A/N: I am again doing something I don't like doing-uploading a story that has yet to be finished. But, it's gnawing at me, and I figured it was high time to upload it in an effort to get me to write more.

GI Joe characterization comes mainly from the cartoons. X-Men characterization comes mainly from the cartoons. Some creative license has been taken on both accounts, some perhaps influenced by other fan fiction, and some perhaps just simply made up, though I try not to make either obvious.

Please be patient. Updates will be slow, but I promise I will upload when I can. I have every intention of finishing the story, but it will take some time. A lot of time, especially considering I have another unfinished epic underway.

As we begin, chapters will alternate between the Joes and the X-Men. It's all about setting the scenes for what is to come.

Constructive criticism is welcome; if you have a gripe, tell me, and so long as it's constructive, I'll take it to heart. If you have a praise, tell me. Either way, I will love you for it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not GI Joe, not X-Men. Have fun. I am.

Convergence. Chapter 1: The Unknown Legend.

He rolled off her as soon as he was finished. "God, you're a good screw." His breathing was labored, and he kept his eyes to the ceiling. Leaning against the headboard, the sheet came to rest just above his slightly chiseled waist.

She simply lay there underneath the light sheet that clung to their sweaty bodies and closed her eyes, as if shielding herself from his predictable crassness. The silence then hung between them, their breathing slowing.

After a moment, she silently rose from the bed and donned her small silk robe, keeping her back to him. She picked up her cigarette pack, and with a strike of a match, lit the tip and tossed the match into the ashtray.

"You know, those things will kill you one day," he uttered, his breath finally leveling, once again falling under his command. He played with the top edge of the sheet and glanced at her deliberate form, not entirely expecting a response.

She didn't ignore him, but she didn't respond right away. She took a long drag from her cigarette before turning her head back toward the bed. She kept her profile to him, shadowed, so he couldn't meet her eyes. "I'm going to take a shower," she said finally. "Don't be here when I'm done."

He merely grunted his response, half in surprise and half in defeat. He knew she was moody. Apparently, this was one of her moodier days. He knew he should have expected it once she cornered him against the wall as soon as he walked in the door without so much as a 'hello.' With a twitch of his eyebrow and a pursing of his lips, he fondled the bed sheet again. He watched silently as she walked into the bathroom, a hint of a lit cigarette still dangling between her fingers.

As the door to the bathroom closed, he removed the sheet and threw on his clothes. Glancing back toward the bathroom, he shook his head before letting himself out of the house.

Toweling dry her hair, she was pleased he took her for her word. She didn't want to face him. Not today. Not any other day. Their relationship made her feel shallow, but she couldn't deny the release she felt when she spent time with him. She couldn't remember how it first happened, and long ago she realized she no longer cared. Now, it was just one other thing in her life these days that was an excuse for excitement in an otherwise mundane and dissatisfied existence. The release was purely physical; it ceased to be mental and emotional a long time ago, long before she even met him. And yet, it left her feeling more and more empty as the days passed into months, and eventually, years.

She'd go for a long ride before night fell. To get her mind off…well, off everything. She never considered herself a motorcycle aficionado despite spending time on some pretty souped up bikes, but the one day she had an urge to revisit those memories and found herself in "the motorcycle store," she realized she actually enjoyed the beasts. On a whim, she decided to purchase both varieties, a hog and a rocket. On evenings like this though, she much preferred the speed and danger of a rocket than a hog.

Shaking her head clear of her thoughts, she threw on her favorite worn jeans, pulled a t-shirt over her head, and picked up her keys. A knock on her front door stopped her from her mission. When she opened the door, she found a young man from US Air holding a package beneath an electronic console that tracked deliveries.

Glancing up from the console, the young man addressed her. "Delivery for Miss Alison Hart-Burnett. You her?"

Alison nodded and took the proffered package.

"Sign here."

Wordlessly, she signed the electronic screen of the console and handed it back to the delivery boy. After inspecting the signature, he nodded and punched a few buttons before returning to his truck.

Alison closed the door and stared at the oversized envelope. She furrowed her brow at the lack of return address, but with a shrug, she zipped off the opening strip and reached inside. Catching the feel of an envelope, she removed it from the packaging.

A one-way ticket to Washington DC. There was no letter, no sticky note, nothing, except the plane ticket. Which only meant one thing.

The telephone rang, breaking her from her thoughts.

"Hello?" she said, hooking the phone above her shoulder as she continued to examine the plane ticket.

"Did you get the package I sent?"

"I did."

"And?"

Alison sighed lightly enough so the person on the other side of the line could not hear her. She glanced into her open bedroom and wondered if her uniform was still in the closet.

"I'll be there."

"Good."

With a click of a button, she hung up the phone. She hesitated before turning the phone back on and dialing the number, but shaking her head free of the thoughts, she punched the buttons she knew by heart.

"Hello?" the voice on the other side answered.

"I need to see you."

He laughed at her. "After the way you kicked me out this afternoon, I respectfully decline."

Alison closed her eyes. She knew this was coming. "David, please."

She heard him sigh through the phone, but knew their friendship was stronger than petty differences of perspective. At least at one time it was. At some point, their friendship had fallen by the wayside, she too disinterested and he too preoccupied with their activities between the sheets.

"Meet me at the bar in an hour," he finally said.

Night had fallen in the Utah desert, and a chill was in the air. Though she was itching for a ride on her rocket, her mood had changed dramatically since receiving the package and phone call. She opted for her Harley Davidson, her old Army jacket zipped tightly around her.

She pulled into the parking lot and found a spot. It was a Tuesday night, and the bar wouldn't be crowded. She hesitated before switching off the headlamp. A quick glance told her David's car wasn't there, which meant she could get a stiff drink before he arrived. After a moment, she pulled her helmet off and shut down the bike. Swinging her leg over the side, she again took a quick glance around the parking lot before walking into the bar.

"The usual?"

Alison nodded at the bartender as she took a seat at the bar. Taking her jacket off, she hung it over the seat beside her and placed her helmet on top of it. She closed her eyes as she took a sip of her drink, the cool liquid warming her throat, waiting for the familiar comfort to spread throughout her body.

Glancing up at one of the bar's televisions, her mind whirled at the suspected reasons she was being called to Washington. The television was turned to CNN, and by the closed-captioning, she determined the report was simply another so-called expert offering his opinion on the mutant X-gene. She dismissed it, much like she dismissed all reports that claimed to be scientific when it came to mutants.

Turning her eyes back to the bar top, she took another sip of the amber liquid and swirled it in her mouth, closing her eyes at the familiar burn that washed down her throat.

She opened her eyes at the sound of familiar footsteps behind her, but didn't turn around. He'd walk over to the old 45 jukebox and pick a song that somehow always fit the occasion. She'd wait for him.

'Maybe that was how it started,' she mused, before lifting her glass to her lips again.

Holding her drink to her lips, she smiled softly as the familiar sounds of the quarters in the jukebox found their way home. She heard David walk up behind her and take the barstool next to her, motioning for the bartender to serve him a drink as well. He swiveled on the stool, and sat facing her, his elbow on the bar top.

Alison chuckled softly as Neil Young's "Unknown Legend" began playing through the bar. "She's got long blonde hair," she said softly, not looking at him.

David smiled and took a sip of his drink. "Maybe," he responded, swirling his drink, keeping the cocktail straw off to the side with the crook of his finger. He cast his eyes over to her again, meaningfully. "But it's a restless spirit nonetheless."

She frowned into her drink, and hazarded a glance in his direction.

"Did I get it right again?" he asked, a twinkle in his eyes that hid the sadness he felt. This evening wasn't about another lustful rendezvous, and they both knew it.

Alison sighed and set her empty drink on the bar top, fingering the glass as the half-melted ice clinked further toward the bottom. "I need you to take over my classes," she said finally, returning her eyes to the bar.

David mulled over the sarcastic responses he had to offer in some vain attempt to return them to a familiarity that had eventually led them to their perspective differences in the first place, differences that kept them from taking the extra step to that of actual romantic lovers.

"You're more than a good screw, Alison," he said finally, hoping that by opting for something that was once the truth would get her to be honest with him.

She smiled softly as the bartender poured her another drink, but she didn't respond. She couldn't respond.

Ignoring the silence, David glanced at her Army jacket hung carelessly around the next barstool, as if protecting her helmet from the stool itself. "You wear that thing like it's a second skin."

She glanced at the jacket in question then turned her gaze back to her fresh drink. She took a sip, the ice clinking slightly in the glass.

"Ah," he said, turning back to his own drink. "It is a second skin." He paused for a moment before darting his eyes back over to her. "The Unknown Legend herself, an agent of the government."

Alison couldn't keep from smiling at his suspicious joke. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," she said, though all humor was left out of her smirk.

He chuckled before downing the last of his drink and signaling for another. He cast his eyes over toward her and sobered for a moment. "Is it because of him?"

"Him who?" she asked nonchalantly, her old role as an actress coming easily to her.

Again, David chuckled. "Come on Alison, I know love lost when I see it."

She took another sip of her drink before answering, her lips in a tight line, showing nothing but a lack of emotion. "I've been specifically requested." She didn't want to acknowledge even to herself that she'd wondered the same thing. She was glad it wasn't him who called her today.

David nodded, then downed his drink, knowing that was all he would get out of her. Standing, he placed a twenty on the counter to cover both their drinks. "I'll cover your drinks and your classes. I'll even check in on your house, collect your mail and water your plants." Glancing at her, he sighed, wondering why she never could be straight with him. In part, that was one reason their friendship faded as their physical relationship grew. The effort of maintaining a one-sided relationship finally got to him, and long ago he had given up on her opening up to him. Long ago he had accepted their liaisons as purely physical.

"Goodbye, Alison."

He turned to leave, but before he could walk out the door, she jumped off her stool and caught his arm. "David, wait."

He turned to face her.

She fumbled for a minute, but then gave him a card. "If you ever need anything, please call. Thank you. For everything."

David took the card and nodded, but didn't look at it. Resignation and acceptance of the end of their relationship washed over his face. He turned and walked out the door, leaving Alison to return to the bar to finish her drink.

Glancing at the card as he started his car, he shook his head and smiled. "The Unknown Legend," he spoke aloud to himself. "Alison Hart-Burnett, Retired Corporal, US Army." He whistled briefly, knowing that if she was specifically requested even if retired, then his job was complete.

Opening his cell phone, he dialed a number. "It has begun," he said simply before flipping the phone closed and driving away.