"You didn't have to hurt him, Logan!"

That Southern Honey again. A fella could get addicted to it.

"I didn't hurt him, darlin'. He fainted."

And Mr. Claws. Of course.

"You didn't have to stick your claws in his throat. I don't think he even knew he was a mutant."

"He is not a mutant." A new voice. Female. High class. Brittle. But with a hint of naughtiness. "Cerbero does not register him as a mutant. He scans just like any other normal human being."

"I have taken a genetic sample and will peruse it at my leisure. In the meantime, our young friend is fine. Wolverine didn't do more than prick him with his admantium claws." I liked this guy. He sounded amused as though he was in on a joke that no one else knew.

"He's not a mutant. He survives ground zero impact with Rogue. And apparently he manages to fight three unknown mutants to a standstill. And none of us have ever heard of him?" Hm. This guy sounded like he had a stick stuck somewhere South of the Border. "You don't know him do you, Wolverine?"

"Never saw him before, Cyke."

"Ah don't know they were mutants, Cyclops." Oh that voice. It was enough to make me keep my eyes closed and feign unconsciousness just to keep hearing it. "They had a Hound—like from Rachel's time. One of them seemed to be a cyborg and another might have been either wearing armor or a robot. Never saw any of them before."

"It wasn't Ahab?" Cyclops—Mr. Stick—asked.

"Ah don't think so."

"Have you tried reading his mind, Emma?"

"Of course, darling." Ms. Brittle again. There was something possessive about the darling comment. It was as though she had reason to stake her claim to Mr. Stick—Cyclops?—and wasn't sure just how strong that claim was. "His mind is very effectively protected. His shielding—I've never encountered anything quite like it."

"I wonder if the Avengers would know who he is?" One thing about Mr. Stick—Cyclops—he wasn't big on letting things go.

"I suppose we could continue conversing about our enigmatic guest further, but it may be more efficacious to simply inquire about his identity directly. I believe he appears to be prevaricating his lack of awareness."

` "What'd you say, sugah?"

"He said I was faking." I opened my eyes and sat up. No point in pretending any longer. Better to give myself away than be found out. "And he's right." I smiled at Rogue. "Hello again. You're always nice to wake up to."

Rogue blushed. ""You say the nicest things, sugah."

I was in some sort of high tech infirmary. It looked like something out of Star Trek. Scanners and sensors and high tech computers winked and blinked and did God knows what. "Nice place you have here."

"We like it." Cyclops leaned against the wall and pushed ruby red glasses back into place. "I'm Cyclops. You've already met Rogue and Wolverine. Emma is our White Queen. And your doctor was—"

"Please, Cyclops. Allow me to make my own introduction." At first glance, I thought it was a talking gorilla. A blue furred talking gorilla. "Greetings, my young friend. I am Henry McCoy. Due to my hirsute complexion, I am more commonly known as the Beast."

"Um, hi." Okay, he freaked me out a little bit. When something that looks like he should be looking at you from the other side of a zoo shows you a fanged grin and offers you a hand to shake that's as big as your head it takes a bit of getting used to. "I'm Kyle." I took the furry hand and gave it a shake.

"Pleased to meet you, Kyle."

I felt something scratch against my mental defenses again. I looked over at the woman called Emma—a tall, pale, blonde woman. "Could you quit that?"

She shrugged. "I simply can't abide a mystery, Kyle."

"There's not really all that much mystery." I hopped off the table. "I'm not a mutant. I'm a sorcerer." There was no point in trying to hide it. They'd figure it out eventually. "I was in New York to pick up some supplies and I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time." I grinned at Rogue again. "Or maybe the wrong place at the right time."

She giggled.

Oh man. This girl was definitely trouble for me, but I couldn't stop myself. Flies and honey, man. Flies and honey.

Or is it bees? I can never remember.

"Sorcerer, bub?" Wolverine was short and hairy and his claws weren't out but just looking at him made my neck itch. "You buddies with Stephen Strange?"

"Um, no." That was one guy the Lady had told me to be sure not to meet, and I really had no reason to doubt her. "Never met the guy."

"So … Kyle is it?" Cyclops was probably trying to give me a look, but the glasses totally spoiled it. How can you take a glare seriously from a man who's wearing ruby sunglasses? "Did you know Rogue's attackers?"

"Never saw them before today, either. Apparently it's my day for meeting people." I wasn't sure if I liked Cyclops or not. He seemed Mr. Anal 101 but there was also something fundamentally decent about him.

"So you just happened to be in the right place to play White Knight to Rogue's Damsel in distress, and your mind is protected so our telepath can't confirm or deny your story. That's stretching coincidence."

Calling Cyclops skeptical would be like calling Wolverine short—a total stating of the obvious.

"Yeah, well, I don't know any of you from Adam, Mr. Cyclops. I'm sure as hell not going to let someone I don't know go Googling through my brain just to make you happy."

"Y'all should just leave Kyle alone. He ain't done nothing to us and you're treatin' him worse than you treat Magneto."

It's nice to have at least one person on your side—bonus points when she's a Southern Belle with a voice like that.

Yeah, I know. I'm totally a voice guy. Sue me.

"We know who Magneto is. We know what he wants. We don't know anything about Kyle here—not even his last name." Cyclops looked over at me again. "Would you at least like to share that?"

"Not really." I slipped my green jacket back on. "Look, I don't know if paranoia comes with the mutant gene or you're just an overachiever. Here's what I know—assuming that Mr. Badger over there wasn't present for most of the discussion. The girl on the leash they called Blythe. The girl headed robot was named Metalyx. The giant robot I called Iron Horse—could be his name, could just be a brilliant guess on my part. Apparently they had some way of locating Rogue and knocking her out of the sky and they wanted her for some reason. I don't think they're mutants—the girl probably was, but the others said something about her scream knocking out all mutants so I'm assuming they weren't ones. That's all I know. Now if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if someone would show me the door so I could get out of here. I have something else that I need to be doing."

"Why such a rush, mon ami? I have yet to thank you for looking out for my Rogue, eh?"

"Hello, Remy."

Two words.

Two words and suddenly my Southern Belle went from Ms. Confidence to Ms. Pining after the High School Bad Boy. Her eyes were suddenly filled with something—some incredible combination of immense sadness, love, and a sort of hopeless longing that tore at my heart

Mr. "I'm the Hottest Guy in the Room Even Though I'm Wearing A Magenta Shirt" flashed a grin over at me. "Hello, mon ami. I'm Gambit."

And he didn't say it aloud, but there was a message in his eyes: "And you had best not be making those puppy eyes at Rogue anymore because she's mine."

Wonderful.

I spend ten years learning magic only to wind up right back where I was when started: hopelessly infatuated with a girl who only had eyes for a Bad Boy.

I hate my life.