Hey guys, this is my longest chapter yet, I think. Things are getting to a head, but I'm still welcoming any ideas. Thanks to all who have been reviewing so far, and hopefully the rest of the story lives up to your expectations. To my beta, Mel, thanks babe. Appreciate it.

Don't forget to review. I take all criticism and pointers seriously. Of course, my favourite reviews are the ones that say nice things! :)

Disclaimer: Yes, I understand that I don't own ANY of'em. Doesn't stop me from wishing I did, though!

Watching. Living. Being: Chapter 8

I don't think this is a good idea, Rogue. The remnants of Jean's psyche warned.

It's Angela, Jean.

Just because you changed your name, doesn't mean you're not Rogue, Jean argued.

Go away, Phoenix. Angela forced Jean back into her mental cage and looked around for the mutants who could help her.

It's been a while, Stripes.

Ah know, Logan. It's getting harder to control when Ah let some out. So Ah just stopped.

Ya know ya can talk to Chuck about this.

Ah don't want to.

Your call, kid. Just thought you should know.

Yeah. For now, Ah need your help. Yours, Kitty's and Storm's.

Of course, child.

I don't think I want to, Rogue. You, like, totally haven't been keeping in touch!

Angela, Kitty. And ya do realise Ah don't need ya permission, right?

Whatever, Kitty sulked.

Talking to her psyches always drained her, which is why this was only the third time she'd done it in years. But it helped her control over them when she talked to them. And sometimes she talked to them simply because she missed them and wanted to hear their voices.

She forced herself to relax, eyes closed, senses alert. Taking a deep breath, she let the Wolverine take over.

Her nose flared, taking in the different scents and smells that permeated her apartment. There was only one she was looking for. When she found it, she snarled softly and followed it to where it was the strongest. Ben's room. The snarl turned to a growl when her nose led her to her own room. Her sanctuary. She flexed her hands, and the bone claws tore through layers of bone, muscle, skin and leather. Hissing in pain, she stared at the claws, trying to decide if she needed them. After a brief internal debate, she flexed her hands again, and they slid home.

Once she'd committed the scent to memory, she walked into her closet. She studied it, making sure that nothing had been moved before kneeling down. Moving the shoe boxes aside, she tapped the base of the closet, looking for the hidden mechanism Ben had installed there before she had moved in. Finding it, she depressed the button, then scrambled out of the way when the false bottom began to move.

Sliding through the small opening, she pressed the button on the other side, effectively sealing herself inside the tiny tunnel. Moving forward on her hands and knees, she moved through the tunnel with a surety and confidence that spoke of long practice. For the next ten minutes, she made no sound, just continued moving down the tunnel.

Turning left, she scooted into yet another tunnel before finally stopping and pushing open a trapdoor that swung shut the second she slid through. Immediately, she crouched, letting her senses study the dark room, making sure that there was nothing that didn't belong there. Satisfied that everything was where it was supposed to be, she straightened. "Swamp Rat."

Light flooded the room, highlighting the sophisticated computer system Ben had installed. "Welcome, Angel," the computer said. "It has been approximately nineteen days, six hours and thirty seven minutes since your last visit." It paused. "Where is Devil?"

"Devil isn't coming back, Darling," Angie said sadly. "It's just you and me now."

There was a pause. Then, "I understand. Shall I remove Devil from all administrative access?"

"Not yet. I need to see some of the files first. But first, I want to run a search. Description only."

"Of course, Angel. Would you like to run a manual search or an automatic one?"

"Let's start with an automatic. I'll switch to manual later. Start a persons search. Female, Caucasian, between twenty five to forty. Honey blonde hair, blue eyes, between five feet seven inches to five feet nine inches. Weight between one hundred and fifteen pounds to one hundred and thirty pounds. She seems to be very fit, most likely in some government agency. Check the FBI, CIA, DEA, military and any other government agency."

"Acknowledged. Working. This might take a few hours, Angel. What would you like to do while waiting?"

"Grant me access to all of Devil's files, Darling. Password: Samantha four four oh six."

"Acknowledged. Devil's files displayed on left screen. Manual only."

"Thank you, Darling," Angela sat down and started scrolling through all of Ben's files, hoping one might give her the answers she was looking for.

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Rolling away from the computer, Angela sighed. The Ben she knew was fiercely protective of the less fortunate, the minorities, anyone different. That was what had drawn him to her in the first place, the vulnerability she had hidden behind the prickly exterior. And though he had hidden nothing from her about his past and the things he had done, reading about them made it harder to swallow. She could never reconcile Ben as Trevor Martin, the assassin. But that was who he had been. A killer. He hadn't killed for money, or for pleasure. He had killed to keep his lover from being murdered. But that didn't change what he had done, and he had never made any excuses for it.

Angela remembered her reaction when he had told her who he really was.

"You're a killer?" she had gasped.

"I wasn't just a killer. I was an assassin. Every few weeks, I'd get a picture in the mail and I'd be given forty eight hours to do the deed."

"But why? Why would you do it?" She was shocked and disgusted. She had never killed anyone in her life, she didn't think she ever could.

He'd looked at her. "Have you ever loved someone so much you'd do anything for them?" he'd asked.

"You know I have."

"What if that person was held hostage, and you had done everything you could to find out where they were, but you couldn't and the only way to make sure that they would be okay is to do what you were told?"

She's just stared at him in shock. "But wasn't there someone you could have gone to for help?"

"Who'd help a gay mutant?" he'd asked bitterly. "And I was afraid of what would happen if they found out I was trying to get help. And to be honest, I was afraid. It was the government, Angie. How was I supposed to go up against them by myself? Turning invisible is great, but not against people who know what you are and are equipped to take you down."

In the end, it hadn't mattered. Trevor's lover had been executed anyway. And Trevor, in his grief and rage, had blown up the Oklahoma facility where his lover had been kept, as well as two other facilities before going underground. He had set up this operation within weeks of moving into the apartment. He stole what he could, when he could and had slowly added to his savings until he had enough to start a base of operations. He became a modern day Robin Hood, stealing from the rich, giving to the poor. He hadn't been above keeping some of the things for himself, but only when he needed the money to upgrade the equipment. He'd cut all ties to his past, wanting, needing a new start. There was only one link to his past he had kept: the name Ben. It was the name of his murdered lover.

Until Angela had come to LA, he had kept to himself, never letting anyone get too close. When he met her, he'd recognised a like spirit.

On days when he was feeling maudlin, he'd tell her that she had saved him, that she'd become his reason for living. And she'd tell him the same.

When he was alive, she had never understood how he could have killed, no matter what the provocation. She knew now that if and when she ever came across his murderer, she wouldn't think twice.