Edited: 3/5/16

Author's notes: We're moving on to the next arc. This arc is going to encompass X-Men II. It will also take inspiration from the novel: X-Men 2 by Chris Claremont.

Chapter 29 – Two Steps Forward

"Mutants. Since the birth of their existence, they have been regarded with fear, suspicion, and hatred. Across the planet, debate rages: Are mutants the next link in the evolutionary chain…or simply a new species of humanity, fighting for their share of the world? Either way, one fact has been proven: Sharing the world has never been humanity's defining attribute." - Charles Xavier

Zen stared at the thick length of flesh. Anyone else would have been glaring at this point, but he only had a look of mild dismay on his face. It had been stiff for three hours, and showed no sign of returning to its flaccid state. His gaze darted to the clock, 11:58. Two more minutes. He didn't pace the small cell, instead he lay on his back, waiting.

It had been a little over a week since his talk with Bobby. In that time, his penis continued to behave strangely, and he had to wonder of the other boy might not have been lying to him. How could anyone put up with such nonsense? Was he supposed to believe the other males were wandering around the school with this problem?

Then again, he knew Kitty well, and he had an idea of what she might do to the ice mutant if he lied. His cock throbbed relentlessly, and he poked it, wishing it would return to what it had been, a method of urination and nothing more.

12:00. Zen dressed, and had to fight to get his uncooperative body into the pants.

"Come on, tell me. What did Kitty want last week? You know you want to tell," Pyro cajoled as they walked down the hall, headed to the dining hall for a late, late breakfast.

Bobby scowled at him, almost ready to tell to get the bastard off his back. "I already told you, you don't want to know. Hell, I don't want to know. I think I'm scarred for life."

"Dude, you can't say something like that and not share," Pyro cried.

He expected another snarky reply from Bobby, but only silence met his ears. Looking to his left, Pyro froze. "Bobby?" The hall was empty. "What the hell?"

Bobby landed on his hands and knees with a jarring thump. If he'd had anything in his stomach, it would have come spewing out his mouth at this point. Thankfully, whatever happened hadn't waited until after breakfast.

Swallowing the saliva coating his mouth, Bobby glanced around and found himself eye level with Zen's groin. Zen's…excited groin. Dear God, I'm sorry for my behavior, but please, haven't I suffered enough? Apparently God wasn't in a forgiving mood today, and instead of magically transporting him back to Pyro, he was stuck staring and wishing this wasn't happening.

"Seriously?" Bobby whined.

"It is one minute past noon."

For a second, he had no idea what the tiny assassin was talking about. Then it clicked. Well, at least he didn't drag me out of bed for this. Bobby staggered to his feet, even though it made his stomach give another violent lurch, and he wondered if he wasn't going to throw up after all. Finally it settled and he glared at Zen.

"Did you have to kidnap me?"

"It was the easiest way to secure your aid."

"Right." Bobby's eyes drifted around the room. It was one of the underground cells, but the mismatched furniture made it feel less like a cage. Still, his skin crawled when he realized the door was shut. "So, ah, what seems to be the problem?" he asked, not wanting to try the door. If it was locked, he might lose it. He'd pretend everything was all right, and it would be. Right. Sure. Of course it would.

"It won't go away."

Bobby imagined he could hear the frustration Zen must be feeling in those emotionless words. And then he realized what the short teen said. No, can't it be someone else's turn? Let Pyro tell Zen about masturbation! This is so not fair.

He rubbed his eyes, fighting the urge to scream at the brat to go to one of the professors. Let Scott deal with this insanity. Then Kitty's face, a mixture of rage and mischievousness flashed in his mind like a lightbulb exploding. No, pissing her off by telling Zen to shove it wouldn't end well for him. Not that he could see any way for this situation to end well.

With an exasperated sigh, Bobby spoke. "Sometimes it needs a little help."

Zen blinked at him with that idiotic look of confusion, making Bobby want to shout at him to figure it out himself. Hell, the rest of them had, why couldn't he? Then again, his idea of figuring it out himself would probably be to cut the damned thing off. Bobby would probably be blamed for the act of self-mutilation.

Damn it all.

Heat burned in his cheeks, but he forced himself to start. "Okay, do you know what masturbation is?"

Zen was silent for a few seconds as he consulted his linguistic memory. "Yes. It is the stimulation or manipulation of one's own genitals, especially to orgasm; sexual self-gratification."

It was Bobby's turn to blink at him. "How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Pop off with dictionary definitions of words. Did you memorize the whole stupid book?"

A false frown slid over Zen's face, making Bobby's shoulders twitch. He wasn't sure what was worse, when Zen was blank, or when he played human. He couldn't put his finger on it, but all the fake reactions felt off to him. It was sort of like watching those movies where they computer generate people. The closer to realistic they got, the creepier they became because there was no one thing you could point at and say, "That's it, that's what's fake."

"One of my first memories was of language being uploaded into my mind. It was a painful process, but it allows me to recall the definitions of every word that was integrated," Zen confessed.

"Right," Bobby said in a deadpan voice that could almost match Zen's for blandness, while inside he shoved that little tidbit of horror away. He did not want to know more about how the short killer was tormented before he came to them. No thanks, he didn't need to shovel any more guilt into his mind over his past behavior.

"What it doesn't tell me, is how to stimulate or manipulate my genitals."

Oh God no, will this day ever be over? I should have stayed in bed. Bobby was beginning to worry that he would pass out from blood loss due to how badly he was blushing at this point. He was not going to teach Zen how to masturbate. Nope, wasn't going to happen. Never.

Without a word, Bobby stalked past Zen and grabbed the handle to the door. His shoulder was almost wrenched out of the socket when he pulled and nothing happened. Of course it would be locked. Why not? That was the shitty sort of day he was having.

"Let me out," Bobby said through gritted teeth to keep himself from turning and punching Zen in the face. That would distract the little shit from his boner. Only the knowledge that Zen might hit him back kept him from attacking. He didn't want to be at the assassin's mercy while locked in a cell.

"No."

"No?"

"I need your help."

Bobby spun and glared at Zen. "Damn it, can't you figure out masturbation like every other kid?"

"No."

"Why the fuck not!" He all but screamed. The room felt like a cell now. Were the walls a little bit closer? His blue eyes darted around the room, studying the small neatly made bed, the desk where each item was placed in perfect position, the shut drawers, and realized how clean the room was. It didn't look like a teenaged boy lived here.

"Because it is more expedient for you to teach me than for me to waste time with experimentation," Zen explained. And then, to Bobby's absolute horror, Zen began taking off his clothes.

He was so shocked, he couldn't even speak as the small assassin stripped, folded each item, and put it on the desk chair. This can't be happening. Not at all. This is an extremely vivid nightmare, and soon I'll wake up and wonder what's wrong with me to cause me to dream such awful things. Without thinking, his hand came up and pinched his arm. Pain spiked through him, and he almost whimpered. Not a nightmare then. Damn.

"Now what?" Zen's dull voice cut through Bobby's mental breakdown, bringing him back to the problem at hand.

Reluctantly, he looked at the boy. Not a boy, a man. Without his clothes on, Bobby could see the defined muscle, still slender but strong looking. Even though he would never admit this out loud, he felt jealousy flare when he saw Zen had a perfect triangle of black chest hair. More than the tiny thatch of blondish curls he sported. Almost against his will, his eyes trailed down Zen's body to the raging hard-on standing at attention between his legs. There was a full complement of dark hair here as well.

"Now?" his voice came out an unmanly squeak. Zen gave him a look that made him clear his throat. "Er, right. Now. Uh lay down on the bed, on your back." This can't be happening, his mind screamed, but it was. Dear God it was. Best to get it over quickly, then I can leave and pretend this never happened.

Zen followed Bobby's direction, stretching out on the bed and staring at the bobbing organ that started this whole mess.

Still blushing, Bobby looked at the wall and not the horny assassin on the bed. It'll all be over soon, just tell him what he needs to know, and then you can leave, you can do this Bobby. "Okay, so grab…er…it…in your fist and move your hand up and down the shaft." Bobby wondered if this was what it was like being a porn director. If so, he had no idea how anyone had ever made a single movie. This had to be a new level beyond awkward.

It got worse. Even not looking, Bobby could hear what Zen was doing, and worse, he could hear that he was doing it wrong. Damn it. Forcing himself to look, he almost winced at the furious way Zen was throttling his cock. "Stop," Bobby choked out.

Thankfully, the idiot hadn't flayed any of the skin off in the first experiment. Again those empty green eyes locked on his, waiting…waiting.

Bobby crossed his arms and sighed. "Look, your cock isn't an enemy you're trying to strangle all right? I mean, did that feel good?"

"No."

It took a Herculean effort for Bobby not to rip his own hair out at the bland word. "Then why didn't you stop?"

Zen blinked at him. "I didn't know it was supposed to feel good."

Did I slip into the Twilight Zone? Is that what happened? "Go back to your definition. What part of self-gratification did you miss?"

"I would be grateful for my penis to stop being hard."

Bobby had nothing to say to that, so he ignored it to preserve his sanity. "The whole point of this exercise is to have an orgasm, and to feel good. So if you're ever doing something and it hurts, don't do that." Unless you're into that sort of thing, his mind unhelpfully pointed out. No, he wasn't going to make this whole mess even more complicated. Let someone else talk about fetishes with Zen, he'd stick to the basics.

How did you teach someone how to masturbate? This was a lot trickier than he thought it would be. "Softly grab your cock, and be soft about it. Stroke it up and down, and don't forget the head." There, that sounded reasonable.

Ten minutes later, Bobby felt like he might have better luck bashing his head against the door until it or he broke. He died. That was the only explanation. He was dead, and this was hell. No matter how he worded it, Zen didn't fucking get it, and he still had a hard on.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, trying for the umpteenth time to help Zen reach orgasm.

"My penis not being hard."

Bobby smacked his forehead, and wondered if he'd have to go get a dirty magazine to make this end. Then again, he only had the female variety, and he had a feeling that wouldn't help Zen's predicament in the slightest.

"Don't think about how much you want it to go away. Think about X. Imagine him doing, uh, whatever he does. Biting you, or whatever." The awkwardness was back, even after what felt like hours of watching Zen's feeble attempts at pleasuring himself.

Zen closed his eyes. Bobby watched his face smooth out, and his strokes smooth out, becoming less jerky. The red angry tip began to ooze pre-cum, and Bobby knew they were making progress. Zen's breath came faster, taking on a ragged edge as his hand sped up. It was oddly entrancing to watch, and Bobby found he couldn't look away.

With a hoarse cry, Zen's body tensed. Thin ropes of pearly liquid shot over the trembling teen's belly as he climaxed. A shuddering sigh escaped the slender teen as all the tension drained out of his body.

"Can I please go now?" Bobby asked, not able to keep the tiny begging note out of his voice.

Zen waved a lazy hand at the door, and Bobby heard the soft click of the lock disengaging. He didn't give Zen the chance to change his mind as he bolted out the door.

Bobby hadn't appreciated the saying, out of the frying pan and into the fire until the steely hand clamped down on his throat, lifted him bodily off the ground, and slammed him into a wall. Not five minutes after leaving Zen's room, and nearly to the elevator and safety. There must be a God, Bobby thought, and he hates me.

Inhuman eyes blazed an inch from him as Logan's barrel like chest expanded, drawing in his scent. No, not his scent. Zen's. Zen's pheromone laden scent. Shit.

"Lo-erg," his attempt to speak, to pacify the feral in some way was abruptly cut off along with his air. His dangling legs kicked at Logan's, but the loss of air and his mounting terror stole what little strength he had.

"What did you do?" The words grated out of Logan's throat like boulders falling down the face of a mountain. It sounded like a wolf trying to speak, and almost made Bobby wet himself. He clawed at Logan's hand, desperate now to breathe. To his relief, the grip loosened, giving him enough room to sip air and squeak out.

"N-nothing!"

"Liar," Logan roared, slamming him once against the wall. Not hard enough to do serious damage, but enough to rattle every bone in his body.

"Helped Zen with his problem, if you weren't such an ass, you could have helped instead you big idiot. You're the reason he had a problem in the first place." Bobby's mouth ran away with him in his fear, and his heart crawled down into his stomach. He knew that if it wasn't trapped in its cage of bone and flesh, it would have made a run for it, leaving him to die here alone. Dumb ass! Why did you say that? Now he's going to kill you for sure.

Instead, Logan dropped him as if his skin had become too hot to touch. "Go," he snarled, one hand rubbing at the side of his head, attempting to silence the monster in his skull and regain full control. Bobby didn't wait for a second invitation. Once his shoes touched the floor, he ran, nearly falling over in his rush to get away before Logan changed his mind and decided to skewer him.

Logan locked every muscle in his body to keep from giving chase. In his head, X was roaring, slashing at the bars of his cage and demanding blood. His skin seemed to tingle, burning with the feral monster's fury.

When they'd caught the scent of Zen's arousal, his release, X had broken free. But not completely. For a short time, they'd both been above the surface of his inner mind. X's hand had clamped over Bobby's throat and slammed him into the wall. Logan's voice had spoken, and kept that hand from crushing said throat.

Logan's stomach turned uneasily because he knew why they were able to both act in the same moment. Zen. The scent of their mate on another had undone them both. He raked his fingers through his wild hair, and fought back the urge to chase down the interloper and tear him limb from limb or go to Zen's room and claim him.

He didn't know what the hell Bobby was doing with Zen, but he knew that if he'd smelled the slightest hint of Bobby's own arousal, then he would have killed the brat. That shook him because he knew how Zen would react to him murdering a student. Not good didn't begin to cover it. He wasn't interested in being roasted alive.

But it was more than that, even if Logan was doing his best not to acknowledge it. X wasn't the only one infuriated by the thought of anyone else touching what belonged to him. Stop it, you don't even want him. Who's the liar now? His teeth ground together so hard he thought they might splinter.

He needed a drink.

Three hours later, and a blazing hot shower where he scrubbed every inch of his body five times, Bobby was trying to pretend the morning never happened. Thankfully, it was getting colder outside, so no one questioned the cream colored turtleneck he wore to hide the bruises left by Logan's…protest to his interaction with Zen. Just my luck to get caught up in the most fucked up lover's triangle ever.

After the morning's adventures, there was something he couldn't get out of his head. And it wasn't the sight of Zen masturbating or Logan's wrathful face. Instead it was the room, the cell, and how even though everything was kept tidy and in its place, it all had a shabby look about it. A used look. Nothing in the room had been new. Now that he thought about it, when Kitty forced him to talk to Zen he recognized his old pajamas on the lean boy.

All of his clothes were hand-me-downs. They were still in reasonable shape, but still, they weren't Zen's. Nothing here was. He hated the thoughts marching through his mind, and wished he could go back to hating the kid. Life was so much easier that way.

Still, the clothes and the cell bothered him. If Zen was supposed to be one of them, shouldn't he have his own clothes? His own belongings? And his own room? Well, he'd have to share a room, they all did. He wasn't sure how the other students might feel having Zen moved up to their living quarters or who would end up housed with him, but he couldn't get the nagging thoughts out of his head.

Bobby sighed, knowing that he couldn't ignore his conscience any longer. How he'd managed to ignore it all those months mystified him, and it had come back with a vengeance after Kitty forced him to see Zen as something more than a monster.

It took a little over an hour to track the small girl down. She wasn't outside, in the library, the dining room, or the game room. He finally found her in the pool, swimming alone. Another twinge of guilt sliced his heart like an internal papercut. She's been alone a lot this year. Zen isn't exactly the best company.

"Hey Kitty?" He cringed a bit at the hesitant sound of his own voice.

Her head whipped around, sending a spray of crystalline droplets flying around her head in an arch of water. "Yeah?" she eyed him before she swam to where he stood. "What's up?"

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating, before he plowed on. "Don't you think maybe Zen should get a new wardrobe and move out of his cell? Just a thought. See ya," he bailed, not wanting to be captured by her waterfall of endless questions. He was not going to tell her about why he had a change of heart or of what he'd been forced to endure today.

"No," Jean said as her arms folded around her middle, cradling her breasts and hiding the way her fingers dug into her own ribs to keep from shouting.

"Kitty has a good point. We haven't been as welcoming to Zen as we are to any other student who comes to-"

Her green eyes blazed, and for a second, Xavier felt a chill whisper down his spine as he thought he saw something more flare in the depths of her furious gaze. "That's because he didn't come to us like any normal student," she hissed. No longer able to keep still, she began pacing the confines of the room. "Have you honestly forgotten who and what we're dealing with here? He is a trained weapon of the government. He wasn't some kid we recruited off the street, or even reformed from the Brotherhood. He was made to kill mutants!"

"Yes, he was. That's the key word Jean, was. But people can change, and Zen is doing the best he can to break out of the mold he was forced into."

"No, he isn't. He's just obedient to you now. He's never tried to disobey or change on his own. If you told him to kill us all tomorrow, he would do it," she shot back, once again pinning him with those poisonous green eyes.

Xavier sighed. "Listen to me Jean. I've tolerated your irrational feelings over this matter long enough. I want you to go with Zen and a few of the children to pick out new clothes. I'll come to ensure nothing goes wrong, but I want you to be there."

"Why?" Jean demanded, hating the note of pleading in her voice. Why wouldn't he allow her to ignore the murderer? It was bad enough that she had to teach him, so why was he forcing her to spend more time with him?

"Because it's necessary. If you're ever going to see him as something more than the image you've built up in your mind, then you'll have to spend time with him."

She hated how reasonable he sounded. Had he forgotten what Zen did to her? To them all? Maybe if it was his mind or flesh that had been carved up like so much meat, he wouldn't be so quick to forgive. Then she remembered how close to death he'd come, and the blood all over his desk when he'd channeled Zen's power. Shame washed through her, forcing the irrational rage down again.

Jean bowed her head. "All right. We'll go this Saturday."

The White House

"We are not enemies, but friends," the soft lyrical words drifted over the small gathering of tourists as she led them through the East Wing entrance of the White House. It was strong enough to carry, but friendly enough to keep the chitchat to a minimum. "We must not be enemies," she repeated as she stopped beneath one of the presidential portraits that lined the smooth walls. "Though passion may have strained, it must not break the bonds of our affection. Abraham Lincoln shared these words in his first inaugural address."

Alicia Vargas smiled at the crowd as she gave her speech. It was one she'd given a thousand times or more, but she had the knack of making it sound fresh. She was a short young woman, with wide doe like eyes, who looked like she would fit in better on a college campus instead of as a tour guide. Her brilliant smile and open face hid the fact that her eyes never stopped tracking over every face of the group as she moved them from area to area, or that her blazer concealed her Sig-Sauer pistol nestled in a snap-draw holder at the small of her back.

Unbeknownst to the tourists, Alicia was Secret Service, just like the intimidating men in black stationed in careful intervals along the walls. When guided tours of the Whitehouse were reinstated, in spite of the ever present threat of terrorism, the Secret Service demanded their people lead the tours. While the understood the public relations angle of the Presidency, their duty was to protect the man who held the office, and from that perspective, you could never be too careful.

Another disarming smile flashed across her lips. "That quote has always been one of my favorites, and I'd like to believe that with everything that's been going on in the world, those words are more important now than ever before."

"Please, step this way," she said, leading the group toward the security desk. "Due to the President being in residence today, we need to be especially careful. One at a time, please present your photo ID, place all bags and purses on the conveyer belt. Take a bowl and put all items in your pockets into it to be scanned before stepping through the metal detector. Your possessions will be returned to you when you leave. I know it's harsh, but I hope you understand." A few people grumbled under their breath, but one by one, they obeyed.

As the crowd began to thin, a man in the back caught her eye. He was sporting a Red Sox ball cap pulled low over his face. It wasn't that he was doing anything wrong, on the contrary, he seemed perfectly at ease. Perhaps that's what triggered her sense of disquiet. Whenever someone visited the White House, they always got a little fidgety when it came time to go through the metal detectors. They worried about whether or not they had something in on them that would make it beep and get them in trouble.

Unlike the rest of them, Red Sox didn't seem to have a care in the world.

She ushered the first woman through the cage, and thought back on the scene at the Pennsylvania Avenue gate, where the tour had been admitted onto the grounds. Looking the memory over, she was certain Red Sox hadn't been with the group then.

Her gaze snapped back to where he'd been standing. Before she could find him, she heard an odd sound, a soft bamf of imploding air, like when a balloon pops.

Red Sox was gone.

There was a hall way beginning at the East Wing entrance that ran lengthwise though the heart of the building. When it was constructed, that area was the territory of servants. The rooms housed the butler's pantries, closets, and other small rooms. In the years between then and now, extensive renovations gobbled up that portion of the White House, transforming the rooms into formal receiving rooms: the China Room, the Roosevelt Room, the Vermeil Room.

None of the rooms were in use that day, which was why Special Agent Donald Karp's eye was drawn to the small flicker of movement that registered on his peripheral vision in one of the doorways.

Turning his head to look, all he saw were shadows. That was one of the unfortunate side effects of low vaulted ceilings. It made the halls a bitch to light properly. Odds were better than fair that nothing was there, but he was bored. As well as the job paid, standing and holding up a wall for long periods of time was tiresome, and he relished the thought of a small break in the dull routine. Once, he'd found a pair of staffers getting hot and heavy in one of the rooms. They'd been lucky not to lose their jobs on the spot since they should have known better.

When he stepped closer to the door he expected it to be empty, just his mind playing tricks on him. Then he realized someone was standing there. It wasn't until the stranger stepped out of the shadows that he was sure he'd seen anyone there at all. Karp's eyes took the shape in with a practiced glance: a lean built male with a stoop-shouldered stance, roughly the same height as him, nondescript clothes and a Red Sox baseball cap. He suppressed a smirk, wait until I get ahold of Alicia, I'm going to chew her up one side and down the other for losing one of the tourists.

"Sir? Please come with me, I'll get you back to the group," Karp said, keeping his tone pleasant with that slight undertone of authority that kept civilians in line. Instead of responding the way he expected, the man rounded on him.

Karp gaped, his heart gave a painful throb, begging him to draw his gun or flee. Before him stood a Demon straight out of hell. Its skin was a deep bluish black that seemed to suck in the light around him. The only relief from the darkness was chips of yellow ice that made up his eyes, and the gleaming white fangs. Its ears are pointed, Heaven help me, his mind yammered. A hand shot out, grabbing Karp's wrist, and he had just enough time to register that the strange appendage had two fingers instead of the normal four.

Then, training beat back the mindless panic. Karp went for his gun. A forked tail whipped out, coiling around his neck and drawing tight to cut off his shout. Before he could finish drawing his weapon, the tail spun him like a living top into the alcove. Blinding pain shot through his skull where it cracked against the arched stone. He didn't feel the sharp chop to the side of his neck that finished the job of rendering him unconscious.

Within seconds, the fight was over. But those few seconds mattered.

Alicia shot through the East Entrance with her sidearm in hand, ahead of the other agents.

Karps' partner was closer, and he lunged for the intruder, who moved like liquid smoke, tripping the man with a sideways sweep of his legs – discarding his shoes in the process to revealed elongated, articulated feet that bore the same two toed configuration as his hands. Then the intruder leapt across the hall, snatching hold of the falling agent's gun as he went before tossing it clear.

To Alicia's shock, the creature stuck to the wall like some sort of human fly. He was three-quarters upside down. Above the chandeliers, he seemed to almost vanish, his dark skin blending almost perfectly with the shadows.

A snarl, bright white against the darkness, flared before he scuttled faster than her eyes could track towards the executive offices of the West Wing.

Using the small mic clipped to her sleeve, she said, "Code Red. Code Red. Perimeter breach at the visitors' checkpoint! Agent Vargas in the Cross Hall, ten meters form the East Entrance. Intruder is hostile, two agents are down. Threat to Breaveheart!"

Unaware of the danger, President George McKenna sat at his desk working the phones with a measure of calm that contained the thinnest thread of threat to a senator vying to make some political ink by throwing a wrench into the latest administration initiative. At heart, the President was a ranching man. He wished now, as he so often did since taking up the position, that he could hog-tie the man and plant his brand on his arrogant posterior. Cows were better than people, in his opinion, at least they knew their place.

The door to his office slammed open, causing a scowl to drag his lips down as Sid Walters, the head of his personal security, stalked into the room. McKenna was about to lose his temper – something which had already become legendary – when he saw the gun in Walters's hand.

"Say again," Walters barked into his com, "How many are there?"

"What the hell—" was all the President managed to say before the words died in his throat. Six more agents flooded the room behind Walters and formed a living shield around his desk. Two of the largest men stood on either side of him. Four were in suits, pistols in hand, but the last two were decked out in full battle gear, flak jackets, helmets, and MP5 submachine guns in hand.

McKenna had been to war. He knew how to felt to be shot, and he drew on that experience now. Whatever was going on, it was real. This wasn't a drill. Something had gone wrong, and his life was in mortal peril. He also knew that the men around him were willing to sacrifice their lives to save his.

A tinny voice near his head demanded his attention, and McKenna realized belatedly that he was still holding the phone. With a calmness he didn't know he possessed, the President lifted the phone to his ear.

"Trent, I apologize. Something's come up and I'm afraid I have to go. I'll call you back when I get the chance." He didn't wait for a reply. Instead, almost as if in a dream, his hand drifted down to put the receiver back in its cradle. Part of him registered how normal his voice had sounded, no fear at all. Another part of him, the analytical part, knew fear would come later.

If there was a later.

His eyes found the photos on his desk, and he took a second to give thanks that the first lady was in San Francisco and the kids were at school. The only one left to stand in harm's way was himself.

"Sid?"

"You'll be fine, sir. You have my word."

The West Wing had become a madhouse as agents attempted to evacuate the presidential staff while simultaneously attempting to hunt down the intruder. There was no pretense of order; that vanished with the first gunshot. Politeness wasn't offered by the guards, and they weren't gentle. Their duty was to get everyone clear as fast as possible. The only flaw was the fact that they were as frightened as the civilians.

The internal surveillance cameras were worthless because their prey moved too fast. Whenever he was spotted, he'd be gone before the info could be relayed to the guards, let alone before they could get to the position indicated.

Toby Vanscoy learned that the hard way. While he was clearing out a suite of offices, shooing strays towards the Press Room since it had a clear rout to the outside, a scream right next to his ear alerted him to the danger.

Training guided his hand, and he took a second to confirm the target and opened fire. His weapon was a Sig-Sauer P220, a damned fine handgun, and like all of the agents in the President's detail, he was expert rated. Still, he emptied all fifteen rounds and not a single shot managed to hit the target.

Instead, the strange creature bounced off the walls, leapt from ceiling to floor, and all but danced around his bullets until, so smoothly it appeared choreographed, he launched himself through the air in a summersault that ended with both feet planted in Vanscoy's chest, sending the agent crashing backwards. He was able to keep ahold of his weapon, but the clip he'd been trying to shoot home escaped his grasp.

The momentum of his body came to a crashing halt as he slammed through the set of double doors leading to the main suite of offices.

Like a silent shadow, the intruder followed, straddling Vanscoy's body. A wall of half a dozen agents stood between him and his objective. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw six more flank him, cutting off his retreat. Tiny crimson dots appeared on his torso. All of the agents had good cover, and the enemy was wide open. They would be able to fire at will without the risk of friendly fire. This room had a drop-ceiling. If he attempted to stick to it like he had the others, the panels would collapse under his weight. They had him.

Surprise flitted across the intruder's face at the sound of Toby' Vansory's uncompromising voice. The man was battered and broken, but he still managed to point his weapon in a two handed grip up at the creature straddling his chest.

"Hands behind your head," Vanscoy shouted. "Get down on your knees! Now!"

"Right now!" echoed the lead agent from the group ahead of them. "No more tricks, or we'll open fire."

Instead of complying, he snarled. Vanscoy's finger squeezed down on the trigger, hammer falling on the empty chamber . . .

. . . and the intruder vanished.

"Mr. President," Sid snapped, "We have to leave!" It was impossible to get a handle on what was going down outside the Oval Office. The radio was a static jam of too many men trying to give info all at the same time.

A vice like hand grabbed Sid's arm below the shoulder. "We don't know the stich, Sid. We don't know how many there are. We've got a solid defensive position here, and we've got the fire power. We're better off staying here," Hank Cartwright, Sid's deputy, hissed.

Wrath flashed in Sid's eyes. A look from those blazing orbs made Hank jerk his hand away. I'm the boss here, I call the plays and there's no damned time for debate, Sid thought furiously. Before he could lay into the man for his presumptuousness, both entrances to the Oval Office slammed open, spilling the agents who'd been stationed outside into the room. The men were choking, cloaked in a thick cloud of oily black smoke.

Before the agents in the room could react, the intruder appeared midair in front of Cartwright. With a powerful kick to the chest, the assassin forced Cartwright off his feet and into the agents behind him. His flak jacket and equipment hardly managed to blunt the devastating blow.

Walter's got a shot off, but the target vanished before the bullet found him. Then a midnight black tail wrapped around his neck, and he was flying, tumbling over one of the couches and slamming into the agents who'd fallen in the doorway. Struggling back to his feet, he searched for his lost weapon. Even while his body moved to complete the mission, his mind jabbered again and again: He's got a tail! He's got a tail. He's got a fucking tail! The creature was right in front of him, as real as the agents on the floor, and he still couldn't believe what his senses were reporting. He's got a tail!

Like a demonic one man army, the intruder appeared, disappeared, only to materialize somewhere else in the office. The confining space in the room gave the assassin the advantage while he tore through the President's bodyguards. It all happened so fast that Walters would have to register events in retrospect. For now, terror flared in his chest when he realized he was too damned slow.

There was nothing he could do to save his President.

Alone now, all the men who'd taken an oath to protect and defend him down, George McKenna sat in his seat of power and stared into the uncompromising and inhuman eyes of his assassin. They were peculiar eyes, not only because they were yellow. Something about them was wrong, drained of life. It was like looking into the eyes of a corpse.

The overhead light glinted off the edge of a dagger. Wrapped around the blade's hilt was a brilliant red ribbon marked with flashes of gold. Poised on the edge of the desk, the assassin rose above McKenna. In all his life, he'd never been more afraid, yet at the same time a sense of calm acceptance washed through his being. In that heart stopping calm, a line read long ago drifted across his thoughts: "When the end is all there is, it matters." If this was his end, he would do the office proud.

McKenna almost leapt out of his chair when a gunshot sounded, shattering the unnatural silence that had fallen over the room.

A sharp cry of pain escaped his would be killer, and he dropped the knife to clutch at his shoulder. In a flash, the expression on his face changed. He appeared shaken, confused, and as McKenna watched, the creature's eyes changed. They filled up with life, with personality and awareness.

Absurdly the thought came to McKenna: He doesn't know where he is. He doesn't know what's happening!

Glancing around, the intruder spotted Alicia Vargas standing in the door way, her gun trained on his back. Before she could take another shot, the intruder vanished with that curious bamf, leaving one last plume of darkly swirling smoke behind.

"Sir?" Alicia questioned as she carefully stepped over the unconscious men on the floor to reach him. With every step, her eyes traced restlessly over the room, ready to react. "Are you hurt?"

He ran his hands over his chest, unconsciously straightening his tie. "I'm fine." It was a lie, of course, but it was one they were both willing to accept.

"What the hell was that anyway?" He asked.

"Damned if I know, sir. But I hope it doesn't come back."

"Amen." The knife had landed point first only inches away from where his hand had been, its weight stabbing deep into the smooth wooden desktop. Reaching out, he fingered the ribbon, and noticed that the writing.

Written in sharp black letters was a demand, or perhaps, he thought with a sinking heart, a declaration of war: MUTANT FREEDOM NOW!

The van was packed with shouting, laughing teens. Their voices were loud enough to drown out the sound of the radio, and Zen felt a headache pound behind his eyes.

"Kitty," he was forced to raise his voice to be heard by the foolish girl sitting next to him. "This isn't necessary. My clothes are fine."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously in her elfish face. "No they're not, you need stuff of your own and the Professor even agrees. He's your boss, so listen to him," she snapped. Over the past two days, he'd tried to talk her and the teachers out of this small slice of madness to no avail. They all insisted he needed a new wardrobe, even though the clothes he owned were in perfect working condition.

When the word Mall came up, the other students forgot their animosity towards Zen, and leapt at the chance for an outing. Logan was driving the van, since he hadn't been fast enough to get out of the duty. The other adults were taking a separate vehicle to save their hearing and preserve their sanity.

Zen contemplated vanishing back to the mansion. No one would notice him missing, he was sure. They were too wrapped up in their own mindless excitement to realize they were short one person when they arrived. A hand clamped down on his arm, and Zen wondered if perhaps Kitty wasn't a bit psychic on top of being able to walk through walls. It seemed possible.

By the time they arrived, Zen was considering the virtue of killing one or two of the students and allowing his own powers to finish him off. He'd never been in the middle of them while they were so excited and chatty. Sure, they'd surrounded him a time or two to attack, but that wasn't the same. There was less talking and more punching in those situations.

Honestly, he'd prefer a good beating to spending one more second in the van with the lot of them.

If Zen thought time spent in the cramped van was bad, it was nothing compared to the nightmare that followed. One of Hell's hotter circles would have to be shopping in the mall with a gaggle of giggling girls who had appalling taste in clothing.

Zen trailed reluctantly behind the girls as they trekked from shop to shop. The other males in the group had peeled away the second they'd entered the mall, leaving Zen to his reluctant fate. Jean and Scott went with that group. That left Logan and the Professor to chaperone his group.

It would have been better if Logan went with the other males, he decided. It was the closest he'd been to the feral since that strange morning, and he had to fight his own thoughts to keep his body in check. His eyes kept wanting to slide over Logan's clothed body, wanting to recreate the memories of skin beneath his fingertips.

Bobby's lesson served him well, but to Zen's dismay, he'd found that one session did not rid him of his difficulties entirely. Instead, it appeared to be akin to hunger. One could eat a meal and feel stated, but the hunger always returned.

True, old memories kindled in the back of his mind. Nights when he slept on X's strong chest and felt the hard shaft between them, ignored. Now he felt a strange fire, a wanting to return to nights like those and do more than lay passively against the larger man. Zen didn't know what to make of such thoughts. It doesn't matter, Logan is not X and he doesn't want such things. Let it go.

He hadn't realized he'd gotten a bit of distance between him and the gossiping females until Kitty stopped and caught hold of his arm. "Come on, let's try here." She pulled him into a strange looking store that looked more like a haunted house than a place to procure clothing.

Logan took one look at the place, wrinkled his nose, and opted to stay outside. How he'd gotten roped into this madness he'd never know. Even X had opted out. After five minutes in the van with the children X had gone so quiet he'd wondered if the alternate died. A mental prod got a small growl, but nothing more. Lucky bastard, not even the enticing smell of Zen could draw the alternate closer to the surface after the rabid giggling began.

In a way, it was refreshing. At least there was something in the world his crazy alternate feared. Teenaged girls, who knew.

Thinking about the idiotic females and his crazed alter kept him from dwelling on Zen. The blank faced teen gave no outward indication that he was distressed, but Logan could smell his displeasure. He could also smell the mouthwatering aroma of his heightened hormones.

The scent tantalized him, filling his mind with all the naughty things he wanted to do to the smaller mutant.

Zen was utterly uninterested in all the clothing choses the girls presented him with, but there were a few tight pairs of pants Logan wished they would have talked Zen into trying on. Then again, maybe it was better that they didn't. His control only went so far.

It was only then he realized the Professor was looking at him, suppressed laughter twinkling in his eyes.

"I see how it is, perverted old man," Logan groused.

Xavier laughed out loud. "I can't help it when you shout your thoughts, Logan. You're one of the clearest projectors I've ever met."

"So gland I can amuse you."

"Hmm, yes. The little chase between you two is most amusing."

Logan glared. "There's nothing between us."

Xavier snorted, "If you insist. You certainly take stubborn to a whole new level."

"Shouldn't you be trying to keep the students from dating grown men?" Logan shot back, trying to hide his discomfort with the turn the conversation had taken.

Folding his hands in his lap, Xavier gave Logan a serious look. "If you were interested in, say, Kitty, then I'd put a stop to it, but you and I both know that Zen isn't like the other children. He's not a child in any sense of the word." Now the previous laughter was gone, replaced with a sorrow so great Logan could almost reach out and touch it. It would feel like raw wool, itchy, insubstantial yet still able to smother you. "I'm afraid Zen's never been a child," Xavier confessed. In all the teen's blood soaked memories, there hadn't been a single moment of light hearted fun. There was only death.

Logan grunted and turned away. Whisky colored eyes tracked over the crowd. "I hope you don't run forever. Zen deserves a chance at happiness, and so do you," Xavier said. He ignored the way Logan's shoulders stiffened, and turned his chair towards the store. Best to check on the children and make sure Zen wasn't being harassed too badly.

"Come on, pleaseeee," Kitty was holding up a silk button down shirt emblazed with a red dragon. The back ground was made up of an endless twisting sea of blue.

"No."

"Why not?" She all but wailed. They'd been at the mall for almost two hours and he'd rejected every single thing they'd offered him.

"Because it is too bright." That shirt would make me stand out.

Xavier clucked his tongue. "You should try it on. I believe it would suit you." Silence met the quite words as Zen turned his cool gaze back to the shirt. Even though it wasn't a command, he felt the instinctual need to obey. On top of that, he felt that need conflict with his earlier training not to draw attention to himself. Though he couldn't do anything about his strange eyes, the rest of him could blend well.

This whole situation rubbed him the wrong way. Before, his clothing had been chosen for him. Zen was never forced to go to a store to find clothes for himself. When the girls started pushing items at him, he'd rejected most out of hand. The few he deemed acceptable were promptly rejected when he realized that they wanted him to strip here, in the mall, and put the strange clothing on.

Taking off his clothes in a tiny cubicle made the skin along his spine itch at the vulnerability such an act would require.

He looked from the blindingly bright shirt, to Xavier, and back again. Zen's lips tilted up into a false smile that didn't touch his eyes.

Kitty squealed at the sight of the fake smile, even though she knew it wasn't real. What mattered was what it meant.

She won.

Holding the shirt out, her heart danced in her slender chest when he plucked it from her hand. Kitty loved winning, and it was so difficult to win against Zen that even this small victory was savored. "Go on, you have to try it on," she chirped.

The fake smile vanished like the last snow under an early spring sun. "Can't we purchase this and leave? Why do I have to put it on?"

Kitty's eyes rolled so hard she saw little flares of white. "Cuz if you don't, it won't fit," she said, as if this were a magical law of the universe. Kitty's First Law of Shopping: Clothes that aren't tried on can't possibly ever fit right.

What came next strained Xavier's ability to keep from laughing. Kitty, along with her friends surrounded the bewildered assassin and shepherded him over to the changing rooms. In his mind's eye, he could picture a small herd of kittens bullying a Doberman pincher into going the way they wanted it to.

Zen's weak protests were ignored as he was pushed into one of the small rooms. When the door clacked shut behind him, it sounded akin to his cell door slamming shut after a harsh punishment. Why are they doing this to me? My clothes are fine.

Straightening his spine, Zen jerked off his shirt and gave in to the inevitable.

The next several hours taught him a valuable lesson. Defeat began with a single capitulation. Even though he still ignored the offerings of the other females, he found it increasingly difficult to deny Kitty. The girl was more tenacious than a honey badger. Every time he turned around, she was there with another arm load of clothing for him to try on.

It didn't help that Logan found the whole mess amusing, though around the five hour mark even his mild amusement had flagged into a kind of stupor that only men and small children experience when confined in a mall for too many hours with the women in their lives.

A hand touched his shoulder, drawing his attention away from the chattering females pawing through racks of clothing.

Zen turned, and found Rogue at his side. A light blush filled her cheeks when he looked at her and instead of speaking, she held up a dark blue, button down shirt. "I thought this might be a bit more of your style?" she offered. At least it wasn't some eye smarting color and didn't have cartoons splashed across the front.

Reaching out, he accepted her offering. All of the fake smiles and fake emotion had dwindled away during the never ending trek through endless clothing stores but now he forced his lips up again in a poor approximation.

Rogue ducked her head a bit before offering a shy smile back. When Kitty told her about the trip, at first she'd been reluctant to go, but then she realized maybe this would be a chance to take a few steps in the right direction. Perhaps she'd be able to make up for her bad behavior and begin to build some sort of friendship with the quiet mutant.

"I, well," she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and fought to keep her eyes on his empty face. Even when he's trying to be normal, he's still pretty creepy, she thought then frowned. At least he was trying. What more could anyone ask? Perhaps it was like a snake attempting to be a bird, impossible.

Thinking it over, she began to gain a small glimmer of understanding. What must all this be like for Zen? How would it be to wake up powerless in a completely different world? Though they were still on earth, it had to be a different world for him. You couldn't go from black ops super assassin to…bullied school kid and not think you've sidestepped into some other reality. And yet, he never complained. He never broke down or acted in any way like this was all alien to him.

For the longest time, she couldn't see past what he used to do. In her mind, he was like a man eating tiger, not something that could be reformed. It was that old adage, once they tasted human blood, it was all over. They got a taste for it, and never stopped hunting humans.

Instead, he hadn't acted out after the Professor fixed him. The thought made her cringe slightly. Fix him, as if he were a broken toy, and now he'd become a good little boy.

Too good really. Too perfect. It was unreal in her opinion. Anyone else would have lashed out at them, and she thought that might have been why things got so out of hand. Like children of all ages around the world, they'd been testing their boundaries, waiting to see at which point they'd be put in their place. It was stupid, beyond stupid, yet it was the same urge that caused small children to walk towards busy streets, attempt to touch fire, and reach out to pet the growling dog. Even though on one level it was self-destructive, it was still a necessary part of being a foolish young thing.

Unfortunately, Zen never pushed back. He never even asked them to stop. So they'd kept pushing until things came to a head, and Trowa, Zen, and the Professor almost died because of their stupidity. Rogue swallowed and almost choked on the bitter taste of shame. Before Zen came, she'd thought herself a reasonable person, but perhaps no teenager was reasonable all the time. Or even most of the time.

She waved the distracting thoughts away. "Zen?"

"Yes?" Even now his tone was bland, empty of everything. Any other boy would have put a stop to their fun hours ago. In fact, the other boys hadn't even come with them, protesting before the shopping even began. They were probably hanging out at the food court, or in the arcade. Instead, Zen let them lead him from store to store as if he didn't have the right to say he didn't want to shop any more. Though it was amusing to see Logan carrying all the bags. Any time the large feral began to grumble, Zen shot him a look that shut the bigger man up before he could utter a single word.

"I'm sorry. You know, for before." Heat burned along the skin of her face, but some of the weight in her chest eased after she got the words out. Her behavior hadn't been as bad as the rest, but she hadn't stood up for him or anything either. And then there was the fact that she'd sort of taken advantage of him after she'd attempted to drain him, only to find he couldn't be drained. The blush burned hotter at the memory.

Zen blinked at the red faced girl fidgeting in front of him. The headache was almost blinding now, but he soldiered on, knowing Kitty wasn't done with him yet. Rouge was the first of the girls to talk to him directly, so he forced his lips back into a smile in an attempt to put her at ease. "I accept your apology," he replied to her clumsy words.

A brilliant smile flashed across her lips. "Really? I mean, that's great. Um, I'll try to get Kitty to pick more clothes you'd like." Then she was off, joining the others and subtly directing Kitty towards outfits that were similar to the clothes he'd chosen for himself from the castoffs.

"Do you think Zen's snapped and killed them all yet?" Pyro wondered out loud as they walked back towards the food court for more fuel.

Bobby snorted, "I think I would have, if I was in his shoes." He'd done his best to forget all about the two traumatizing conversations he'd had with Zen, and hadn't told Pyro about either of them. The bruises around his throat had turned that gross color between green and yellow, and he thought he'd be able to put away the turtle necks in another few days. Thank God, wearing them always made him feel like he was being strangled by a weak poltergeist. The only reason he had the awful things was because his mother thought they made him look sophisticated, and he couldn't bring himself to throw them away.

The sound of Pyro's lighter snapping open and shut brought his attention back to his roommate. "I wonder why he hasn't told them off yet, I mean, no way would I put up with playing mannequin for the girls for," he checked his watch and whistled, "seven hours. Holy crap, I can't believe the Professor hasn't put an end to it yet."

Pyro snorted. "Nah, I'm beginning to wonder if it's some sort of weird mental experiment. You know, sort of like playing chicken. Maybe he's trying to find Zen's breaking point." He slid his lighter away and almost felt pity for the little assassin. He would have cried uncle hours ago. Hell, he was almost ready to call uncle now. His feet hurt and he still had a pile of homework he had to get done today. When he'd agreed to this little adventure, he hadn't thought it would take all damned day.

In truth, he wasn't sure why he'd agreed to tag along. Unlike the rest of the school, he still thought Zen was an ass, and didn't feel bad for the crap he and Bobby had done to him. It was all in good fun anyway, and it wasn't like they'd ever really hurt him.

"Come on, I'm sick of this shit. If Zen won't wave the white flag, I guess we'll have to go in and save his stupid ass."

Bobby's eyes widened. "Do you really want to get between Kitty and shopping?" he gasped, before laughing. It was dangerous, sure, but maybe it was time someone reined in the tiny girl. She had most of the staff wrapped around her little finger in a way he never quite understood. Maybe it was because she was short. She could still pull of the 'Oh I'm such a cute little girl' look that made adults melt, coo, and give in.

If only they knew the temper those wide innocent eyes hid. Well, the Professor probably knew her temper. He could read her thoughts after all, but Bobby suspected that knowing and knowing were two different things.

It was one thing to be told that the kitten's claws were sharp. It was quite another to have that same kitten latch on to your scalp with all four paws and dig in. For all her hot temper, Kitty wasn't the sort to directly challenge authority like Pyro or some of the other students. She'd never pull her tricks on one of the teachers, let alone the Professor.

But, the other students were fair game, especially if they'd ruffled her fur the wrong way. Then again, there were times when she'd attack for no particular reason. All in all, her namesake was perfect for her. She was a spitting little cat and it seemed like that would never change.

Though, with Zen, she's turned more into a mother tiger than anything, he mused while they ambled through the crowded halls. He still remembered the slap she'd dealt him that day when she'd been hurt by one of Zen's bullies. Even now, he couldn't believe how furious she'd been with him. Back then, everything was simpler. Zen was an enemy that had to be driven out, and once he was gone, everything would return to normal.

Only now he realized that there was no such thing as normal, and even if there was, maybe normal was overrated.

. . . so hungry, God I wish she'd jus . . .

. . . maybe he'd like this for his bir . . .

. . . damn not again, why can't they ever . . .

. . . stupid, I hate her I fucking want . . .

. . . the green, or the blue? Hm, Heather has one ju . . .

. . . why am I here?

"Jean?"

The mall lights, which had begun to flicker, steadied when Scott's arms slipped around her. Jean buried her face in his chest and shivered, forcing her shields back up to full strength. That last voice caused her to shudder in revulsion. How could her mind betray her like that and reach out towards him?

"You okay?" he whispered into her hair while his hands stroked useless circles over the delicate lines of her back.

Jean's lips pursed in tired frustration. Was she okay? Of course not! Why did people always ask that question when the answer was clearly no? Hate flared inside her, bright and painful as a dropped match and to her inner horror, for just a second, she'd felt her power gathering to lash out at the man holding her. Stop it, what's wrong with me?

"Yeah, just a headache," she said, keeping her face tucked close to his chest to hide her painful confusion.

Instead of accepting the brush off like he normally did, Scott pressed her. "It's not just a headache, is it?"

Jean started to pull away, but his arms tensed enough for her to feel the strength of him. "I wasn't sure how to say this," he stared, and then paused as concern for her fought with his need to bring the problem out into the open so they could deal with it. She was hurting, he knew she was, and it wasn't getting better.

"Look, Jean," he said, "ever since Liberty Island you've been—,"

"Scott," she broke in, but he didn't let her derail the conversation.

"—different."

Jean tensed in his grip, but didn't pull away. "My telepathy's been a bit off lately," she admitted. "I can't seem to focus. I can hear everything. It's like one minute I'm standing in a puddle, and the next it's an ocean raging out of control around me."

Scott shook his head, and pushed on, taking advantage in the small gap in her emotional armor. "It's not just that, is it? Before you had difficulty levitating a book across the room. Now when you have nightmares the whole bedroom shakes."

The world around them seemed to fade away on the silence between them. He could feel each heartbeat of that emptiness, and thought she wouldn't fill it.

"The dreams are getting worse," she confided to him. "I keep feeling like something terrible is about to happen." Pressing her face deeper into his chest, she whispered so softly he wasn't sure if he'd heard the words in his mind or his ears, she said, "I don't want to lose you."

Closing his eyes, he pressed his lips to the top of her bowed head. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."

Slowly, some of the tension drained out of her, but only a little. Scott wondered what thoughts were plaguing her. Was it Zen? She'd been the most affected by the assassin, and the emotional scars hadn't healed as cleanly for her as the physical ones had for the rest of them.

"Jeeze guys, I thought you were supposed to be watching us. I could have burned the place down around your ears and you'd never notice," Pyro's voice shattered their tiny sphere of drama as effectively as a kid poking a soap bubble. Scott glared at the boy, not that he could see the glare though Scott's visor, but he liked to think the kid still got the idea when his cocky grin wilted a little around the edges.

But, in true Pyro fashion, he didn't let a little thing like teacher disapproval keep him down for long. "If you two are done groping each other like teenagers, we should go find the others and drag them away from the stores. I'm sure Kitty and Co have used up most of a years-worth of tuition by now."

Jean pulled free of Scott and gave the fire starter a stern look that didn't hide the small smile flirting with the corner of her lips.

Even though she looked perfectly relaxed now, Scott could almost feel the wall coming up between them again. Had it always been there? Perhaps, but he didn't think so. At least, it was never as thick as it was now. No matter how hard he tried to breach it, to help her, she continued pushing him away.

Maybe it isn't me she wants to let in? The thought slid across his mind like a poisonous snail, leaving a trail of slime behind. Maybe she wants someone a little more wild, more hairy, more Canadian. Scott knew Logan had designs on Jean, and he'd seen the way her eyes heated at times when the feral was in the same room.

Clenching his teeth, he banished the thought. They had enough trouble with her powers going out of control. He didn't need to borrow more.

Scott checked his watch and groaned. How had so much time passed? For a second, he felt like a kid again. Procrastination bit him in the rump this morning, and he'd put off grading papers for this afternoon. Now the afternoon was gone, his homework wasn't done, and damn it all he was tired. Well, I am the teacher, they can wait an extra day to get their papers back.

"Come on, let's go find the others and get out of here."

Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh. Scott kept up the mantra even as his guts started to hurt from the strain. But the look in Logan's eyes promised a bloody fight if he so much as giggled.

The large feral looked like a walking department store. His arms were so thick with bags that he could barely move them and on his head was a large purple and green striped top hat. In a word, he looked ridiculous.

Even Jean cracked a grin, the expression melted Scott's heart all over again. She was too beautiful for words.

"Cyclops, stop mooning and help me," Logan snarled, he looked like he would snap at any second and start clawing people up.

Swallowing his pride, Scott took hold of his share of the bags. "Damn, how much does one kid need?"

Logan snorted. "One kid, right. If Zen's getting a new wardrobe then why shouldn't they all have a new outfit or two? Or ten."

"Zen! Come on, there's something we have to do before we go. You'll love it, I promise," Kitty's voice rang out with the same exuberance it started the day with. Scott could see Logan twitch and smirked. He was sure that shrill young voice was like an ice pick to Logan's enhanced hearing. Hell, it hurt his ears sometimes. If only she could learn how to use her inside voice, things would be so much better. But at times like this, Kitty reverted to a toddler mindset and became her own mini tornado, forcing everyone along with her.

Zen appeared at Kitty's side as silent as the wind. Has he been there the entire time? Scott wondered, testing his memory for the boy. A slight chill cooled his skin when he realized he couldn't recall. It wasn't likely the assassin would wander off, but if he hadn't . . . That meant he'd been there the whole time, and Scott hadn't noticed.

There were times when Scott could forget Zen was anything but an ordinary student, but then moments like this reminded him of what he used to be. He could kill you before you knew he stood beside you. It was scary how well Zen could blend into a group when he wished to.

"What now?" The quiet words held the slightest edge of something. Maybe the unrufflable assassin was wearing down? It was hard to tell, but Scott thought it might be the case.

"Come on." Without the slightest hesitation, Kitty latched on to his arm and began dragging him towards the center of the mall and the large carousel that stood in isolated glory.

Jean's soft laugh brought a smile to Scott's lips. "Come on, I don't want to miss this," she whispered, grabbing on to his arm in a mimicry of Kitty.

Hours passed with the speed of a glacier in the middle of winter, and Zen's patience was close to breaking.

That first shirt had been some sort of gateway into endless wardrobe changes. Even though he'd been forced into more clothing than he'd ever warn in his life, he couldn't relax during the process. The exposure and being nude in a place where attack could occur at any moment did nothing to ease his nerves.

It didn't help that Kitty refused to listen to him when he informed her, more than once, that he had enough. How many outfits did one person need anyway?

According to Kitty, there was no such thing as too much clothing. It was like having too much money. Impossible.

Now he was lead to a strange contraption whose purpose he couldn't begin to decipher. "What is this?" Zen demanded.

Kitty's wild grin did nothing to set him at ease. "You don't know?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't have asked," he replied flatly.

Kitty stuck her tongue out at him before dragging him over to the ticket stand to buy them both a ticket. The other girls fallowed suit, and to her delight, so did the boys. Only the adults stood off to the side, watching them with indulgent smiles.

"There's no need to be snarky. This is a Merry-Go-Round."

"What is it for?"

"Fun of course!"

Fun, Zen didn't bother questioning her further. He'd learned that when fun came up, it was often illogical and pointless.

Tickets in hand, they were led onto the platform. "Get on one of the horses," Kitty said when she realized he hadn't mounted one of the electronic creatures.

"Why?" Zen couldn't help but ask. Of all her misguided attempts to engage him in fun activities, this one was perhaps the most perplexing.

"Just do it! The ride's about to start."

Zen sighed and mounted one of the fake, gaudy creatures. True to her word, the ride began. It jerked a little, and the strange music bled into the air around him.

Then the ride began to spin, and the fake horse went up and down. He held on to the golden bar, and waited with waning patience for the foolishness to be over. All around him the teens whooped and cheered. For some reason this strange contraption appeared to bring them joy, though he couldn't understand why. The creature wasn't a comfortable place to sit, and the monotonous motion of the machine did nothing for him.

Instead of smiling, or pretending to enjoy himself, Zen sat blank faced as the ride continued. He'd used up all his acting ability at the start of the day, and he no longer had the energy to pretend. Not even for Kitty. Every few seconds she glanced over at him and pouted at his obvious lack of enjoyment.

The ride slowed before jerking to a stop. "Can we go home now?"

Kitty's mouth opened, but before she could scold him, one of the large screen TV's that sat in the center of a rest area not far from them flickered and changed to an emergency broadcast.

Fox News appeared on the screen with a title banner that seemed to scream the words: MUTANT ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT. Behind the news caster was a live feed of the White House swarmed by agents of every flavor. Mixed in were Marines in full combat gear.

". . . we repeat," the anchor reported, her voice shaking slightly, "the President is unharmed. We are awaiting confirmation from the White House, but our sources have told Fox News that an attempt was made on the President's life less than an hour ago by an assailant who's been identified as a mutant!"

"I believe it's time to leave." The Professor said, his shoulders stiff with the knowledge that this would change everything.

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