Continued from yesterday:
It was the first five-course meal the Mansion had had in well over two decades. It was also the first meal with a significant portion of the brotherhood present. Tensions should have been high, yet there was amiable chatter between the two teams.
Fred was talking about some of the fun he’d had in the truck rallies, Lance had struck up a conversation with *Scott* - of all people - comparing foster homes, the food, the amenities, the neighbourhoods, and so on. And they were laughing, mostly, about the dark and evil times they’d both lived through. Todd alternated between tale-telling and making Sara glow or blush with some kind of compliment, trying to teach her to say ‘thank you’.
All the Brotherhood stories were sanitized, Xavier noticed, for the younger portions of the audience, and concealed blacker, more malevolent stories that were barely funny at all.
He could help them… if only…
The temptation was strong to implant a meme in their minds. A small thought that gave them the idea that the Institute was a place to come for comfort and succour. But that would be cheating. It would be worse than cheating.
It would be interfering with their long-term thoughts. The very *way* they thought.
The Brotherhood would have to come to its own conclusions, for good or ill.
“And speaking of chores,” Sara was saying, “I have a lot to do on Saturday. Is there, perchance, a blank spot in tomorrow’s training regimes for me to do some riding around?"
_*SHIT*!_ Thought Logan.
"On Eileen?” Todd stalled.
_She’s going to want to ride her frikkin’ bike,_ Logan 'said’. It was accompanied by the mental image of Eileen’s current state. In pieces. Under repair. In progress. _Can’t you… change her mind?_
“Of course on Eileen. How else would I get about?"
_I’m sure that would be wrong,_ 'said’ Xavier. _I get the impression it’s something Sara needs to do._
"Well… uh… there’s a lotta cars aroun’ here. Someone could drive yo’. Scott could?"
_I’m fucked…_
"Excuse me?” said Scott. “I’m doing what, now?"
Logan grizzled and rubbed his hand over his face. "Damnit. Might as well come clean."
"Aw shoot,” whined Todd.
Sara looked at them both. “Have you fellows been tinkering with Eileen?"
"We’ve been fixin’ her up, yeah.” Todd fiddled with his napkin.
“Restorin’ 'er,” said Logan.
Sara smiled. “Is *that* all?” she said. “My own fault, I suppose. Serves me right for leaving such a good excuse for boys and toys to come together.” She sighed whistfully. “And exactly how long did it take you to succumb to temptation?"
Logan, too, was fiddling with his napkin. "Twenty-four hours."
"That long? I admire your restraint. Any chance of her being put back together for an afternoon?"
"Uh… kinda… not,” said Todd. “Sweetums… it’s about the motor."
"What happened to it?"
"It never belonged in Eileen. Near as we can figure, yo… uh… You turned half a lawnmower engine sideways, added a fridge compressor an’ God only knows what else. Um. It’s amazin’ it worked at all."
"Well… the parts *were* nearby and they *did* fit…"
Logan got a twitch under his eye. "Shouldn’t’ve happened to a bike like that…"
"And every mechanic I consulted never said a *thing*,” Sara fumed. “Hmph!"
"How many tried to buy 'er?” said Logan.
“All of them?"
"HA! Rat-bastards."
Sara sighed. "That still leaves the unresolved question of how I’m to work, tomorrow. I need to earn some wardrobe money… since I’m no longer purchasing parts."
"Dragon struck again?” said Todd.
“With a vengeance. She found out about my antoinette accounts and put them under watch. From now on, I’m cash-only… Until I can start an independant account. Or sue for my money back."
"Yo, you could get 'er fo’ emotional damages, *easy*."
"Yeah,” said Kitty. “It’s like, totally all over the web."
A cold silence decended over the room.
"Oops,” said Kitty.
Sara sounded extremely mournful, “Plus la change, plus la meme chose…” she dabbed at her eyes. “Why should I expect anything different just because my life has changed?"
Todd spoke Xavier’s thoughts without so much as a nudge. ”'Cause yo’ deserve it, sweetie. You more'n deserve it.“
"Money or not, I’m wearing a dress on monday,” growled Sara. “Let them make of it what they will.”
~
Jean woke up at one AM to the cacophony of clocks. The ball bearings thundered back to the beginning of their twelve-hour journey and were serenaded by _Ach Du Leiber Augustine_ as they went. The hamster scurried about his labyrinth.
But that wasn’t what woke her up.
Even with her night shields on full, she could sense a nightmare in progress. There was a sticky feeling in the air and the leftover sense of phantasms.
Sara was crying.
Jean turned on her bedside lamp - just enough light to see by, by the time she turned a bookshelf and entered Sara’s bed-nook - and shuffled over to the lizardine girl.
She was a pillow-hugger and a curler, judging by the way she was almost foetal and crushing her pillow in her arms. “…no… no…” she sobbed.
Jean shook her. “Hey. Wake up."
”…never forgive…“ Sara snuffled, yawped in alarm, and bounced upright in bed. One arm never lost its death grip on the pillow. "Gah… *hate* the real ones."
"If you need to talk…” Jean offered.
Sara looked at her clock. “Piecemeal night. Urgh.” She rubbed the grit from her eyes. “Mother came and sued for my return… then she decided that all the friends I’ve made were not only bad for me, but should be eliminated from the world. Serial poisonings with different sources. She kept pumping me full sinus medicine… I get babble-y on that… and making me tell her all the habits of everyone I knew. When you woke me up, she’d got to Todd…” Sara buried her face into her pillow and heaved a few sobs. “But I’m still *here*. It didn’t happen."
"That’s right,” soothed Jean. “It didn’t happen.” She did a mind-scan to be sure. “Todd’s sound asleep in his room and dreaming of butterflies. Anyone else you’re worried about?"
"What *is* Mom doing?"
Jean scanned. A bottle. The smell of alcohol, both fresh and stale. A telephone nearby. A photo album on her lap. Half-asleep, half-awake. Pictures of Sara in her prime… when she was beautiful and everybody thought so.
"She’s… she’s sitting vigil,” murmured Jean. A glimpse of blue uniform. Someone slumbering on a chair. Policeman. “She’s called the police."
"An act, then,” dismissed Sara. “Everyone expects her to be the mourning mother, pining for her lost child. She’s very good at those kinds of acts. The put-upon mother. The hard-tested soul. Wailing and bemoaning a fate she made herself…” Sara snorted. “Scan for Ray. He’ll have the truth of it."
Jean decided against it. "Let’s just go back to sleep, okay?"
"Do you mind if I stay up for an hour?” Sara pleaded. “I sort of need to depressurise after a dream like that. Or degauss. Or degauss and depressurise…"
"Do what you need to,” she said. _It’s not as if I was going to get a full night’s sleep anyway._
“Thanks.” Sara slid out of bed and made a beeline for her computer.
Jean stumbled back into her bed for the tattered remains of rest.
+
There were crumbs of foam on the carpet. Jamie was only mildly curious about their presence, since he was already pondering why both Kurt *and* Mr Logan had given him the task of waking Jean and Sara up for morning exercises. Maybe he was finally getting big enough to actually be trusted with stuff.
He tripped on his own shoelaces and got up as four. He was too sleep-fogged to remember which one was which, so he proceeded down the corridor as a crowd. It took a little focus to knock, but he managed it without making any more clones.
Someone was singing.
And then the obligatory stupid clone disobeyed orders and opened the door.
“No,” hissed Jamie. “Don’t–"
”…yeah, yeah, yeah… sing sing song sing song… *EEP*!“
All four Jamies covered their eyes simultaneously. Too late. Far, far too late. "I'msorry, Ididn'tmeanit!” Jamie chorused.
{Whap!} “G'df'ck'nd'mn’t, Sara…” mumbled Jean.
“That tears it. I’m putting up a *sign*,” said Sara, half-muffled by something. “Is there something urgent?"
Jamie, still blinded by his own hands, said, "Logan says it’s morning jerks. Everybody’s gotta be there or it’s an extra hour."
”…rrrrrrrRRRRRR*RRRRRRR*RRRRrrrrrrrggghhh…“ Jean stumbled around her half of the room. "I. Hate. Mornings."
"Heavy hands. Heavy feet. Trainers double-tied…” Sara was muttering. “Zinc oxide… reliable hat. Done!"
Jamie peeked. Sara was now wearing track pants and a singlet top too large for her. It had a pig on it, and the legend _Sweat Hog_.
Jean was busy braiding up her hair.
"I’ll tell him you’re coming,” decided Jamie.
The stupid clone lingered for a while, until Sara snagged him by the ear, leading him away. “You’ve already obtained *one* eyeful, little man…” she lectured. “That does not excuse a second one."
"Sorry,” said the other three. “One clone’s always a little… uh…"
"Daft?” Sara suggested, following him. She’d let go of the dupe, now that he appeared to be towing the line. “Don’t fret. I refuse to judge a group on the actions of one."
Jamie breathed a sigh of relief. "You’re one of the few,” he said. “Everyone seems to think I can control them."
Logan was waiting for them. "Squirt,” he greeted. “Tallwater. Where’s Red?"
"Still ungumming her eyes, last I checked,” said Sara. “She’ll be down momentarily, I’m sure."
He pointed them in the general direction of the others. "Warm up."
+
When Jean opened her eyes at last, stumbling onto the lawn of the Institute, Sara was turning cartwheels on the spot. And so was Kurt.
_Goddamn morning people…_
"Nice of ya ta join us, Red,” said Logan. “You know the rules."
Last one in gets twenty push-ups. Complaining got another ten. Jean knew better than to object.
At least she was able to keep count, despite the rest of the crowd cheering on Sara and Kurt.
"Fifteen! Sixteen! Seventeen!"
_Three… Four… Five…_
When Jean was close to finishing, Logan got them to knock it off.
"Awright,” he announced. “Since ya got so much energy this mornin’, we’re doin’ a mornin’ run with packs.” He’d obviously decided to do it anyway, since Jean had seen them arrayed to one side. He selected each pack and called a nickname. “Squirt. Slim. Halfpint. Stripes…” and so forth until, “Tallwater."
Sara buckled the pack on, hiking-style. "Odd. This is far lighter than my daily knapsack…"
Jean glared undiluted doom at her.
"It’s what Marines get, it’s what you get. Follow me and keep a steady pace.” Logan took off at a jog.
_God, I hate mornings,_ Jean mentally grumbled. _I hate pack-runs. I hate chirpy morning people and I *HATE* losing *sleep*!_
~
After a first few initial stumbles, Sara managed to keep the pace. Exercise seemed to invigorate her senses, and her feet worked naturally in a ground-eating pace that made it almost easy.
It was going to be a beautiful day.
“Tallwater…” said Logan, jogging next to her.
“Yes?"
"Keep that singing up an’ I’ll have to increase yer limb weights. Nobody should be happy on one o’ these runs."
"Are you happy?"
"That’s not th’ point,” he growled.
“Well, if you’re enjoying yourself, you’re breaking your own rules,” Sara panted.
“Not any more,” growled the Canadian.
“Then I’ll just have to enjoy the run for you,” said Sara. “The air is clear, the sun is shining, the birds are singing. Carpe Viva!"
"Whatever,” said Logan.
“Isn’t that Lance’s jeep?"
Logan looked up at the sky as he jogged. "Go ahead. *Make* my day worse. I *like* bein’ grumpy."
"Watch out for the trees,” said Sara, and increased her pace to the Institute and the visiting jeep.
+
For Todd, it was like one of those romance movies where the two lovers ran towards each other in slow motion, calling out each other’s name and cheesecloth makers earned a small fortune[1]. Sara almost glowed in the sunlight, each scale seemed to shimmer and glisten.
+
For Lance, waiting in the jeep as they ran to each other and collided, it was almost an exercise in torture. They had what he, at the moment, didn’t. Therefore he noticed things like the sweat patches on Sara’s shirt, the way her hair went stringy and everywhere when it was damp, the delicate sound as both their bony chests collided… and the way Todd’s feet hung above the ground when they embraced.
_That’s them,_ he thought, _the long and the short of it._
Okay, so mental revenge was petty. So what. He was the one who had to put up with Tabby and Pietro whining that they weren’t invited to the big pig-out, and then attempting to scare up a plastic bag so loverboy, over there, could take a shower.
He missed having someone to love. Or at least, hang on to.
Lance stared at the rest of them as they made their way into the grounds. Somewhere in that mass of bouncing grey tracksuits was Kitty. Not his for now, just hers.
And thanks to Principal “holier than thou” Kelly, he had no chance in God’s green Earth of convincing her that he was sincere.
So he sat and watched and waited until his chances ran out, thinking of the girl he loved.
“Alvers,” said Scott.
“Summers,” said Lance.
“You’ve dropped off Todd. You don’t really need to be here."
He couldn’t stop watching her. "Yeah. I’m goin’."
+
Kitty pulled Sara aside the instant Logan seperated her from her boyfriend. "Are you like, sure going with him is a good thing?"
"Not just the simile, but also the metaphor,” said Sara.
“Huh?"
"That’s a 'yes’, dear."
"But the toad’s totally like, bad news,” said Kitty. “Going out with him is like… like…"
"Like you going out with Lance?” Sara said. “And his name’s *Todd*."
"That was totally different and I’m like, *so* over him, now. The whole gang of them are nothing but a buncha thugs."
"Only because most of them see no alternative.” Sara walked beside her, heading indoors, towards the breakfast table like everyone else. “Todd’s working for his keep, now, and I believe Freddy’s got a job as a bouncer."
"But they’re totally bad news!” Kitty objected. “They’re gonna *do* something. To you!"
"At the moment, dear, they’re hard pressed keeping scratch and sniff together. They’re buried under obligations with no sign out and, as I said earlier, few alternatives. Now I admit that Mr Maximoff is a lost cause, and Miss Smith is hardly any better… but I expect they should at least try to be civil now that fortune’s winds have turned in their minor favour."
"Huh?” said Kitty.
“Translated: Give them a chance.” Sara sat beside Todd and helped herself to some leftovers for breakfast.
Kitty vented an exasperated growl and found a place far, far away from them.
+
The Danger Room.
All of the X-men were assembled, including the new recruits. Todd was sitting offside with a medkit, some gatorade and a few buckets… and Tallwater was nowhere to be seen.
“She’s coming,” said Jean. “*Fi*nally…"
Sara edged into the room with a terry-towelling robe on. Her feet bore little olive-khaki slippers. "Um. Mr Logan? I believe there’s some -er- complications with my outfit…"
"Yeah?"
"I couldn’t find the rest of it. Just this sort of green one-piece thing and the belt… and the slippers."
"That *is* your outfit, Tallwater,” said Logan. “Biomimetic fabric’s hard t’ come by."
Her voice lowered to a squeak. ”…but everyone’s going to see my *knees*…“
Todd had asked Lance about the knees. He had been as mystefied as Todd and Fred. Even Pietro couldn’t figure it out.
Logan was massaging a migrane. "Okay. There’s a way we can deal with this. Take a breath. Close your eyes. Relax."
Sara’s death-grip on the neck of the robe fell away and her hands hung limp by her side. The robe itself must have stuck closed by Sara’s will alone, since it didn’t have a tie.
Logan toured around her as he spoke. "Deep breaths, that’s right. Picture yourself in a field. Sunshine and daisies an’ all that crap. Feel th’ wind in yer fingers…"
As she did so, he grabbed hold of the neck of the robe.
"Yoink!” He tugged it down and away.
“*EEEP*!"
Sara’s outfit barely covered the essentials. It didn’t even have shoulder straps. Just two peaks in the fabric that covered her breasts and stayed on by some sympathetic magic. Her back was completely bare until waist-level, when the belt delineated the change between naked scales and khaki-olive fabric.
There was nothing Todd could see wrong with her knees at all.
"Now everybody’s seen 'em and nobody’s laughin’,” said Logan. “Get in there.” And then he swatted her rump.
Todd didn’t even have time to flinch.
{SWACK!} “Comport yourself, sir!"
[1] Because cheesecloth is what they used to use to get that smoky, dreamy-soft focus in film. Hence the term "cheesecake”.
~