it's absolutely necessary. We don't need an investigation. Are we clear?"

Lance's heart, however, had stopped somewhere around the word "casualties," which never failed to subvert any of his earnest attempts to pay attention. "Uh, yeah. Got it."

"Good. Don't screw this up. I'm counting on you."

"Wow. Thanks, Fury. I didn't know you believed in us."

"You didn't let me finish. I'm counting on you because if you two go and get killed, I don't know what other pair of mutants in their right minds would be able to tolerate the rest of your team."

"I should put this on speakerphone, Petey," Lance said in his best impersonation of one of those sappy ladies on the old fifties sitcoms Fred liked to watch. "Fury's worried about us!"

"I know you're scared shitless, Alvers." Lance hated how the man was always so damned accurate. "Making a mockery of me doesn't change that. But I guess that's your way of coping. Good luck, kid. And remember, if one of you goes down in combat, it's perfectly ethical to use the corpse as a human shield. I can't tell you how many times that's saved my life."

Lance couldn't tell if his employer was serious or not. And Fury wasn't one for sarcasm. "Uh, yeah. I'll remember that."

"Good. Pardon me, the CIA needs my help with a coup in Haiti and an attack on some Somalian pirates. I've got to go. I'm expecting good news tomorrow."

There was a click and Lance knew Fury had hung up on him.

"So what's the scoop?" asked Pietro, chewing on a mouthful of crackerjacks.

"Buckman's a human, but Fury wants us to use the injections on him and then place a tracker on him just to be sure. He expects that there are a lot of Club members that are mutants, so we should be careful and get what we can. The theme of his message, I think, was 'don't get killed.'" Lance turned up the volume on the television. "Dunno about you, but I feel inspired now."

"Oh yeah, Fury's got a knack for rhetoric."

"Pietro?"

"What?"

"Never use a word that reminds me of my senior year English class."

"Was that the one –"

"Yes," Lance said, wincing as he remembered several noteworthy events that had occurred during that class. "That's the one with all the… stuff."

"Oh." Pietro let loose a laugh. "Oh! Oh-ho-ho-ho! At first I was thinking of something else, but then I remembered, that was also the class where you had to dress up for that play and then –"

"Pietro, just shut up. Please."

"Trying to forget about it won't work, Lance," Pietro taunted him. "It's best to deal with these things up front and personal."

"Pietro, if you don't shut up right now, I'm going to get my razor out of my bag and shave your head when you're sleeping. I'm not freakin' kidding, man. Those are bad memories. But I'm sure you'll look fine with a big chunk of hair missing right in the middle of your head…"

It was Pietro's turn to grimace. "Low blow, Lance. Low blow!"

The rest of the night was perpetuated by equally thought-provoking banter.

"Have you ever smoked pot?" Pietro asked at one juncture.

Lance had been picking lint out of his toes and was caught in between his fattest toe and his longest one. "Pardon?"

"Pot. Marijuana. Cannabis. Weed. Have you done it?"

"I don't smoke."

"Have you ever smoked pot, though?"

Lance scratched the top of his foot and let himself fall backwards onto the pillow. "Well, I tried normal cigarettes at twelve but thought they were nasty. Then I tried pot at fourteen but thought it was pretty annoying as well and that the high was overrated. So yeah, I have, but just a couple times to test it out."

"Huh."

"Why're you asking?"

Pietro shrugged, blowing a strand of hair from his eyes. "Dunno. Never really tried it. Father wouldn't have liked it, but now that I'm not worried about him on my ass all the time I was wondering."

"Fury would beat the living shit out of you, you know."

"I know." A grin. "But sometimes the risk is worth the reward, right?"

"I guess. But if you ask me, pot's overrated. I'd rather blow my cash on something worthwhile."

Pietro released a sharp laugh. "Like heroin?"

A collage of old memories flashed through the back of Lance's head, swirling around to the front until it nearly consumed him. Don't worry, Daddy's just fine. He's just angry. A boy cowering in the corner. Didn't I tell you to shut your mouth? A bill on the table, ignored. They can go to hell. Ain't ever done nothin' for us.

"If you ever try heroin, it won't be Fury or Mags you have to worry about," Lance said in a severe breath. "Useless junkies. Waste of human beings, if you ask me. They're better off dead."

"Wow, harsh." He could feel Pietro's stare on his forehead for a long while. "You… knew addicts, didn't you?"

Lance grunted. "Everyone knows addicts, just different kinds."

"Yeah."

There was a long awkward silence as each contemplated the turn the conversation had taken. Pietro's eyes followed Lance's hand as the elder of the two grabbed his half-empty bottle of beer from the nightstand and took a short swig.

"So when'd you first try beer?"

Lance tried in vain not to surrender a smile. "Let's just say I knew my way 'round the liquor store by the time I came to Bayville."

"I can toast to that!"

Pietro reached across the divide between their beds and held out his bottle; Lance, in a good humor, clinked the bottle with his own.

"To alcohol!" Lance said.

"To writing off alcohol as a business expense!" Pietro said.

At some point they both began to doze off, although Pietro was first to fall victim to sleep. He was incredibly quick to rise and incredibly quick to bed (whenever he actually decided to go to bed), which perhaps should've been made obvious by the very nature of his mutation. Lance, however, had more difficulty in losing consciousness. The muted TV blared a short distance from the foot of his bed, but even so he didn't feel like turning it off. It was comforting in the way it disrupted the silence that always bothered him in his bed at home. Maybe, he thought wryly, he'd been living with the Brotherhood too long, to the point where he hated any sort of peace and quiet at all.

Inexorably his thoughts drifted, as they always did, to the subject he'd least like to think about. In this case, as had been the case for the last few months, that subject was his difficulties with one Kitty Pryde. They'd talked today and he'd screwed it up, as he always did, and even thinking for a second about their argument made him feel like an asshole all over again.

Kitty'd used to be a source of happiness for him – the juvenile, puppy love happiness he had been too stupid to recognize for what it was – but now she was a dependable spring of misery. Things had in no way ended well between them, and he fully recognized that he deserved most of the blame, but if there was one thing he'd never been able to do it was saying that he was sorry, and he didn't plan on partaking in any self-improvement now. He'd never been the oh-I'll-change-my-ways-I-promise type.

He remembered when things turned to shit in his hands.

-

It was a bright May day and everyone outside lounging by the pool just wanted to go inside to the air conditioning while everyone inside in the air conditioning just wanted to go outside and lounge by the pool. A couple of energetic New Mutants were braving the summer heat and playing a game of mutant Frisbee just behind the fence when Lance pulled up in his jeep.

"Jamie!" he called out the open window. "Open the gate, it's me!"

"Kitty said she'd meet you out here!" one of the duplicates answered him. The Frisbee flew over his head and to another Jamie.

"Ah, hell." Lance turned to the console and rummaged about for his cell, finally finding it and holding down one on his speed dial. Two rings and then a familiar female voice, albeit not the one he'd been looking for.

"Hello?"

"Uh, hi, Rogue. It's Lance."

"Hang on." He held the phone to his ear, and a few moments later his girlfriend's roommate returned. "She's on her way down and sorry to keep you waitin'."

"Okay, thanks."

He ended the call and sat back in his seat. Not for the first time that summer he was glad that S.H.I.E.L.D. paid for his gas; it was too damn hot to turn off the car and lose the precious air conditioning that was surely the only boundary between himself and utter hell. He didn't really know how long was too long to wait for your girlfriend to appear at the front gate of the boarding school she attended, but the heat had already made it far too long for his tastes. It was a testament to his affection for Kitty that he hadn't thrown a temper tantrum and done something stupid. For example, the gate had not been knocked down by a seismic wave of pure frustration.

He turned up the stereo. His shaky 6-disc was playing a Wilco album he'd bought secondhand, but Lance, fully aware that the New Mutants were well within sight, made sure not to slip and start singing along lest the X-Brats might use that for future amusement and humiliation. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but close his eyes, and soon enough he was lost in thoughts of nothing in particular.

"You look like you've got something on your mind."

A smile crossed his face as his eyes opened to the sight of his girlfriend's head sticking through his passenger-side window. "Like they say, looks can be deceiving."

"Yeah. Well, right now, it looks like the door's locked, so don't mind me if I just slip on inside."

Lance watched as Kitty phased through the door and onto the seat. Even now, he still marveled at her ability. It was so subtle, yet also so useful. His mind flirted with thoughts of the Brotherhood house shaking on its cracked foundations and he felt a pang of jealousy that his own mutation was so damned useless. Well, not useless, he supposed, but it certainly wasn't versatile. As far as demolition went, he was an expert. It was the construction that he had problems with.

"So where are we going?" Kitty asked as she buckled her seatbelt. "Anywhere exciting?"

"I actually didn't have anything in mind," Lance admitted. He shifted the car into drive and began to turn the wheel. "I was hoping you'd have a bright idea."

"Lazy."

"Just a little bit, yeah."

He felt her warm lips on his cheek for a tantalizingly short second, and although he appreciated the gesture, he still despised the fact that feeling was ephemeral. It annoyed him that her lips might ever be more than a foot away from his at any time.

"My Lance, always so organized. What do you say we just go get some pizza? The guys aren't out tonight, are they?"

"Nah, they stayed home. Dunno where the hell Wanda went, but she's always been kinda weird like that."

"She's not weird," said Kitty. "Like, I bet it's tough for her to be the only girl in a big group of guys."

Lance chuckled and lightly began to apply pressure to the brake pedal. "It's not that she's the only girl in a big group of guys. It's that she's the only smart person in a big group of idiots."

"Oh, come on," Kitty laughed. "Todd's kind of smart."

"You were supposed to say I'm smart."

He enjoyed their car rides almost as much as he enjoyed their dinners and movie dates and days in the park (not to mention all the crazier stuff they'd experienced together). There was something nice about being out on the road, the feeling rising up in his chest telling him that he could go anywhere now that he had a full tank of gas and a girl he loved in the passenger seat, and their jokes and stories came easy and true. Sometimes, in the helicopter on the way to some mission in God-knows-where, he'd think of Kitty – partially because she was nice to think about and partially because it helped him shift his focus from the vomit rising up in his throat – and grin when the thought occurred to him that she was his girl, and his alone, and there wasn't anything that was ever going to change that so far as he could see.

He pulled into the last available parking space directly outside the restaurant. Kitty could have easily just gotten out of the car herself, or phased out, but they had their routine; he turned off the car, hopped out, and hurried to open the door for her. She smiled at him, as usual, and he bowed, offering her a polite, accented, "Madam."

"Sir," she returned.

He took her by the hand (he'd long since stopped caring if people thought he was a sap – even if they thought he was whipped, at least they knew she was his girl, and that's all that mattered) and they headed inside, he yet again holding the door open for her.

There was a crowd inside, as he might've guessed by the lack of parking, and from the looks of things the Bayville High baseball team had won their playoff series and had brought out all their friends and family to celebrate. Lance didn't recognize anyone, except for a few of the older members of the posse, who had been in his class or the one above it in high school, and he realized that they probably had brothers and friends on the team. Thankfully none of Matthews' crowd was there, or none of Kelly's pathetic disciples. He really couldn't deal with a bunch of anti-mutant bigotry tonight.

"Okay, should we go half veggie and half meat lovers or do you want to share a cheese?" Kitty asked as they surveyed the menu.

"We had cheese last time," he noted. He faced her with a small smile. "Let's go all veggie."

She viewed him with a look of surprise. "You don't need to do that. I know you aren't a big green guy. You know I'm totally cool with that."

"What can I say? It's grown on me."

They ordered, and Lance took pride in the fact that he was actually able to pay. While he didn't always enjoy the obligations that his employment with S.H.I.E.L.D. entailed, he certainly did enjoy the fact that he was now able to pick up the tab when he took his girlfriend out to dinner. They got their fountain drinks and picked the last remaining booth by the window, and Lance took time to admire the view as he sat down. It was a perfect view for a perfect evening outside; now that he was shielded from the heat, he could appreciate the beauty of the quaint downtown district of Bayville, not to mention the incomparable beauty of the girl across from him.

"You're thinking sappy thoughts, aren't you?"

He shook his head and tried to be casual. "What do you mean?"

"You were looking at me with the doe eyes again."

"Oh damn."

Kitty laughed. "It's okay, I like the doe eyes. It's fine to be sappy, even if you'll never admit it. Girls like a sentimental guy. You don't always have to be Mr. Tough Guy."

"Don't say that – it makes me think of Wolverine." Lance shuddered. "That guy still scares the living shit out of me."

"Stop saying that! Logan's really sweet once you get to know him."

"Yeah, I figure he's a regular doll once you get past the adamantium claws."

Kitty slapped him on the wrist, but lightly, and he grinned. She took his hand in hers, and he was thankful that he had a girlfriend with some sort of initiative: no matter what she said, he really did feel like a sappy idiot when he was the one to always grab her hand and not vice versa.

"What's taking so long?" he griped, his stomach rumbling. "I'm starved."

"It's been like two minutes. They're on their way, just be patient!"

"Easy for you to say. You weren't the one waiting in the car while someone –" here he placed a strategic cough "– was busy primping their hair or putting on lipstick or something just as girly."

"I wasn't acting 'girly,' so you know!" At his skeptical expression she glared. "I actually had just gotten back from overseeing a Danger Room session and was trying to give some of the New Mutants some pointers. They're totally clueless sometimes."

"Right." Lance took a long slurping gulp of his soda through his straw. "X-Geek."

"Hood rat."

That teasing insult might have been enough a few years prior to set him off, but he'd cooled off since his high school days (to some degree, at least). Instead, he just rolled his eyes. "Rather be a rat than a geek."

"Interesting choice."

It was at that point that a waiter brought by their pizza on a large pan.

"Careful of the metal, it's hot," said the waiter as he gently set the pan down on top of a stand on the table. "You both have plates?"

"Yes, thank you," said Kitty. "Is there any peprika or Parmesan?"

The waiter looked at the empty tray beside the stand. "It should've been on the table. Hang on, I'll go get you some."

"Thank you!"

If the waiter heard her he didn't acknowledge it. Lance inspected the pizza, tentatively deciding that it might actually be somewhat tasty. "Looks good."

"Very."

Lance smirked at her over the top of the melting cheese. "So, we got anything to toast to tonight? Anything to celebrate?"

There was a moment's hesitation on Kitty's part. He could tell that she was struggling with something, but as always, she gained her composure and gave him a genuine, if not very strong, smile.

"As you know, I was accepted into the University of Chicago."

"Yeah."

Too right he did know. He'd never seriously considered that Kitty might leave him for college, though. The world outside was just too different to deal with people like them. They didn't understand, and some socialist economics professors wouldn't understand any better than Kelly or Matthews did.

"I sent a letter back notifying them that I'll be enrolling for the fall semester, and I just got an e-mail confirming my enrollment."

Lance's smirk vanished. "You're joking."

"I'm dead serious," she said, voice firm. "I know it'll be tough, but it's something I want –"

"Tough? It'll be hell, Kitty! They don't understand us! I don't care what they say, they can't understand until they've lived like us, until they've seen what it's like to be able to tear up a whole damn city up because you had a headache and your dipshit roommate forgot the Advil!" Despite his anger, he tried to keep himself somewhat calm – it wouldn't be good to start even a slight tremor – and he was successful in lowering his voice. "They'll hate you. People shouldn't hate you."

"Someone's got to go out there and take all it," Kitty countered, but politely. "I'm, like, as qualified as anyone. Why not me?"

"Because! Because… you're you!" It didn't make sense, but Lance had never felt like anything made sense, anyhow. "It's not fair. It doesn't have to be you. You've sacrificed enough already for nothing. Everyone still hates us. Let 'em rot in hell for all I care. You've earned some relaxation time."

"I don't just want this for everyone else, Lance. I want this for me. I've wanted to go to Chicago since I was little. My dad dreamed of going there. I've got the chance to actually go. I want to go. I know it will be hard."

He surveyed her for a long moment. "You're serious, huh. Well." He attempted a smile. "I guess I can always take a car trip out to Chicago every few weeks. Good thing S.H.I.E.L.D.'s paying for my gas!"

His feeble stab at humor was not appreciated, apparently. Kitty had a strange look in her eyes. "That's not fair to you, Lance."

"Trust me, I've learned to deal with not fair. It's pretty much par the course for me. I've got it down pat."

"I don't care. I'm not going to do that to you."

"Then don't go."

"I have to go."

"No," he said, with force, "you really don't."

"I want to go," she repeated.

"Then I'll go," he stated. "And if I don't move there, I'll go every other weekend. I'll drive. I'll do it, I swear."

"I know you will, Lance."

"It's no big deal," he insisted.

Kitty shook her head. "Yes, it is. I'm not going to do that to you. You shouldn't have to worry about coming out to Chicago for some girl that's already going to be stressed out over exams and her classmates being idiots and who's probably going to go totally spastic on you for no reason. You shouldn't have to worry about that."

"All right." He noticed for the first time that his teeth were gritted. "Then don't go."

"Lance. That's not what I'm saying."

"I know what you're saying, but I think what you're saying is bullshit so I'm saying something else!"

"Lance, just think of it like we have a few more great, wonderful months. Right?" She tried to take his hand, but he withdrew it, instantly regretting his action when he saw the hurt expression on her face. "And then… you won't have me weighing you down. No responsibilities, right? You can focus on S.H.I.E.L.D. And it's not like I'll be dead or anything. We'll still be best friends and everything, right?"

He wanted to tell her that he liked having some sort of responsibility, whether it was keeping a roof over everyone's heads when he was seventeen or organizing stupid criminal activities back in Northbrook or trying to make his girlfriend happier than he could ever hope to be, but the words wouldn't form, and he'd never been one for words to start with. He glared her straight in the eye and shook his head.

"Yeah," he spat. "We'll be bestest buddies. You can gossip to me about all the boys you like and I can give you relationship advice. It'll be just dandy, dontcha think?"

"Lance, stop being such a dick."

Her angry words stirred up something in him, and all of a sudden he saw his no-good father and that bitch Mystique in his mind's eye. "All right, as soon as you tell everyone to stop leaving me, because it's getting really old!"

"I'm not leaving you, Lance!"

"C'mon, Kitty, just admit that you're sick of me and get it over with. Break up with me."

Kitty's attention, however, was diverted. The waiter was standing in an awkward pose, holding up two glass containers.

The waiter gave them a feeble smile. "Peprika?"

-