Neon Hearts Part 31
PART 31--CONFRONTATIONS


"So THEN," Cassie continued, with wide eyes and low tones more suited to tales 
around a campfire than a table at a nightclub, "the camel took ahold of my hand 
with its mouth!" Her five listeners, despite being veterans of numerous bizarre 
combat situations, nevertheless reacted with gleeful sounds of revulsion. "I 
guess it didn't see the popcorn I'd thrown in there--or maybe I just looked like 
I'd taste better, I don't know...."

Cassie's recitation of her ninth grade biology class's fateful field trip to the 
Denver zoo was momentarily interrupted by the arrival of the cocktail server. 
"Plain tonic for the lady," he said brightly, passing it over. A shifting strobe 
light caught him, making his metallic waiters' jacket flare into 
near-incandescence. Everyone but Scott squinted and blinked, or held up an arm 
to block the offending brilliance. "Anyone else need anything?"

"A Seeing Eye dog, maybe," grumbled Bobby, but quietly. Sudden lighting changes 
were just part of the expected ambiance at Silver's.

Hank initialed the addition to their tab, and the server departed, moving on to 
a nearby group waving frantically for his attention. "You were saying, my dear?" 
he said, as he slid the glass of Asti Spumante she had apologetically rejected 
over next to his own.

After a quick, assessing sip of her tonic--IT tasted normal, anyway-- Cassie 
continued. "I'd just said, about it grabbing me? OK. So... the camel started 
trying to pull me through the fence...and we had this kind of tug of war thing 
going for a little bit...." She mimed this conflict briefly, managing to portray 
the comic struggle despite the handicap of being seated.

"Wasn't there anybody around to yell to for help?" Jean asked, half- horrified 
and half-expecting to discover at the end that this was just a funny story 
Cassie was making up for their amusement.

"Not a LOT of people. It was the middle of a school day, after all. Plus I was 
kind of embarrassed to call attention to the fact I'd stuck my hand through the 
fence and couldn't get it back out."

"Better'n feedin' th' camel," Rogue observed wryly.

"Well, that's what I thought." Once she got into her storytelling mode, Cassie 
often forgot to be shy; exercising her knack for expressing the ridiculous in an 
understated way took her out of herself and into the scene she was detailing. 
"And I figured if nothing was done I was going to be screaming eventually 
anyway--camels have big teeth in the back, like horses." She opened her mouth 
and pointed to her own molars in solemn illustration.

Bobby, on her left, hid his face in his hands, snorting hugely. Rogue smacked 
him lightly to suggest he be a bit quieter.

"So I went--" Cassie barely raised her voice, despite the noise of the club 
surrounding them on all sides, " 'Excuse me? Um, help? The camel has my 
hand....'"

Scott, who had strong reservations in the first place as to whether anyone could 
be so genuinely silly, now looked wholly disbelieving, although he was still 
smiling. "That's your idea of yelling for help?"

"Well," Cassie shrugged apologetically. "I just...never have liked being a 
bother to anyone."

"You still have your hand," observed Jean, trying to help move the story along. 
"So someone must have heard you."

"Oh, yes. A man was passing by, and he ran up and poked the camel in the nose 
with a pen to make it let me go!" Cassie's eyes glowed, remembering the bravery 
and quick thinking of this unknown hero. "And after it did, he pulled my hand 
through the chain link--it came out pretty easy, now that it was all slimy." 
Another chorus of 'ewwws' followed this description. "So I washed my hands, and 
finished my biology assignment, and after we all got back on the bus, I showed 
my hand to my teacher. It was starting to puff up a little."

"Camel bites CAN have that effect," Hank noted wisely.

"The good part was, the school nurse gave me an excuse from my last class of the 
day because of it. 'Please excuse Cassie from participating in class, as her 
hand was chewed by a camel this afternoon.' The look on the teacher's face when 
I gave it to her pretty much made it all worth it."

"Gym?" Bobby asked, as one expert gym-dodger to another.

"Oh, no. Typing."

After the laughter died down, Jean said, "Okay, Hank. What was the dumbest thing 
you ever did when you were a kid?"

"There are entirely too many to pick one," he claimed, with a jarring note of 
modesty making him sound slightly proud of himself.

"THAT I believe," Scott said, amid chuckles of agreement.

"Just--tell the earliest one that pops into your mind," Jean suggested.

Cassie smiled encouragement, so Hank pretended to cast his thoughts back into 
the dim past, eyes closed in concentration, fingertips at his temples. "All 
right. Third grade." Everyone looked expectant. "On this particular day, we had 
a substitute who was possibly the most boring lecturer ever inflicted on 
helpless children. LECTURES! In a class where we were accustomed to spending the 
hour singing about 'Old Paint', and Mr. Frog, who if I recall correctly was 
'full of hops'."

"I think I know that one," Jean mused. "From piano lessons?" Her fingers wavered 
uncertainly through notes of decades past.

Hank was now warming up to his narrative. "Desperately my youthful mind sought 
to save itself from being snuffed out by ennui. Looking around my immediate 
vicinity, I noticed as if for the first time the ink bottle hole in the top of 
my rather antiquated desk."

"Uh-oh," said Jean and Scott in unison. They turned their heads to grin at each 
other.

"Suddenly it occurred to me to wonder whether my hand would fit through that 
hole; I have no idea why. So I proceeded to find out. And lo and behold, it 
did!"

"Annnd...did it come out again?" Bobby asked, obviously already anticipating the 
answer.

"No, sadly not." Hank shook his head in mock remorse, but his laughing eyes 
showed his true feelings. "Not with soap, or cooking oil from the kitchen...I 
fear I sadly disrupted that class."

"How'd they get ya out?" Rogue wanted to know.

"The custodian came with a hacksaw." A more somber look crossed his face and he 
added, "I recall thinking I could probably simply break off the corner of the 
desk. But even then I...understood that would be a bad idea."

Cassie stroked the back of his hand in silent sympathy. No wonder he was so 
against having children, if he'd had to hide his true nature as far back as he 
could remember. What a hard thing for a little boy to have to do!

Jumping in before the silence could become awkward, Bobby said, "Okay, I've got 
an entry for dumb kid tricks...don't say it!" he added, waving a warning finger 
at the group at large. Once he was satisfied that group mockery had been 
temporarily evaded, he continued, "I was visiting a cousin of mine one summer--I 
guess I was about eleven. We'd gone to the City pool for the afternoon. It 
wasn't a BIG city, and the pool was at the main park, along with a little zoo."

"Uh-oh, zoos again."

"Yeah, dangerous places! So, we were walking through it going home, and we were 
just passing the monkey house, which had an outdoor section called Monkey 
Island. It was surrounded by a moat of water, so people could watch the monkeys 
playing outside in an unfenced area, but the monkeys couldn't escape."

"Cain't they swim?" Rogue objected.

Bobby looked to Hank, who shrugged, but said, "Some can't, I believe. I imagine 
it depends on the species."

"Well, probably these couldn't, or they wouldn't have still been AT the zoo," 
Bobby added, and Rogue bowed to this display of logic. "Anyway, like I said, we 
were walking by when some kids who knew my cousin Marty came up and started 
bugging us. Not anything real mean, you know, just goofing around. But we'd been 
carrying our swim trunks, you know? And they got them away from us and threw 
them onto the island."

"And the monkeys put them on," Jean suggested.

"NoooOOO...now you're being silly." They were all being a bit silly, and 
enjoying it a great deal. "But Marty was afraid his mom would freak out if he 
came home without 'em. And the other guys started daring us...and so we climbed 
over the little stone wall and jumped into the moat."

"It was only about up to our waists--and the island was empty. We thought 'piece 
of cake!'. Climbed up onto the island and grabbed our trunks...then we started 
kind of showing off to the other guys, who were yelling 'Hey, look at the new 
monkeys!'--stuff like that. And some other kids stopped, and they started 
hollering we'd better get out of there...so naturally that made us holler back 
we'd go when we were good and ready...."

"Can I...postulate you should have made yourselves ready and departed 
posthaste?" Hank inquired.

"Yep. Because just about then I noticed one TINY little monkey kind of inching 
up to us. I bent over to pet it..." Bobby paused for dramatic effect, "and the 
little creep JUMPED me. It started screeching, and ALL the other monkeys came 
pouring out of their house and attacked us!"

Bobby leapt up abruptly to reenact this climactic battle. "The monkeys were 
screaming, and WE were screaming, and they were jumping on us and biting us and 
we were yanking them off and flinging them every which way," his arms flailed 
wildly, throwing invisible monkeys right and left, "and the people on the other 
side of the moat were screaming, and FINALLY Marty got the idea to jump into the 
water--"

People from other tables were staring, both at the wildly gesticulating man and 
his hysterically laughing companions. Bobby sat down and waited. Hank removed 
his glasses, wiping his eyes. Cassie was hiccuping with hysterical giggles, and 
had buried her face against Hank's chest to try to calm herself. Even Scott was 
laughing aloud.

When he could reasonably expect to be heard, Bobby said, "I still have the scars 
on my legs," with such great dignity that it started everyone off again.

"Y'all got MY vote f'r dumbest kid stunt," Rogue finally managed to say between 
diminishing chuckles. "Ah thought Ah had a sure winner, tryin' to kill that 
rattlesnake with a hammer...."

"I concur."

"Me, too," said Cassie, agreeing with Hank. "A pack of ravening monkeys beats 
one old dried up camel any day!"

Bobby beamed, pleased to be the recognized champion at SOMETHING for a change, 
and raised his beer glass in joking acknowledgement of his peers' accolades. A 
companionable silence ensued as the group waited for another topic to suggest 
itself.

Their attention was drawn to the current action on the dance floor. Silver had 
started one of his famous 'melded' song sets; the theme this time seemed to be 
any mode of air travel. Only hard core dance fanatics attempted to stay on the 
floor during these, taking the rapid shifts of timing and mood as a challenge to 
their abilities. It tended to create an entertaining show for those watching.

"Git on out there, Hank, ya know ya want to," Rogue teased. Actually Hank, with 
his inherent, almost eerie grace, had more than once inspired spontaneous 
applause from the Silver's regulars.

Scattered laughter followed the dancers' attempts to switch gears from the Steve 
Miller Band classic 'Jet Airliner' to the much more sedate 'Up, Up and Away' by 
the Fifth Dimension. "I'm content, for the moment, just to sit here with all of 
you," Hank answered easily. In fact, he was sitting this one out because he 
sensed Cassie wasn't quite up to the challenge tonight. She seemed happy enough, 
but somehow quiet, and she leaned against him from time to time as though she 
were tired. All the unpacking, perhaps, coupled with the time change from 
Colorado.

"So how was the movie?" Bobby said to Jean and Scott, who had joined their 
foursome late, after finishing up their prior plans.

"Great," said Jean at the same time Scott answered, "Pretty good." They looked 
at each other, that amused exchange intimate even there in the crowded 
nightclub. Jean went on, "Considering how hard it is to find a movie we both 
want to see!" Scott laughed and shook his head. "We picked the Mission 
Impossible remake, figuring it would be a good action film, which is what Scott 
likes..." her smile grew faintly wicked, "and there was Tom Cruise in it for 
me."

"You guys should go see it," Scott suggested, nobly ignoring Jean's teasing. 
"Good special effects, even if some of the things they had them doing were 
pretty far-fetched."

"'Aw, nobody in their right MIND would do THAT on a mission.'" Jean leaned back 
in her chair, clasping her hands on her chest and frowning, a pose they all 
readily recognized, as she mimicked Scott's most frequent observation with the 
accuracy born of long, fond acquaintance.

"Don't debrief us here, okay, Scott?" Bobby asked. "I HATE to go to a movie 
where I know when the explosions are going to come."

Hank opened his mouth to add his pleas to Bobby's, but shut it again abruptly. 
Cassie turned her head to look for what had so forcefully caught his attention, 
and a hush fell as the others did likewise.

A woman with stylishly cropped black hair and an impeccably casual 'night on the 
town' outfit was approaching their table. Cassie glanced quickly from face to 
face; the expressions she saw varied from studied blankness to outright 
animosity. Another one of those things everyone knew about but her, no doubt of 
it. Although it looked as though she was going to find out about this one....

The woman paused for half an instant when the group's reaction registered with 
her. But she made some internal adjustment that reset her poised manner, and 
came on anyway. "Hello, Hank."

"Trish," he acknowledged with a nod. Cassie couldn't help glancing at him when 
she heard the tight control in his voice. He was smiling politely, but only on 
one side of his mouth. "You're looking well."

Maybe it was just a trick of the changing light that had taken the flashing 
humor out of his eyes, she thought. There was a strange darkness there now, the 
pupils wide to absorb...what? The mental image of a dog, pressed beyond its 
normal friendliness and about to bite, came to her mind for some reason.

If the woman noticed Hank's uncharacteristic restraint, she didn't show it. "You 
too." Cassie felt oddly sorry for her. It must be difficult to stand there at 
the center of everyone's watchful dislike and act as though she didn't care.

Then those calculating eyes focused on Cassie and she found she couldn't look 
away. Her own experience with quick assessment of people and scenes told her 
this Trish was doing that right now; there was a sort of flicker in her face as 
the mental sorting took place.

"I know YOU," Trish said, and she smiled again at Hank, but there was something 
not quite pleasant in it. "You're the romance writer."

"Yes, that's right," Cassie admitted, feeling her way cautiously. She had grown 
mostly accustomed to hearing variations of this line from strangers. But this 
woman did NOT give the impression she was going to turn out to be a fan.

"I saw that little prom night picture of the two of you in the paper," Trish 
said, the hint of a mocking coo in her voice making it clear this was a dig. 
Cassie was at a loss for just a second, but Hank instantly caught the reference. 
His right eyebrow made that minute dip that meant he was less than pleased. 
"Hank pinning on your corsage?" Trish continued helpfully.

"Oh, the awards ceremony!" Trish's glance at Hank said as plain as words, 'cute, 
but a bit dim for you, isn't she?' "I...didn't realize it had been in the paper 
here," Cassie tried to explain, then realized that made it sound as though she 
didn't READ newspapers. "I'm from out of town."

Hank shifted slightly in his seat, and under the table he patted Cassie's knee. 
"Did you...want something, Trish?" he hinted.

"Just to say hi, chat a bit." Trish paused, as if expecting an invitation to sit 
down. None was forthcoming, but she breezed on anyway. "So what's new? How's 
your work going?"

Hank's half smile became even thinner. In an extremely careful voice he said, 
"No comment." Cassie heard someone nearby--Bobby?--make a tiny sound of stifled 
reaction.

The intruder's perfect facade remained intact, although she didn't speak for a 
moment. Cassie sensed a telling blow had been landed somehow, despite the lack 
of reaction from the recipient. She was growing steadily more certain she might 
NOT want to hear what all this was about.

Looking directly at Cassie now, Trish said, "Good luck, honey--and a word of 
advice. Don't ever cross him--he'll never forgive you for it."

This slur on Hank stirred Cassie as no remark to or about her ever could. She 
could hear the self-righteousness under those words; her unlamented ex-husband 
had had exactly the same way of side-stepping any guilt over others' reactions 
to his behavior. "It's a bit difficult to forgive someone who won't admit 
they've done anything wrong."

Trish stiffened at this, then gave Hank an accusing glare and marched off 
without another word, leaving them all sitting in excruciating silence.

Bobby was the first of the group to recover. He burst out with faintly shrill 
tension-relieving laughter, then turned to Cassie. "Put your hand up." She 
looked puzzled, but complied, allowing him to high-five her. "Shooting blind 
from mid-court...and she sinks it with nothin' but net!"

"I did?" She looked at Hank for a translation.

"He means your reply was stunningly apropos, considering you had no knowledge of 
the background situation." Hank seemed composed, but somehow tired beneath it 
all. "I can tell you the sordid details later, if you like. Meanwhile-shall we 
dance?"

Cassie was more than willing to do so, if it would take his mind off whatever 
had just happened. The melded set had ended, and a slow love song from the 
current Top 40 gave them a good excuse to hold each other until their jangled 
nerves were mutually settled.

Gradually the little party got rolling again. Hank gallantly invited Jean out on 
the floor when the music turned to something raucous her husband wouldn't be 
caught dead dancing to, and after that some polite mixing of partners took 
place. When a country-western tune unexpectedly came on, Hank persuaded Cassie 
to give him a refresher on his line dancing technique, which Bobby and Rogue 
joined in on until Bobby stepped wrong and brought them all down in a laughing 
domino effect. Scott mostly watched the dancing, though he did take advantage of 
enough romantic numbers to make Jean very happy.

The five main dancers were debating whether to advance to the floor and start a 
can-can line at the next appropriate show tune when they were again joined 
unexpectedly.

"'Allo, amis." In the crush of the popular night spot, Gambit had not needed to 
exert his skulking talents to remain unnoticed by his teammates. He had been 
watching them from afar for quite some time, working up his courage, and 
incidentally drinking much more heavily than usual. Now he stood before them 
with a crooked smile, weaving almost imperceptibly on his feet. All the phrases 
he had planned and rehearsed had completely left his head, leaving him feeling 
foolish beyond measure.

Rogue almost demanded to know what he thought he was doing here, before she 
recalled she wasn't speaking to him. Several other questions also tried to 
escape her lips, forcing her to fold her arms and look away to keep from 
blurting them out.

Viewing this, Cassie recalled Hank making the suggestion of an evening out, 
during dinner at the mansion. The first response had been from Remy, saying he 
had other plans, and Rogue had quickly agreed to go out with them as soon as 
he'd said it. The sardonic half-smile that had played about Remy's face when he 
heard that, as if to say he had expected nothing else, was identical to the look 
he bore now. She winced in sympathy for him even as she wondered what he had 
done to Rogue to make her so embittered.

Through the haze of half a dozen neat whiskeys downed in little more than an 
hour, Gambit dimly realized this impulse had been a bad idea. As usual. "Gambit 
crashin' de party, eh? Spoil ever'body's good time? Better go, den...."

Hank had been scanning the nearby tables for an unused chair ever since he'd 
noted Gambit's atypical unsteadiness, and he now leaned back to snag one. 
Handing it over the table to Scott, who nodded silent agreement as he placed it 
next to his, Hank said in cheery tones, "Sit down, Remy." 'Before you fall 
down,' he added to himself, worried that he might merely be making the situation 
worse.

Bobby and Cassie took up Hank's cue, adding friendly words of encouragement, 
with Scott and Jean joining in an instant later. "Well, since you all insis'."

In his haste, Scott had not considered the implications of placing the chair 
between him and Rogue. Gambit now half-leaned towards her, his normally neatly 
brushed back hair falling into his eyes. "We havin' fun yet? Non?" Rogue 
resolutely switched her gaze to the shiny black table top, although that was not 
a real escape, as his reflected face was there too.

Gambit shrugged, grinning around the table, as if inviting everyone to join in 
on the joke. Cassie was struck by the oddness of his red eyes in the dimmed 
light--they didn't QUITE glow, but there was a sort of reflection there, like a 
cat's.

"We were actually getting ready to call it a night," Hank remarked in a blatant 
attempt at nonchalance. "You may as well catch a ride home with--"

"Got m'bike," the Cajun interrupted airily. "No need fo' nobody troublin'."

"But...should you be riding it?" Jean asked. Gambit waved this question away 
with a slow, sloppy smile that parodied his usual charm.

"No, he shouldn't," Rogue said, entering the conversation at last.

"Why, chere, Gambit t'ought you di'n' care no mo'." He half reached for her, but 
pulled back at her freezing glare.

"NOBODY here wants to see ya wrap y'self aroun' a streetlamp," she snapped.

"Includin' you?" He looked at her as intently as if they were the only two people 
in the world. "What DO y'want f'm me, Rogue?" Fire snapped in those eyes, and he 
knew, in a brief flash of mental clarity, that he'd only made the situation 
worse by confronting her in front of others.

Those others were, to a person, acutely embarrassed to be witnessing this, but 
no one seemed to know what to do to end the unbearable scene. Finally grasping 
this, Remy started to rise, then suddenly slumped to the table. Rogue and Cassie 
gave twin gasps.

But Jean coolly reached across Scott to feel Gambit's neck for a pulse. "Let's 
get him outside. We can take him home in our car."

"Your work, Jean?" Hank asked admiringly.

"Yes--just a little 'touch' to the jugular vein," she explained, casting a quick 
look at Rogue. She couldn't have said what reaction she expected to read there; 
strangely, there was none to read.

"Carotid," Hank corrected absently, before adding, "Can you safely keep him 
under?"

"I think the whiskey will do that."

"How about his bike? This isn't too good a neighborhood to leave it in 
overnight," Bobby observed.

"I'll fly it back," Rogue said. She now looked faintly shaken, as though she was 
losing the fight not to show her reactions.

"We've got to find it, first," Scott said with his usual practicality.

Jean closed her eyes, and frowned a little, as if she were having unexpected 
difficulty with her attempt to probe Gambit's thoughts. "It's around the corner 
at that small lot, in the back. Shouldn't be a problem for you to nip off with 
it while the attendant is busy, Rogue."

The plan was put into action, and proceeded without complications. Hank and 
Cassie, in Hank's sportscar, talked very little as they followed the other two 
vehicles home to the mansion, but Cassie kept her hand on Hank's thigh as her 
mind worried over the events of the evening, and he occasionally reached over to 
give her a reassuring pat in return.

"Not talking about something sure causes a lot of problems, doesn't it?" she 
ventured once.

"Indeed it does," Hank replied, pulled from his own vaguely morose thoughts, 
which had been toying with how best to describe to Cassie the past 
unpleasantness with Trish.

"Let's us not ever do that, okay?"

"Not talking has seldom been one of my failings," he answered as lightly as he 
could, hoping to bring a smile to Cassie's face. "Talking too much is far more 
likely." Indeed, if he hadn't rambled on to Trish so often about his work, that 
whole fiasco never would have happened. Sharing musings he thought were private 
and she thought were newsworthy had simply been tempting her too far; he could 
see that now.

Hank could also see, glancing down, that Cassie looked quite serious still. "If 
we should ever have any problems--not that I expect to--I promise to discuss 
them," he vowed, smiling as reassuringly as he knew how. "We're two literate, 
mature, extremely verbal and highly compatible people. I can't picture lack of 
communication becoming an issue for us."

"Well, we've done all right SO far," Cassie acknowledged, smiling back. "You're 
right...I'm worrying about nothing again." She patted his leg once more. "You're 
so sensible it's scary."

"I think, therefore I am well-adjusted," he quipped. The somber mood dispelled, 
Hank snapped on the radio, and he and Cassie sang duets most of the way home.


Susan the Neon Nurse
(Susan Crites/CRITESS) Email to carosue@iguana.ruralnet.net


INFO, ETC.

There is also a mailing list for people who want to get new chapters ASAP. Be 
warned--you sometimes get odd extra mailings as well, when the spirit moves 
me....

Disclaimer: Since I am a) inserting a new character and b) not privy to any of 
Marvel's editorial decisions, this story is forced to be an alternate universe. 
It is similar to the 'real' one when it works out, plotwise, okay? And I DO make 
mistakes sometimes, I know. Such is life.

"...how can people have no feelings?
How can they ignore their friends?
Easy to be proud...easy to be cold.

Especially people who care about strangers;
Who care about evil, and social injustice.
Do you only care about the bleeding crowd?
How about a needing friend...?"..("Easy to be Hard", from 'Hair')


-------------
Neon Hearts Part 32. Boy, you'd think a person without a job would get MORE 
writing done, not less, wouldn't you? But you'd be wrong...at least for THIS 
chapter. Perhaps will improve as I get adjusted, caught up, and all like 
that....

Today we are featuring our special two for one acknowledgement that others hold 
the copyright to their original and unwitting contributions to this 
story--Marvel Comics and Jimmy "Bubba" Buffet, Michael Utley and Will Jennings!


PART 32--EVERY STOP IS A PLACE TO START


The working conditions could not have been more perfect. A faint morning breeze, 
laden with the scent of spring greenery, drifted in the open window, making the 
bedroom cool and pleasant. Cassie sat before her computer in the typing chair 
Hank had lovingly adjusted to an ergonomically flawless setting, glaring at the 
screen.

"Not a single dang move here," she muttered to herself, and with two quick 
clicks, resigned the game. Freecell was SO tricky. Every time she started a new 
hand she swore she wouldn't get suckered into another no-win situation, but then 
more often than not she did anyway. She suspected strategy was not her strong 
suit. Never saw doom coming at her until way too late to avoid it.

The prompt sign appeared, asking if she wanted to replay the lost game or go for 
a new one, and she drummed her fingers on the back of the mouse, feeling guilty. 
When Hank had, in all thoughtfulness, asked her what she planned to do with her 
morning, she'd told him she was going to spend it at the computer, and he had 
nodded, satisfied. But she knew she'd given him the impression she was going to 
be WRITING. What she was actually doing was just fooling around while she 
fretted.

The nagging thought that she was going to fail Hank by not being outgoing enough 
would not go away. Cassie knew she wasn't misinterpreting his not-so-secret hope 
that she would become friends with his friends; meld neatly into their cobbled 
together family. She had promised herself she would try her very best to do that 
for him...and here she was playing dumb time-wasting games instead.

It ought to be easy to get up, leave the safety of this room she now shared with 
Hank, and go downstairs to socialize with whoever she might find. So far 
everyone seemed to accept her, even if only in terms of her relationship to 
Hank. Making a simple move like that would be no problem--for someone normal.

"They're all perfectly nice," she said out loud in the silent room, knowing it 
was quite true, knowing that wasn't really the problem.

It wasn't them, it was her--practically her mantra, she thought in self-disgust. 
She'd spent the last few years in comfortable solitude, just her and Cornflower, 
sometimes going for several days without seeing another live human being, and it 
had seemed NORMAL because she never questioned it, or whether she was ready to 
change. Now she had been thrown--no, be fair, had JUMPED--into the deep end of 
the human interaction pool. And, despite a few minor successes, she felt like 
she was floundering.

On the other hand, Cassie rationalized, just wandering down to drift around the 
general living area might give people the impression she was expecting to be 
entertained. These people were in the business of risking their lives for a 
world that seldom noticed, and even more rarely appreciated it, and it would be 
in the worst of taste to impose in any way. They deserved their personal time. 
The LAST thing she wanted to do was seem like a difficult guest, a poor choice 
for Hank to have picked as a companion. But perhaps...perhaps she could find 
something helpful to do, and then she wouldn't feel so out of place.

Cassie sighed and pushed the problem away for the moment. She SHOULD be working 
on SOMETHING. Hank might not really expect it, but Wendy certainly did! She had 
several good, potentially useable story ideas filed away she could be playing 
with, working up. The idea about twins as a tv news anchor team? Or maybe that 
fantasy one, with the tapestry dragon? If she wasn't spending the morning 
getting to know her new housemates better, she at least ought to be WORKING....

With two more clicks, Cassie drew down another Freecell game.

*          *          *

When she heard the door open behind her Cassie started just a little, but then a 
quick glance assured her it was Hank. She dug into the carpet with one toe and 
spun the chair so she could bounce up to greet him as warmly as he deserved. 
"This is a nice surprise!"

"Hope I'm not interrupting your--" Hank put his words on hold to accept and 
return her non-verbal welcome "--writing?" he continued, after sneaking a peek 
at the computer screen.

"I haven't settled on what to start on next," Cassie said, abashed. "I do this 
while I'm thinking."

"I see--distract your left-hemisphere functions to free up those of the right?"

"Something like that," Cassie agreed, relieved that he didn't seem to think she 
was just killing time. "What do you do when you're thinking?"

Hank considered this carefully. "Stare off into space, I suppose," he finally 
shrugged with a smile. Curiosity getting the better of him, he moved a few steps 
closer to examine the playing field on the screen. "Can't you move that red six 
to the black seven?" he pointed.

"No, it doesn't work that way." Cassie made the attempt and got the reprimand 
message from the game. "If it didn't have the black five on it I could. But 
right now there aren't enough spaces to let me."

"Oh." Dismissing that subject in favor of the one currently engaging his 
interest, Hank continued, "I had an idea just now for a little interactive 
workout session. Something where you could join in with the group."

"ME?" Cassie squeaked, revealing her instant alarm. The one team workout she'd 
seen had nearly scared her out of their potential relationship; she would still 
rather not think about the active side of Hank's career in any detail. 
"Like...as a rescuee or something?"

"No, something fun," he assured her. "Remember the holographic dancers Silver 
wanted? Nothing could be simpler to create, on our system, and they could be 
both guides AND adversaries. For you, I'd program plain dance aerobics. The 
others would have some...extra challenges added to their routines." Hank's eyes 
gleamed with plans that seemed to have much more to do with humor than danger. 
"I think you'd enjoy it--like last night?"

'He means the first part, I hope,' Cassie thought. Going out dancing HAD been 
fun, but Gambit's ill-advised attempt to talk with Rogue had had a seriously 
dampening effect on the evening. Hank was looking at her with such 
encouragement, though, that she would have agreed to a much scarier proposal 
than this. "What do you need me to do?"

"Just let me borrow..." He browsed her CD rack, almost dancing himself now that 
she'd agreed. "Ah, this will do very nicely--" He held the CD behind her back as 
he kissed her. "See you at lunch, my dear!"

*          *          *

At lunch, no one commented on Gambit's absence, which was something of a comment 
in itself. Even those who had not been present to witness the debacle of the 
night before seemed to know all about it, though they were keeping whatever 
opinions they held to themselves.

Once everyone wass served from the elegant soup tureen that incongruously held 
what Logan curtly called 'camp chili', Hank spoke up. "I had an idea this 
morning for a new training routine, and I need some volunteers to help me fine 
tune it."

"After what happened the last time? Yeah, RIGHT," Bobby said with a cheerful 
sneer. That sounded more than a little ominous. Cassie wasn't sure whether she 
wanted to hear the story behind it or not.

"It's nothing like THAT," Hank assured him. "In fact, I can promise you it isn't 
at all dangerous--Cassie will be participating as well." He looked down at her 
with fond pride, and she managed to smile as if she knew exactly what was going 
on and wasn't the least bit apprehensive.

"CASSIE'S going to be training with us?" Scott laughed, then swiveled his head 
towards Jean, who was primly spooning up her chili. She had plainly said 
something to him mind-to-mind, because he frowned slightly before looking back 
at Hank to continue his protest. "No, seriously. I mean, not to be rude or 
anything--" he turned back to Jean again, "I SAID not meaning it rudely...."

"What exactly have you got in mind, Hank?" the professor queried, his neutral 
tone indicating he was at least willing to consider this odd proposal.

"At base, it's simple conditioning," Hank replied, leaning forward and gesturing 
with his spoon as emphasis to his enthusiastic words. "But it can be varied to 
suit anyone--"

"I see! We help him work out the bugs, and then he becomes a millionaire selling 
workout videos--"

"SOME of us'd like to hear more about this, Bobby Drake, if ya don't mind," 
Rogue interrupted.

"The base workout is a dance routine," Hank ignored Bobby's hoot of laughter, 
"where each participant follows a holographic guide. The guides will be 
programmed to change to attackers at random intervals."

"You're thinking this would improve reaction times, by forcing the team members 
to concentrate on a new and different activity so they will be less on guard?" 
Xavier considered this, then nodded. "I'd be interested to see what you come up 
with--changes in training help maintain readiness."

"You never know when you're going to be attacked on the dance floor," said the 
irrepressible Bobby.

"You never know when you're going to be attacked ANY time," Bishop said to him, 
then looked at Hank. "I'll volunteer."

"Me, too," Jean chimed in, while Bobby stared in stunned amazement at Bishop. 
"It sounds like fun!"

"Count me in too, then," Scott said and smiled sheepishly at yet another private 
comment from his wife, the details of which were guessable because of her 
twinkling eyes.

"Two more?" Hank said, pleased at the participation thus far.

"I believe I'll try it," Betsy said, when no one else spoke for a moment. "It 
DOES sound good for reflex work." She glanced a question to Warren, who merely 
shook his head, looking amused and superior at the very idea.

"Ah will, if no one else wants ta," Rogue said, looking around the table.

No one disputed her, or looked especially disappointed, and Hank nodded briskly. 
"I'll need a little time to get it set for each individual--figure on coming 
down mid-afternoon."

Lunch continued with comradely conversation about mundane matters, and Cassie 
put on a pleasant smile as she listened. Finally, Storm's general query as to 
whether there would be any changes in the number expected for dinner that 
evening gave her the opening she wanted. Once that question had been answered, 
she cleared her throat and said, "I've been wondering...shouldn't I get rotated 
into...into the chores list too?"

"Oh, certainly not," Betsy said immediately, with a friendly shake of her head. 
"You're a guest, dear. Enjoy it."

"Well, I do, of course," Cassie answered, both hands clutching her napkin under 
the table. "But I feel like I ought to be helping out."

"I didn't bring you here to be a housekeeper," Hank said, and though his tone 
was jovial, Cassie swung around to look at him, sensing disapproval. "You have 
your work."

"Oh, yes, very important--compared to what you guys do." She continued to smile 
as she said it, and wished vainly she could have Jean's talent for a moment--or 
that she'd at least had the foresight to tell Hank her plan before springing it 
on the group as a whole. Maybe she was inadvertently stirring up bad memories or 
other trouble.

"Hey, as far as I'm concerned, you can have all Hank's turns at cooking," Scott 
joked.

"I'd be happy to help him out when it's his turn," Cassie said meekly. 
"But...you and Jean each have your own, I think?"

At this point, with Cassie's discomfort and uncertainty almost palpable in the 
air, Xavier chose to involve himself. "I appreciate your offer to help, Cassie. 
No one wants to feel like a drone." He let his gaze roam the assembled X-men, 
saying without words the issue was settled. "Jean--you're in charge of the 
assignment roster this month, am I right?" Jean nodded. "Put Cassie in the 
rotation for meal preparation, please."

"I know I can't be on the team," Cassie said, trying to lighten the mood, "but I 
could at least be an auxiliary."

Now Xavier turned and gave HER that repressing look, and she swallowed hard. The 
silence drew out painfully, until he produced a non- committal smile and said, 
"Let's just take things one step at a time, shall we?"

Cassie was thankful to be allowed to return to semi-invisibility for the 
remainder of the meal. Afterwards, she and Hank strolled outside. "I'm sorry if 
I seemed unsupportive, Cassie," he apologized almost immediately, once they were 
alone. They headed for an arbor swing that offered a shady place to sit and 
talk. "I...wasn't as prepared to share you with the team as I thought, I 
suppose."

"I should have told you I was going to ask," Cassie said, feeling wholly at 
fault for the misunderstanding. "I know I can't be with you all the time--but I 
feel funny downstairs alone, and...I thought having something official to do 
would help."

"An extremely wise idea which I ought to have thought of myself," Hank replied, 
seating himself on the swing, which barely creaked--it had been built with him 
and a few others of hefty build in mind. Cassie joined him, and drew her knees 
up so she could cuddle against his shoulder. "But once you begin, you will 
probably be urged to put yourself forward as a substitute cook on a regular 
basis--there are a few of us who...well, let's just say cooking is NOT their 
mutant power. And I don't want you taken advantage of."

"No one would do that, would they?"

"Not deliberately, no. But hungry people who have been subjected to too many 
culinary experiments can get desperate."

"When is it your turn?"

"Tomorrow's lunch, as it happens." Cassie gasped. "And I had not yet made any 
plans. You see, buying sufficient comestibles for a dozen healthy appetites 
requires computerized assistance. This week's order was already made up and 
delivered before our return day before yesterday. So I would have had to venture 
out to the supermarket in Salem Center this evening anyway. Give your debut menu 
some thought, and we'll procure the needed ingredients together."

"Okay, that sounds like a plan," Cassie replied, soothed by the idea of doing 
something calm and normal, like grocery shopping, with Hank. "This is a nice 
spot," she continued.

"It will be even nicer when the wisteria is in full bloom later in the summer," 
Hank told her. "But for now it's shady..."

"AND private," Cassie continued. It took minimal effort for her to switch 
positions from by Hank's side to on his lap, and they used the rest of Hank's 
lunch break wisely.

*          *          *

On his way back to working up the new program, Hank left Cassie in the kitchen, 
at her request. If she was going to be cooking, she wanted to spend some time 
exploring it in solitary peace. She began by methodically opening what seemed 
like endless cupboards. Spices and sundries ought not to be a problem--there 
appeared to be a bottle or packet or box of every food preparation aid she'd 
ever seen or heard of, and quite a few she hadn't. Many of the packages were 
imports-- some printed solely in languages--even alphabets--she did not 
recognize. And there were roughly one million different mixing bowls and related 
kitchen oddments....

She was down on her hands and knees, peering into the recesses of a lower 
cupboard when someone spoke. "Lose somethin'?" Startled, she jumped and hit the 
back of her head against the cupboard doorframe. With an indrawn hiss of pain, 
she clapped her hand against the hurt spot as she spun around to a crouch, ready 
to leap and run for safety.

The man named Logan was staring at her, chewing his unlit cigar end, as calm as 
if he saw similar events a dozen times a week. "You okay?"

She relaxed and slumped to her knees, still rubbing at the sore place. "Yes, 
thank you." Was she EVER going to stop jumping ten feet at the slightest 
surprise? "I bump my head a lot. Kind of a hobby." Cassie realized she was 
blathering, but she hoped he would accept it as her way of making conversation 
in such an awkward situation.

A tiny snort and faint lip movement was his only response. "Maybe that explains 
why ya like Beast."

Cassie's smile became perfunctory. She knew Hank mostly enjoyed his friends' 
teasing. But SHE didn't have to like people joking that there was something odd 
about her admiring him. She rose to her feet and waited.

Logan noted her expression and gave her a tentative point of approval in his 
mind. A good sign, that she didn't join in with his mild disparagement of her 
lover. Sometimes the quiet ones surprised you. "What were ya lookin' for?" was 
all he said.

"Skillets, with lids," Cassie told him, silently agreeing to start their 
conversation over. "I'm trying to decide what to cook tomorrow." On impulse, she 
asked, "Do you think people would like fried chicken? Or chicken fried steak? Or 
do you all not eat fried things much?"

A spark of genuine interest appeared in Logan's eyes. "Are we talkin' 
old-fashioned home cookin' here? Meat an' potatas?"

"Maybe a little pan gravy?" Cassie suggested with shy hope, because suddenly 
something in Logan's expression reminded her just a little bit of her beloved 
cousin Vic.

For answer, Logan moved to a door on the far wall, opened it, and gestured for 
her to come closer as he stepped in. "Will these work for ya?" The mini-pantry 
was well equipped with a vast array of pots and pans, including a nicely 
arranged set of big cast-iron skillets.

"Do you think that would be okay?" she repeated. "Hank likes about everything, 
but I don't want to make something no one else wants to eat. I don't know very 
much about fancy cooking, you see; my Mom just taught me regular country 
stuff...."

Wolverine sighed happily inside at the idea of someone else willing to cook 
good, plain food and plenty of it. "It'll be fine. When people don' like what's 
on the menu, they just fend for themselves, but it's no big deal." He thought a 
moment. "I think ya might consider makin' both--"

"Okay." She would check that with Hank, but she was quite willing spend a 
morning in the kitchen if it would take Hank's friends one step closer to being 
hers as well. "Your chili today was good," she added, suddenly remembering who 
she was talking to. "Is that the sort of thing YOU like to make?"

"I like plain regular food," Logan told her. "Chili, stew...sushi."

"Really!?" Cassie's eyes grew big. "I LOVE sushi."

Now Logan was actively grinning. If Hank didn't keep this one, HE might be 
tempted to have a go at wooing her--wasn't every day you ran into a girl who 
liked fried chicken AND sushi. "One of these nights soon, I'll make it. And all 
the barbarians can go to McDonalds."

*          *          *

Cassie spent some time trying on and rejecting various work-out type outfits, 
and then did a little mild stretching so she would at least be physically ready 
for the trial run of Hank's new program. When he summoned her via the intercom, 
she took a firm mental grip on her nerves and headed for the elevator.

Jean and Scott were already present. Cassie was not surprised to see them in 
their uniforms. She had deliberately NOT put together a combo of blue and gold, 
not after the way her little auxiliary joke had fallen flat at lunch. Her knee 
length black bike shorts and white t-back body brief didn't even seem daring, 
next to their close-fitting suits made of some gleaming fabric that accentuated 
every muscle.

Then Betsy strolled in, and Cassie's jaw dropped before she could conceal her 
reaction. Thank goodness Betsy didn't see it--although Jean did, and had to turn 
around to hide her own laugh at Cassie's shock. 'Well,' Cassie thought to 
herself, 'no doubt that's strategy or something--in a fight, it would distract 
at least SOME of the bad guys.' And there was also no doubt Betsy had the body 
to carry off the thong-style micro-suit....

Rogue and Bishop arrived together, completing the practice group. "All ready to 
go?" Hank's voice echoed in the large empty chamber, and Cassie looked up to the 
control room with the rest, although she was the only one who waved. "I'd like 
you in two lines of three. Scott, Rogue and Bishop--you're in front--" they 
instantly complied like the veterans they were "then Jean, Betsy and Cassie. 
Good. Now back up, back row. Very nice."

"I always suspected Hank wanted to be a choreographer," Scott joked.

"Focus, Scott, focus," Hank reprimanded his friend, and Cassie laughed at the 
line, one of Brain the megalomaniac lab mouse's catch phrases. Scott looked 
quizzically over his right shoulder and she mentally cringed in embarrassment. 
He must think she was laughing at HIM!

"All right. You'll each have a 'guide' in front of you. Copy their moves as best 
you can. If it attacks, defend yourself--a hit to a vital spot will make it 
resume dancing."

"Can you program that into Scott for the next time we go out?" Jean asked, 
winning herself an over the LEFT shoulder frown from her husband.

"Powers, or not?" Scott asked, trying to stick to the matter at hand, as befit 
his role of team leader.

"Not, at least for now. In time I can enlarge the parameters to work those in. 
Any more questions?"

'Is there any way I can I get out of this?' Cassie thought. The tension which 
had been building in her was peaking, making her feel as though she might throw 
up. She didn't fit in here, it was a bad idea--

Then the music swelled out into the room, the melodious chimes of its opening 
bars as familiar as home, as Hank's arms. A golden shape shimmered into being in 
front of her, and as it spread its arms like wings, she copied it, heart rising. 
Beaming up at Hank, she pressed the fingertips of her left hand to her lips and 
blew him a kiss, which he returned, grinning in pleasure at her appreciation.

Their group of six was now twelve; the faux dancers began to slowly sway to the 
smooth calypso beat. "Oh, Ah know this one," Rogue had time to murmur, and then 
they all began to copy their guides' movements.

Bishop, dancing in front of Cassie, picked his cues up quickly, his studious 
expression belying the elegant clarity of his movements. It was an astonishing 
display from the normally stolid man, enough to make Cassie miss a few moves 
watching, and have to hurry to catch up. She glanced over to Betsy, laughing at 
her own clumsiness, and Betsy, who was a step behind as well, managed an 
encouraging shrug as she fought to master this new challenge.

  "...Feed it all with a willing heart,
  Every stop is a place to start,
  If you know how to play the part with feeling...."

"'I play with feeling,'" Cassie chimed in, hardly knowing she was going to, 
totally transported by the music and the movement. "'That's why I wander and 
follow *la vie dansante*....'"

When the first transformation of guide into attacker took place over in front of 
Scott, she barely flinched, and felt a rush of elation when his instant punch to 
its jaw made it swirl back into a guide again. This WAS fun! Like...playing a 
part in a movie, where the scary things were only special effects that would be 
gone when the credits rolled.

As the song ended, the guides slowed, then disintegrated as everyone came to a 
stop. It seemed impossible it could be over already.

Oh, I like that," Jean said immediately, echoed by the rest of the female 
contingent. "You've got a keeper here, Hank." Turning to Scott, she said, "Don't 
you think so, honey?"

"It...would make a nice change, I guess," he allowed, with a side look at 
Bishop, who was standing impassively, arms crossed, awaiting further directions. 
"Does keep you on your toes." He looked up to the control booth. "But can you 
take that shimmy thing out of mine? I don't shimmy."

"Just don't do it, then," Hank suggested.

"But you said to follow the guides," Scott replied, perplexed at being told to 
obey two completely different instructions.

Hank decided against explaining that improvisation was part of the artform. 
"Consider it eradicated as if it had never been."

"But I kind of liked it," Jean said with a flirtatious wink, and Scott turned 
red at the neck of his uniform, although he winked back.

"Can we do it again?" Rogue asked. "I like that song."

"Thank you, I was just going to request another run through, so I can adjust 
some settings," Hank told them. "If you would all take the same places?"

When he judged them ready, Hank started the program again, checking his readouts 
in between sneaking appreciative looks at Cassie's exuberant dancing. 'One of 
your better great ideas, McCoy', he told himself, humming along with the song. 
His volunteers were, on this second go-round, looking very nearly professional 
at times, even Scott, the self-proclaimed non-dancer. He was definitely going to 
have to automate this so he could play too!

"'Why don't you wander and follow *la vie dansante*?'" he sang along, hands 
flying over the controls to vary the guides' attack modes.

"Ver' good question, mon ami," came a rough voice from behind him.

"Gambit," Hank said, pausing in his actions, searching for but finding nothing 
appropriate to say for several long seconds. "How are you feeling this 
m--afternoon?"

"Gon' live," was all Gambit replied. His eyes were on the dancers, one in 
particular. "You a lucky man, Beast."

"Yes, I know." Hank joined him in gazing down to the floor of the Danger Room, 
but when he turned back to speak again, Gambit was gone.

*          *          *

After a third run, Hank dismissed everyone, and they filed out chatting and 
comparing notes. "Ah don' know WHERE he GOT some a' those moves," Rogue 
pretended to complain.

"I don't know where he got ANY of them," Scott said. "Nobody but Hank could just 
sit down at the computer for a couple hours and whip something like this thing 
out." He shook his head in admiration. "Even after all these years, he can still 
surprise me."

Cassie, beaming from ear to ear at this praise of Hank, started to speak when 
those walking ahead stopped abruptly. Gambit had stepped into the middle of the 
hallway leading to the elevator. "Rogue. We got t'talk." The only evidence of 
his catastrophic behavior the night before was in the pallor of his face; he 
looked pale and grim as death.

Jean hesitated, then moved on by veering around Gambit, pulling a little on 
Scott's arm, a hint he reluctantly took. The others present looked back and 
forth between the adversaries, Bishop looking ominous, Betsy disapproving, and 
Cassie frankly worried. "We got nothin' t'talk about," Rogue retorted, and made 
as if to go past him, by force if need be.

"We do. An' we c'n do it private, or call a team meetin'; make no diff'rence 
t'me." Gambit crossed his arms with finality. "But we GONNA talk."

Cassie was the first to break and slink out of the battlezone to follow Jean and 
Scott. This promised to be an extremely awkward confrontation, which was none of 
her business into the bargain. Betsy and Bishop no doubt drew the same 
conclusions, for they followed her. The ride up in the elevator was a silent 
one.

Once they were alone, Rogue spat, "Speak yo' piece, then." Her angry green eyes 
and outthrust lower lip warned it was unlikely to have any positive effect on 
her.

Remy had put to good use the hours he'd spent lying in bed this morning waiting 
for the worst of his hangover to pass. The practiced words came forth easily. 
"Gotta know somet'in, gal. You playin' a game here, or you jus' not know w'at 
y'want?"

"Ain't playin' no games, Cajun. An' Ah know what Ah DON' want, which is you!"

"S'what y'say," Remy said, red eyes narrowing. "Fine. Din' like it in Seattle, 
don' like it here, but if dat's de way it be, den dat's the way it be." He 
waited to see if she would say anything further, then continued. "But dat mean 
y'got no right talkin' me down like y'been doin'."

"What's THAT s'posed t'mean?" Rogue bristled.

"Cyclops and Bishop together don' ride me like you been doin'." Gambit put his 
thumbs in the pockets of his slacks, giving her an even look. "You actin' like a 
li'l gal tryin' t'pick a fight so's she an' her beau c'n kiss an' make up."

"Ah am NOT!" Rogue declared, outraged, clenching a fist in frustration.

"Y'are. An' it gon' end, right here an' now. T'day."

"Ya cain't tell me what Ah can and cain't say," Rogue said, voice dangerously 
low.

"'f y'won' leave dis be, chere..." Remy took a deep breath. "'f we can' work 
t'gether no more...well, I got no illusions 'bout which of us more importan' to 
de team...."

"Y'all'd LEAVE?"

Remy canted his head a bit at the emotion Rogue failed to remove from her voice, 
and smiled with one corner of his mouth, though strangely, it only made him look 
more tired. "All up t'you, chere. 'f y'can't handle me bein' aroun'--"

"Don' flatter y'self," Rogue snapped. "You're th' one cain't take a little...." 
Gambit arched an eyebrow and she fell silent for an instant. "Ah c'n handle 
anythin' you can dish out, Cajun."

"Jus' keep ever't'ing...profess'nal, dat's all," he said in even tones. "Nothin' 
but team business. Soun' fair?"

"Jus' team business," Rogue agreed through clenched teeth. "Y'done?"

"Oui, looks like we done," Gambit replied, the faintest of sighs finishing off 
his words. And with a nod, he turned away and left Rogue standing alone. The 
hall echoed his slow footsteps, the sound hollow and forlorn. Each assumed the 
other had won, because they felt their own loss so keenly. Both were wrong.

Footnote: For all of you who are neither French speakers nor Parrotheads (and if 
you have to ask what a Parrothead is, you most likely aren't one. :) ), *la vie 
dansante* = 'the dancing life'.


Susan the Neon Nurse
(Susan Crites/CRITESS) Email to carosue@iguana.ruralnet.net


INFO, ETC.

This ongoing story began being archived under the not too creative title of 
'Beast Romance'. The new, improved, expanded version is called 'Neon Hearts'. (I 
mention this to make it a bit easier for people to find the first sections.)

There is also a mailing list for people who want to get new chapters ASAP. Be 
warned--you sometimes get odd extra mailings as well, when the spirit moves 
me....

Disclaimer: Since I am a) inserting a new character and b) not privy to any of 
Marvel's editorial decisions, this story is forced to be an alternate universe. 
It is similar to the 'real' one when it works out, plotwise, okay? And I DO make 
mistakes sometimes, I know. Such is life.


---------
Neon Hearts Part 33
PART 33--WHISPERS OUT OF THE PAST


"Ooh, these strawberries look great, don't you think? Should I get some for 
shortcake, or pie or something?" Despite the overly bright fluorescent lighting 
in the grocery store, which made the faces of most of the other shoppers appear 
wan and sickly, Cassie's pink cheeks evidenced her pleasure in the simple task 
of choosing food for their next day's meal.

Her mood was contagious, at least as far as Hank was concerned. "Anything in 
that category will be extremely well-received, I'm sure," he responded with 
heartfelt enthusiasm. "If you think these containers have a high ripe-to-green 
ratio, let us purchase TWO flats. I know they won't go to waste."

Cassie nodded cheerfully and began to examine the various boxes of fruit on 
display, intent on selecting only the very best. As he watched, Hank wondered if 
the smile his image-inducer was projecting looked as smugly proprietary as he 
feared it might. He had no business, he told himself, feeling amused at Cassie's 
enjoyment of the traditional 'wifely' chore of shopping, when HE was standing 
here smirking like Ward Cleaver. All he lacked was a pipe to complete their 
'50's Couple' look--not that you'd be allowed NEAR a grocery store with one in 
hand these days....

Of course, part of his satisfaction was relief at Cassie's return to her usual 
happy mode. He had been shocked and dismayed when she unexpectedly burst out 
crying in their room that afternoon, and of course had assumed the worst--she 
had hated the dance workout, even though it had appeared to go so well. 

When Hank had joined his dancing guinea pigs in the ascending elevator, she'd 
instantly clung to him, but stayed strangely quiet-- fighting back a storm of 
weeping even at that point, he knew now. Troubled by her mute distress, he 
hadn't even noticed the others were nearly silent as well.

After he soothed away her tears, Cassie had told him how the group had 
involuntarily witnessed the beginning of a confrontation between Gambit and 
Rogue. Terse remarks in the elevator car had further revealed to her that the 
team in general believed the two were THIS close to a final showdown bound to 
send one of them packing. 

The contrast between her blissful relationship with him and that acrimonious one 
was more than enough to upset someone as sensitive as Hank knew Cassie to be. 
But the solace of his embrace had helped her rally her emotions, and at this 
point she seemed to have forgotten her distress entirely as she eagerly 
anticipated cooking for the group tomorrow.

*          *          *

Shopping for a single meal didn't take much time, and they were quickly homeward 
bound. Rather than end their personal time together so soon, Hank decided to 
take a detour into Harry's, since he was already appropriately 'dressed' to drop 
in for a nightcap. As he had explained to Cassie, wearing image inducers was 
standard protocol for conducting day-to-day business in Salem Center--at least 
for any X- team member who varied significantly from the physical norm. She had 
instantly grasped the good sense of this and offered no objection. Her 
acceptance of his image form was actually coming along quite well--though it 
still seemed faintly peculiar to him that his human look was the one she found 
most disconcerting.

A quick scan of the crowd revealed none of the other X-men were 
present--although the night was still young. With the aplomb of a long-time 
regular, Hank guided Cassie to a cosy table in the back, not bothering to wait 
to be seated by whoever was pulling hostess duty tonight.

He had barely sat down himself, after politely holding Cassie's chair for her, 
when a familiar server appeared. "Well, look who the cat dragged in! DOCTOR 
McCoy!" As usual, the black woman's eyes seemed to twinkle as if at some private 
joke. She used his formal title fairly often, despite his mild insistence it was 
not the least bit necessary. For some reason he could not fathom, she seemed to 
find it funny. "I haven't seen you in so long, I thought you might 
have...escaped. Fled the country, or something."

"As it happens, Pam, I was on vacation." Now it was his turn to wink and nod 
towards Cassie, suggesting intimate secrets. "Out in Colorado, visiting my 
friend Cassie. And now she is visiting me."

Cassie tried not to wriggle as Pam looked her over carefully and slowly. 'Maybe 
she took one of those courses about memorizing people's names and faces,' Cassie 
thought. She had that air of someone committing details to permanent storage. 
"Nice to meet you," Pam finally said. "You know something? You look like that 
actress on TV; the one who was in that Twister movie."

Hank turned to study Cassie's face. "Helen Hunt? You know, you do, now that she 
mentions it."

"I don't know...I don't watch much TV," Cassie admitted. "And we...I haven't 
seen that movie yet."

"I think the tv show is sappy," Pam told them, wrinkling her nose in disdain. 
"But the movie was...fun. I liked the special effects. Very...realistic." 
Suddenly she seemed to remember her job. "What can I get for you two?"

After the waitress headed for the bar, Cassie asked hesitantly, "Is she always 
like that?"

"Like what?" Hank looked truly curious.

"Oh, I don't know...asking a lot of questions? Staring at people?" From the way 
Hank was now staring at HER, Cassie knew she must be coming across like a 
paranoid lunatic. Putting words on paper was SO much easier than coming up with 
them in real time conversation. 

Hank quirked his head, trying to decide if she were joking. "You sound like 
Bishop. He always thinks Pam is staring at him too."

"Really?" For some reason that felt reassuring. "It must be just a habit or 
something, then." Cassie considered the idea further. "Although I can kind of 
see why she would stare at Bishop."

"Why?" Hank obligingly picked up his cue, honestly interested in the answer.

"Because she thinks he's cute, silly!" Cassie half-swiveled in her chair to 
better center her attention on Hank, who still preened within himself just a bit 
every time that happened. "And you know what? I bet she's been scoping you out 
too--THAT would explain why she was looking me over like that."

"It would?" His expression was dubious--was she setting him up for some complex 
joke?

"Sure! If she hasn't been able to make up her mind whether to go after you or 
Bishop...and then you turn up with me--she's got to try to figure out if you're 
taken or if we're just casual before making her next move."

Hank was half-aghast and half-intrigued at this glimpse into the world of female 
maneuvering. "You deduce all that from a few casual questions and slightly 
longer than normal eye contact?"

"You don't think so?" Now Cassie looked wholly ready to recant her entire 
theory, if he indicated it was flawed in any way.

"I don't know what to think--except that I'm well out of my depth!" Hank 
laughed, shaking his head ruefully. Compared to figuring out the female mind, 
the Legacy virus was a pre-schooler's jigsaw puzzle.

"I'm always inventing plots--stories about people I don't know. Can't really 
help it," Cassie confided, leaning her cheek against her cupped palm, a 
self-mocking quirk on her lips. "I'm probably totally wrong here." Her free hand 
found his under the table, and they became oblivious to their surroundings, rapt 
in each others' gaze.

From across the room, Pam watched, unblinking.

*          *          *

The reactions to lunch the next day repaid Cassie well for spending most of her 
morning in the kitchen. Despite preliminary groans from those team members not 
blessed with a power or physique that easily expended mass amounts of calories, 
the main course disappeared rapidly. And yet, miraculously, everyone still had 
room for strawberry pie!

"What have we eaten here already, five million calories or six?" Jean asked, as 
she served up a slice for Scott and then one for herself.

"Whoever's doing dinner, make salad, if you please," Betsy chimed in, taking a 
full helping as one of the three gleaming mounds of bright red berries passed by 
her spot. "That will even things out."

"Well, the pie IS mostly low-fat," Cassie pointed out shyly. "The glaze is just 
blenderized strawberries with a little sugar and cornstarch. Really, if you eat 
it without whipped cream--"

"WITHOUT whipped cream? Are you INSANE?" Jean demanded with great good humor. A 
large glob of that confection spun up out of the container, propelled by 
telekinesis, and hung in the air with mock- threat for a moment before plopping 
onto Jean's pie.

Cassie stared for a long moment, then blurted, "You must be SO much fun in a 
food fight!"

The gathered assembly rocked with laughter. Even Xavier smiled, although he had 
been firm in squelching food fights, powered or not, many years before. 

It was unquestionably, Cassie thought happily, the most relaxed meal she'd had 
here so far, possibly the beginning of genuine acceptance. She was even able to 
quietly insinuate herself into the cleanup chores after lunch without being 
shooed off by Jean and a definitely subdued Rogue. Since Cassie had done quite a 
bit of cleanup as she cooked, which she'd been taught by her mother was the only 
PROPER procedure, the three of them were done in no time. The other two women 
departed with friendly casualness, which Cassie took to mean they really had 
begun to see her as a resident, rather than a guest to be entertained.

Cassie looked around the again pristine kitchen, deciding what to do next. Going 
upstairs to her computer appealed mildly. While she had been chopping and 
sauteing in the kitchen that morning, the fiction- generating part of her mind 
had finally deigned to click on. Simple physical activity had that affect on her 
sometimes. On the other hand, she felt vaguely restless as well. Maybe if she 
took a little walk now to clarify her thoughts, she could crank out a couple 
pages of outline and notes before dinner.

Mostly out of habit, because she often checked her mail around lunchtime at 
home, Cassie chose to head towards the main gate. Strolling in the early 
afternoon sun, she wondered why this drive, unlike those she'd seen in pictures 
of other older estates, wasn't sheltered by rows of sturdy old trees. Had there 
been a bad run of Dutch Elm disease, or something like it, forcing Xavier to 
have them removed? She would have thought that people who so valued their 
privacy would like the idea of trees screening them from the prying eyes of 
passersby. 

By the time she was halfway to the gate, Cassie was running her fingers through 
her loose bangs, then fluffing the hair off the back of her neck, with some 
regularity. She hoped the mail would be there, so she would have some sort of 
accomplishment to show for her efforts. If it was this hot and muggy around here 
in MAY, she was NOT looking forward to true summer!

As if summoned by her thoughts, Cassie spied the mail truck coming down the 
access road, slowing as it drew near their gate. Without knowing she was going 
to, she waved cheerfully, the way she would have waved to any mail carrier. 
Because her father was a lifelong employee of the postal service, they all 
somehow felt like family to her. 

The woman driving slipped a large bundle of incoming mail into the secured slot, 
then waved back hesitantly before moving on. 'I keep forgetting people out here 
don't wave at strangers,' Cassie thought, hoping she hadn't made the letter 
carrier feel uncomfortable. 

"Now, let's see--how does this thing work again?" she muttered as she fingered 
the codepad. To her mild amazement, she only made one error before managing to 
enter the numbers that let her open the mailbox from her side of the deceptively 
ordinary looking brick and steel gate. 

Cassie straightened, tucking the bundle under one arm, then gasped 
involuntarily. A man, worn and disheveled as one can only get from traveling on 
foot for a very long time, was walking directly towards her. Cassie took a few 
steps back, but did not run, confident in the security system Hank had told her 
so much about. "Good afternoon," the stranger said in a pleasant, although 
reserved, way. "Can you tell me if a gentleman named Charles Xavier lives here?"

Cassie tried not to show she was stalling as she thought. Secret, or not? She 
didn't THINK so, seeing as how there was a sign with his name right there on the 
gate. "Yes, he does."

"Good. I have come a long way to talk to him--if he is the Charles Xavier I am 
looking for." He half-shrugged off his backpack, then drew from one of its 
pouches a rolled up object in a ordinary plastic shopping bag--although the logo 
was in some foreign language--Spanish? He unrolled it and held it so Cassie 
could see it. It was a old tattered TIME magazine, the bright inks of the cover 
dulled with age, but she couldn't prevent her smile of delight when she saw 
faces there she knew well, one in particular. "You know his students too, I 
see."

"Yes." Cassie studied him, as her mind raced over various possibilities. He had 
a young face, handsome in a strangely old- fashioned way--because the ice blue 
eyes within it looked old? Or did the suggestion of age come from his hair, 
white as Ororo's and just as striking, even pulled back in a dust-covered braid? 
"I can...go tell him you're here."

"Will you open the gate and let me in?" the man asked. His tone was mild, yet it 
seemed as though a demand lurked under it. At Cassie's clear hesitation, he 
straightened. "I dislike the idea of waiting outside like a...supplicant."

Cassie found, to her astonishment, that she had taken a step forward to do as he 
asked before she thought better of it. "I'm sorry...I can't."

"Can't...or won't?" Those intense eyes narrowed a fraction, and she gulped.

"Well, some of both." Cassie unconsciously clasped her hands together in a 
nonverbal plea for his understanding. "I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to. I 
mean, what's the point of having a security system if people just ignore it?" 
She shrugged an apology, her smile feeling as false and stupid as her babbling. 
It seemed like such a mean and petty thing to say to someone who looked so 
tired, hungry, and thirsty--and yet was behaving with such marked politeness. 
"But it will only take me a few minutes to walk back to the house and get 
someone." The stranger continued to regard her evenly, which caused her to flush 
with embarrassment. "I'm only a guest here myself...I just SHOULDN'T. I'm 
sorry."

"I would not want you to get in trouble on my account," the man replied gravely, 
although a peculiar twinkle had appeared in his eye. "So suppose I just...." He 
rose from the ground a few inches, waiting for her reaction. When she did not 
scream and run, he continued, "...let myself in? Then YOU will not be to blame."

Cassie began to demur, "I have a feeling flying over will trigger--" But even as 
she spoke, he rose calmly and regally into the air, floated over the gate, then 
landed without a sound. "--alarms." 

The sun-baked afternoon remained quiet. "Huh," Cassie said nervously, looking 
around for SOME evidence the intruder had been noted, and finding none at all. 
She would have to ask Hank for more details about this super security system 
later. At least their new guest had set himself down a decent distance away, and 
was making no hostile moves.

"What is your name, if I may ask?"

"Cassie. Cassie Cantrell." She almost stuck out her hand, but despite this man's 
uncanny charm, he was not charming enough to soothe her old fears. He didn't act 
as though he noticed the omission.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Cantrell. My name is Joseph." He 
smiled and the urge to follow his suggestions that she had noticed before 
returned. "Could I persuade you to walk along with me?"

"Since I'm going up to the house anyway, I guess...okay." It would be pretty 
silly to say NO--he'd probably just fly on up there without her, and that was no 
doubt a worse idea.

Without further ado, they set off up the drive, their silence somehow 
companionable even though the stranger was diligently keeping his distance. 
Cassie was in the midst of congratulating herself on not freaking out for a 
change when four rocketing blurs came at them from the sky. 

The situation became a crisis between one step and the next, just that fast. One 
of the flyers landed--Sam--and even in her shock Cassie wondered at the 
mirroring shock on HIS face, which turned instantly to grim resolve. The other 
three, Storm, Rogue and Warren, hovered in the air like outraged hornets, poised 
to attack.

Though Cassie's feet were frozen to the ground, she was somehow able to glance 
around at the stranger. He had stopped in place as well, a frown forming on his 
face as he took in the situation. In a heartbeat, it escalated; more X-men were 
converging on the scene at a dead run, Hank pulling ahead of them all, 
incongruous in his white lab coat.

From the back of the advancing pack, Scott shouted something Cassie couldn't 
quite make out, and she involuntarily took a step towards the stranger in a 
peculiar surge of protectiveness. This HAD to be some sort of 
misunderstanding--although now her question was answered about the security 
system. A silent alarm, obviously. 

In response to something--the shout? protocols?--Hank skidded to a stop not more 
than a dozen feet away. Nevertheless, he leaned forward as if restrained only by 
an invisible chain, his eyes blazing promise of fearful retribution. The claws 
of his hands and toes dug into the grass, ready to launch him forward in a 
split-second. Cassie dizzily noted, through her stunned dismay, that he had 
split the back seam of his coat from running so hard. "Hank?" she said, but 
couldn't think of any words to follow that reaching out.

Bishop and Logan had flanked Hank's stance almost instantly, both armed and 
ready in their individual fashion. Scott, Jean and Gambit were mere factions of 
a second behind, completing the line of defense.

All was still an instant. Then Cassie felt a peculiar sensation crossing her 
body, rather like the staticky field that lingers in front of a tv screen after 
you shut it off. "Don't be afraid--they can't hurt us," Joseph advised her 
calmly.

Her head snapped around. Joseph was weaponless, his hands slightly extended at 
his sides. It was a strange thing to say--or believe. If she hadn't seen him 
fly, she would now assume he was seriously deluded. "Then I don't think you 
should hurt them either," Cassie heard herself saying in a firm voice that 
didn't sound at all like her normal one.

The stranger gave her a look that combined irritation and amusement. It appeared 
he was not used to being told what to do. "I will not make the first hostile 
move."

Was it that simple? Cassie sighed with relief. "Well, that's okay then." Which 
only made everyone, from the stranger to Hank, look at her like SHE was the one 
whose mental faculties were in question.

"What do you want?" Scott demanded, taking up his assigned role as leader.

"I want to see Charles Xavier," Joseph said, as though it was the most 
reasonable request in the world.

"He's come a long way," Cassie blurted out into the silence. No one seemed to 
pay her any attention.

"Someone I had reason to trust gave me this as a guide," the stranger told them, 
and unfurled the magazine again. Cassie felt the pulse cross her body a second 
time, as he held the ragged periodical out towards the X-Men like a talisman. 

The magazine flew smoothly out of Joseph's hands and into Jean's. Her mouth made 
a little 'O' of surprise when she got a good look at the cover. She closed her 
eyes for a moment, then opened them, still looking wary but no longer quite so 
wild. "The professor says to bring him up to the house."

Scott nodded brusquely, made a little hand gesture, and the ground forces 
parted, making a path. "Come with us," he said, managing to make it at least 
half an invitation. Before anyone else moved, he inclined his head towards 
Cassie and said, "Hank...." Hank nodded, his lips thinning momentarily, 
acknowledging his understanding of the implied order.

The stranger strode forth, head high, as if the individuals surrounding him were 
an honor guard rather than enemies. Hank waited until they passed, then was at 
Cassie's side in a bound. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead grabbed her 
in an almost painfully tight embrace. She returned it, even though reality had 
not yet quite cut through her shocked calm.

"Are you all right?" he finally managed to say, when he could make himself pull 
back to look at her.

Cassie nodded, but her eyes told a different story. The fervent way he'd clasped 
her to him just now made her flash back to the time he rescued her from the 
river, and she now understood that look on his face as he'd faced off against 
the intruder. He had glared so fiercely because he was frantic, profoundly 
terrified for her safety. "I'm so sorry to frighten you like that, Hank." 

"I know," he said, and pulled her close again, but in a way that still let them 
see each other's faces.

"You're supposed to scold me now, aren't you?" Cassie asked hesitantly. "That's 
what Scott meant just now."

"I don't know that I'd put it EXACTLY like that," Hank protested, with a weak 
smile. "But...my own dear love, what WERE you thinking?"

She peered deep into his eyes, trying to get a clue as to what Hank wanted her 
to understand, feeling desperate that she could not. "What do you mean?" she 
finally had to say.

"I take it you don't know who that is?" He relaxed his grip a bit, letting her 
get her feet solidly on the ground again.

"No." Obviously she should. "You know I'm terrible at remembering faces."

"Does the name Magneto ring the faintest of bells?" Hank was trying to sound 
like he was joking, and yet the subtext came across clearly-- if it didn't, it 
should.

"Yeess...." Two and two made four with stunning suddenness. "That wasn't HIM?!"

"It was indeed." Hank couldn't be joking--his eyes still held some of his fear 
of what might have happened.

There simply had to be some mistake somewhere. "But isn't he...bad?" They 
couldn't be the same person--not the mega-threat Magneto and that courteous, 
tired man with the almost...mesmerizing...charm, who had not hurt anyone, in 
fact, had offered her his protection.

"Exactly the point I am trying to make," Hank said. He essayed a smile, but it 
held no real humor. "How can you be so wary of everyone here, and yet when 
someone shows up who is a genuine threat, you invite him in so you can walk him 
to our--"

"I didn't INVITE him, Hank!" Cassie protested. She felt the stirring of an 
almost alien emotion...anger? "I know I'm not X-Men material, but I'm not 
totally stupid either!" Hank had the grace to look abashed. "He WANTED me to let 
him in, and I told him I couldn't. So he flew over the gate."

"Oh." Hank's realization that this more sensible version of events ought to have 
been obvious to him showed in his suddenly disconcerted expression.

"I don't know what I could have done to stop him," Cassie continued, trying to 
sound reasonable. "Other than throw the mail at him, I guess."

"Not likely to be a useful tactic," Hank agreed, trying not to smile at the 
picture this created in his mind's eye.

Relief at last crept back into Cassie's heart now that that strange harsh 
expression was gone from Hank's face. "Maybe I need some... training in what to 
do in cases like this," she suggested. "Obviously what I'm coming up with on my 
own isn't right." 

Hank embraced her again. He felt a tremor which belied Cassie's bravely cheerful 
words, and realized her reaction was belatedly setting in. "But there was no 
battle--maybe in part because of your actions. I WILL point that out in the 
debriefing."

"Debriefing?" Cassie hadn't thought that far ahead--the team discussing the 
incident, and her role in it? How embarrassing! But at least Hank was going to 
be there to defend her.

"We always discuss...incidents. Part of the learning experience," he told her as 
lightly as he could. He brushed his hand through the damp gold silk of her hair. 
"Would you...like to attend?"

Cassie's mouth dropped open. "Would they let me?"

"You were involved. I think I can make a case that you have information to 
present. Plus, as you say, it's evident you need further training in...." His 
voice trailed off in a sigh, and it was some time before he continued. "Enemies, 
battles--these are parts of our lives...but I wonder what was I thinking, to ask 
you to accept that as normal."

"Maybe that I would think it was worth it, to be with you?," Cassie replied in 
an almost steady voice, the glimmer in her eyes giving away the game. "It is, 
you know."

"Is it?" he echoed her softly. "I truly hope you never have cause to change your 
mind in that regard." And now it was Cassie's turn to hug him very hard.

"Well. I think we should proceed back to the house--an asphalt driveway in the 
middle of a warmish afternoon is no place to hold a long discussion on ANY 
subject."

"Maybe we should go see how the air conditioning is working...in the bedroom?" 
Cassie said, slipping her free arm around Hank's waist.

"Oooh, now THERE'S a thought," Hank answered, with the faint rumbling undertone 
in his voice that was part chuckle and part...something else. "But before we do, 
there is one crucial question I must ask."

"What, Hank?" Cassie stopped again, eyes big, anticipating the worst.

He grinned, flashing a white expanse of teeth any big bad wolf would envy. "Is 
any of that mail for me?" 


Susan the Neon Nurse
(Susan Crites/CRITESS)

++++++++++++++++++carosue@iguana.ruralnet.net++++++++++++++++++
Courtesy*Integrity*Perseverance*Self Control*Indomitable Spirit


INFO, ETC.

This ongoing story began being archived under the not too creative title of 
'Beast Romance'. The new, improved, expanded version is called 'Neon Hearts'. (I 
mention this to make it a bit easier for people to find the first sections.)

There is also a mailing list for people who want to get new chapters ASAP. Be 
warned--you sometimes get odd extra mailings as well, when the spirit moves 
me....

Disclaimer: Since I am a) inserting a new character and b) not privy to any of 
Marvel's editorial decisions, this story is forced to be an alternate universe. 
It is similar to the 'real' one when it works out, plotwise, okay? And I DO make 
mistakes sometimes, I know. Such is life.

Susan started over as of June 1, and lost [ 3 ] pounds! Woo!

Complaint of the Day: Due to various recent upheavals, my living room looks like 
a bomb site. Why doesn't anyone sell home-use sized bulldozers?


---------
Neon Hearts Part 34. Hi all! This was going to be a double-length chapter, which 
was why it was taking so long to write, but I changed my mind, for various 
writerly reasons....

Just in case you wonder: As I note in the disclaimer, to keep from going insane 
I have NOT followed several of the established Marvel storylines. Onslaught is 
one, and Wolverine's adamantium-ectomy is another. I mention it only because it 
would make a slight difference in some of the following scenes, if I had. 
Confused, yet? Me too.

Sometimes I forget to say that the Marvel characters are all copywrite to 
Marvel. This is not one of the times.


PART 34--JUDGEMENT CALLS


Walking into the air-conditioned foyer from the outdoor heat was like diving 
into cool water. The couple were still hand in hand, and had been playing at 
swinging their arms like children sometimes do; they resumed an adult facade 
inside the mansion, but grinned at each other like conspirators. "Where shall I 
put the mail?" Cassie asked.

"On that small table," Hank informed her. "As in boarding houses in days of 
yore."

"So everyone can see what everyone else got," Cassie observed with an arched, 
amused eyebrow.

"Not too many secrets here," he acknowledged, wondering if she understood yet 
how literally true that was.

"Before we go upstairs," Cassie said, changing the subject, "I'd like to get a 
glass of tea or something. You?"

"Why not? But would you mind pouring some up for me? Since I left the lab in 
something of a hurry, which is something of an understatement," he smiled as 
Cassie mimed sheepish remorse, "I neglected my usual shut-down protocols. Which 
should be seen to if I am going to be out of the lab for any significant length 
of time?" Now it was his turn to pretend to be unsuccessfully hiding clownish 
eagerness.

"I'd suggest you shut 'em down," Cassie purred, touching a fingertip to his 
nose, then drawing a line with it down over his lips and chin as she pulled 
herself gradually closer to him.

Hank half-dived for her neck, then reined himself in. No sense starting 
something he'd have to interrupt. "Be RIGHT back," he assured her, and bounded 
away for the elevator.

*          *          *

By now Cassie had the cupboards almost completely memorized, so it was a simple 
matter to find two appropriate glasses. Ice from the ice maker, then tea from a 
very large container in the refrigerator which seemed to remain constantly full. 
She wondered in passing if making tea as needed was an actual chore on the 
lists, or someone's personal passion. She drank some off the top of her glass 
and refilled it, a little surprised at the strong feeling of slaking a craving 
she hadn't even been unaware of. Well, the heat HAD been pretty intense 
outside....

Spoons were not a problem, but finding something like a sugarbowl for Hank's 
tea--he never turned down a chance for a few extra calories-- proved a more 
daunting task. If need be, she could dip some out of the sugar canister, but 
that seemed a bit...down home. Not done in a Better Households such as this, she 
teased herself. Instead, she went to the far end of the row of cupboards and 
started methodically opening each door. 

As Cassie was shifting some other table-service-type-ware in the most promising 
looking cupboard so far, a vague mental nudge urged her to look over her 
shoulder. She dismissed the impulse, but it returned, this time more insistent. 
Telling herself she was being utterly silly, Cassie looked behind her....

...and absolutely without volition leapt as far away as she could get, to the 
corner of the counter by the sink. The cause of her alarm, a grimly staring 
Bishop, narrowed his eyes but did not move. 

The edge of the formica countertop dug into her back as she struggled to form 
some sort of coherent sentence. Could he POSSIBLY think she was looking for 
something secret in the kitchen cupboards? "I was... just...."

"What's going on here?" Hank's timely arrival left Cassie weak in the knees, and 
brought a deeper scowl to Bishop's face. To her infinite relief, Hank crossed to 
her side at once, taking a calmly defensive stance. "What is it, Bishop?"

"Her." Though he held no weapon, he exuded the impression of holstering one. "No 
one from this time jumps like that--unless they have a guilty conscience."

Hank glanced aside at Cassie, who now looked more thunderstruck than terrified. 
"Sure of that, are you?" he asked, voice deceptively mild.

Bishop cocked an impatient eyebrow--the one within the 'M' tattoo--at Hank's 
deliberate obtuseness. "You don't think it strange she just HAPPENED to be 
visiting here, so she could just HAPPEN to be the one at the gate when the man 
who has been one of the greatest threats to the X-Men in this world shows 
himself?"

Hank clapped his forehead into his palm, trying to forestall an overly candid 
response. "Bish...I appreciate your efforts on our behalf, I truly do. But in 
this case your diligence is sadly off-track. It would be difficult to imagine 
someone more harmless than Cassie..." He drew a deep, calming breath, preparing 
to continue, but Bishop interrupted. 

"You don't know everything about her."

Hank's resolve to remain unruffled dissolved. "I know a good deal more about her 
background than yours," he snapped. 

The XSE man drew himself up even straighter, if that were possible, obviously 
offended to his core. Cassie, alarmed at the direction this scene was taking, 
stepped forward to lay a placating hand on Hank's forearm. "It's okay, Hank." 

Hank's face bore an uncharacteristically uncompromising look. "We shall have to 
have a talk sometime in the future, my overzealous friend, about how a traumatic 
background can cause a person to... occasionally overreact."

"Any time," Bishop growled, and stalked out of the room.

Neither of the two left standing alone spoke for a moment. In that profound 
silence, the clink of a shifting ice cube in one of the tea glasses seemed to 
echo endlessly. "Hank..." Cassie finally ventured.

"Yes, I know. You're sorry." He was still staring in the direction Bishop had 
taken, so he didn't see Cassie's minute flinch at his tone.

"I don't like causing trouble between you and your friends," she said, very, 
very quietly.

Now Hank did turn to her, taking both her hands in his, but with an air of 
helplessness, as if he didn't know what else to do. "You don't have to apologize 
for taking up space on the planet, Cassie. Bishop was in the wrong. You don't 
have to say you're sorry for that, or for every single other thing that ever 
goes amiss." 

The expression on his face--one Cassie hadn't seen before, which she couldn't 
quite identify--frightened her much more than Bishop's unexpected intrusion. 
Desperate to change it, she fumbled for and managed an attempt at humor. "I'll 
try to be more assertive...if you think that will be okay with everybody?"

With a laugh, Hank embraced her, already sorry for being so critical, especially 
when she'd just had such a fright. She was trying hard, he knew that. "I'm sure 
it will."

Cassie let him hold her, glad he couldn't see her face as she worked to bring 
her turbulent emotions back under control. She had suspected she was 
embarrassing him, at least sometimes, in front of his friends, and now she was 
sure. She was going to have to do better than she'd been doing so far--much 
better! 

Thankfully, her voice sounded quite normal to her when she smiled up and asked, 
"Got any idea where you guys keep the sugar bowl?"

*          *          *

Upstairs, only a short time later, Hank pulled away from a kiss to gaze with 
troubled inquiry into Cassie's instantly uncertain face. She was physically as 
close to him as it was possible to get, but they were not, he suspected, on the 
same page emotionally. Her responses had a strange intensity he couldn't recall 
having seen in her before; he feared she was trying to compensate in that way 
for something...not right. 

"Lose the mood?" he queried lightly. A sort of shamed fear ran quickly past in 
the back of her eyes, and he felt renewed remorse for his actions in the 
kitchen, jumping on her when he ought to have been reassuring her. "Ah, Cassie, 
don't worry about Bishop. He won't hurt you." 

"I know. I know he won't." That wasn't the problem. In their room, she'd gone 
thankfully into Hank's arms, more than ready to forget every worry she had for 
as long as they could make these enchanted private moments last. But as they 
kissed their way through the pleasant task of mutual disrobing, she had been 
struck by an awful thought. What if this was their last time together? 

Today had provided two kinds of proof that a severing of their relationship was 
possible--the emergency that had THIS TIME only been a false alarm...and the way 
Hank had looked in the kitchen. As though he were finally realizing he had made 
a mistake in bringing her here. With that idea coiling in her mind, every spark 
of pleasure died almost as it bloomed, no matter how hard she worked at creating 
what ought to be effortless.

But how to explain such nebulous fear? "I..." She managed a smile. "I'm sorry, 
but I'm going to apologize. I know it must be boring for you, to have to put up 
with my silliness...."

"You're not boring, and you're not silly," Hank interrupted firmly, quite 
effectively derailing what she had been preparing to try to say. "Actually, *I* 
am the one owing an apology. My timing was very much off downstairs. You'd just 
been through your first, ah, invasion and team scramble, and then you were 
subjected to an impromptu scrutiny by our chief executive officer in charge of 
paranoid suspicions. It was most thoughtless of me to presume to comment on your 
reactions at such a time."

'Which means another time WOULD have been appropriate,' Cassie thought with 
well-disguised despair. 'I'm right...and I have to DO something before it's too 
late!'

"Will you forgive me?" Hank asked lightly. She thought she felt a tremor pass 
between them, but whether it was her own or mere imagination she could not say.

"Of course, even though there's nothing TO forgive," Cassie assured him, smiling 
as warmly as she could. Hank tried to hush her, but she continued, "No, really. 
What you said was right. I apologize too much--I know that. And I...obsess about 
what people must be thinking...and worry that what I do reflects badly on you, 
to your friends. Like today."

"We'll get all that sorted out, I promise. Everyone will understand." Hank 
looked so certain that Cassie suddenly doubted her feelings of dread. Maybe she 
was over-reacting NOW?

"Even Bishop?" 

Hank let himself look comically dubious. "Well, I'm not sure you should expect 
MIRACLES!" They laughed together, and suddenly everything seemed quite all right 
with their world again.

*          *          *

As they were relaxing some time later, Hank lifted his head off the pillow, eyes 
focusing off in the distance in that 'internal listening' look. <Team meeting, 
Beast--as soon as everyone can assemble.>

<About Magneto? Shall I bring Cassie?> The object of his question was gazing at 
him with easy curiosity, as though he were on the phone and she was wondering 
whether it was an aluminum siding salesman or a friend calling. 

Hank smiled in her direction, but his expression changed abruptly when Xavier 
asked, <Why?>

<Because she was the one who found him, so to speak, and might have details to 
impart.> Now he was actively frowning, even though the expression was lost on 
his invisible conversational partner.

<Just X-Men> was the only response Hank got, words with most of the emotion 
leached out. But the exasperation and annoyance behind them came through 
sufficiently strongly for him to catch it.

"Time for that team meeting I told you we'd be having," he said to Cassie. His 
tone held enough harshness for her to reach out a hand and cup his face, a 
question in her eyes. He hung torn between two loyalties only a moment, then 
added, "I would prefer to have you attend, but the professor says no."

This would have been perfectly fine with Cassie, except that it was obviously 
upsetting Hank. "I really don't have that much to say--and I told it all to you. 
It's not important...is it?"

Hank closed his eyes with a sigh that was half a huff of waning indignation. 
"Perhaps not. Perhaps now *I* am over-reacting." He leaned forward to press a 
kiss on her forehead. Xavier might be planning to go into details about 
Magneto's past which would be more than Cassie was ready to hear; that would be 
a sensible reason to exclude her. She was not, after all, one of the X-Men.... 
"It shouldn't take long."

After another quick kiss, Hank bounded into the bathroom to make himself 
presentable for the meeting, and Cassie lay back, frowning. SHOULD she be 
offended? Surely not...except that Hank seemed to think so, or he had at 
first.... 

She laced her fingers and rested her hands on her stomach, staring up at the 
ceiling. Bishop thought she was a potential traitor. The professor thought she 
was...non-essential. Well, that was perfectly true. Hank thought...she 
over-reacted too much, apologized too much, was afraid too much. THAT was 
probably true, too.

After Hank--redressed in everything but his ruined lab coat, fur neatly 
brushed--kissed her goodbye, Cassie rolled to her stomach, trying to squelch a 
faint, anxious sensation there. She traced the carvings on the dark wood of the 
bed's headboard with one finger, not really seeing them. It had been a long time 
since she'd felt this confused and distressed. She had thought those days of out 
of control, roller coaster emotions were over, gone with the routine nightmares 
and the panic attacks. But maybe not.

The memory of her new determination resurfaced, and Cassie rose to head for the 
shower. One thing she WOULD do was quit borrowing trouble! Probably these 
unsettled feelings were due to the very simple fact that Hank had succeeded in 
luring her out of the comfortable shell she had created for herself while she 
was healing. Now she was again living in the complex, crowded, emotion-laden 
world, and she needed to relearn how to interact with people. But she had known 
how once. With Hank's help, she would certainly be able to do it again!

*          *          *

"I want to fill you all in on what I discovered in my meeting with...Joseph; by 
the way, we should all be using that name, and no other, unless and until I tell 
you differently."

Around the table in the War Room, a dozen heads nodded at Xavier's 
pronouncement. As Hank made a mental note to inform Cassie, he could not stop a 
rebellious fragment of his mind from scoring that as ONE piece of information 
she could have been told at the same time as all the rest of them. 

"Joseph's first memory is of waking up in a shed outside a Church-run orphanage 
in South America. He retains no memories of his former life, at least, none 
specific to his old identity."

"What do you mean by that, sir?" Scott asked, intent as always on acquiring 
every detail available.

"I chose not to wipe his brain of all his accumulated knowledge, as that would 
have regressed him to infancy, and possibly done irreversible physical damage. 
Instead, I removed everything that...this is a difficult concept to put into 
words...was directly involved with his accumulated core personality." Jean was 
nodding, Betsy looking bemused and intrigued. "So he may, for example, still 
have scattered memories of events of World War II. But with nothing to tie them 
to his former life, he will most likely assume they come from books, movies, 
that sort of thing."

"I presume, then, he can still read and such?" Hank asked, thinking of the 
magazine Joseph had presented like a gatepass.

"Yes, in several languages." A smile with a shadow behind it lit on Xavier's 
face. "He laughed at my accent when I spoke in German. Just like he used to."

'It must be like talking to a ghost,' Hank thought, a wave of sympathy 
momentarily displacing his still somewhat disgruntled attitude.

"What reason did he give for coming here?" Bishop demanded, cutting to the chase 
as usual. Hank assumed sourly their self-appointed defender feared the traitor's 
invasion would begin while he was cooped up here in this meeting.

"He told me he was forced to use his powers to defend the nun and the children 
who had befriended him. He gave me no details and I...did not pry. After this 
incident, the sister suggested everyone would be happier and safer if he," here 
Xavier shook his head at the irony, "sought me out to help him learn to use his 
abilities."

Silence followed this remark, as the various X-men considered the possibilities. 
Rogue spoke up. "Then he'll jus' be runnin' tame 'round here fer now?" Xavier 
frowned his desire for her to elaborate. "He's not dangerous? We don't hafta 
watch him or anythin'?"

"I DID scan his mind enough to be certain he has no hostile intent to any of us. 
Mag...Joseph...genuinely wants m--our help." Rogue nodded at this, seeming 
satisfied, although she still looked faintly troubled. "We'll treat him with 
respect, as we would any other guest," Xavier continued, and Hank could not help 
snorting, or darting a quick, accusatory glance at both him and Bishop. If the 
professor noticed, he made no sign. And Bishop missed it entirely, his mind 
clearly centered on this new addition to his security tasks. 

"So are we thinking about adding him on as a 'student'?" Jean asked, her frown 
showing she was only half-joking.

"No," Xavier said, and the relief that went around the table was almost 
palpable. "I'm not yet sure how to proceed in that area."

Sam Guthrie shifted uncomfortably in his spot, but said nothing. Several others 
looked equally dubious. "What are th' chances he's gonna remember, or figure 
out, who he is?" Logan demanded, voicing the concern in the back of everyone's 
mind.

"Fairly good," Xavier answered dryly. "I am thinking of telling him." At this 
revelation a babble of startled reaction burst forth, which the professor 
quelled by raising his hand. "Let me outline my reasons, and then we'll discuss 
it." 

Fewer heads nodded this time, but Xavier pressed on, oblivious. "We must 
remember Joseph is not a stupid man. In this age of information, he is almost 
certain to eventually come across a description of Magneto and his powers, and, 
despite this partial rejuvenation I cannot explain, come to the obvious 
conclusion. If we have been less than forthcoming, his reaction could put us 
exactly back where we were before, in an adversarial position."

"All that suffering, and nothing gained," Jean said softly.

"Exactly."

"But if y'tell de man who he WAS, and what y'did, won' dat have 'bout de same 
effec'?" Gambit asked, idly shuffling a pack of cards as he spoke, as if the 
answer was nothing at all to him. It was as much as anyone had heard him say all 
day.

"That is a possibility that must be considered." Xavier steepled his fingers, 
which signalled to those who knew him best something startling was forthcoming. 
"As we talked, I...hinted to him I could provide him with information on his 
past," he ignored the scattered gasps, "but that he might find it...disturbing."

"What--did he say, sir?" Sam blurted out into the stunned silence.

"That he would consider it." A tiny smile moved Xavier's lip. "And that at least 
he was being allowed to decide for himself whether or not to eat of the 
forbidden fruit."

"Huh?" Bobby frowned and looked around the table, searching for signs anyone 
else found the remark incongruous. When it was clear no one else was going to 
comment, he demanded, "What's apples and doin' the wild thing have to do with 
any of this?"

"Bobby, lad, has it been SO long since you darkened the door of a Sunday 
school?" Hank asked, drawn into the conversation at last by the elegance of the 
reference. "That which was forbidden," he explained with an ironic half-smile, 
"was the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil...."

*          *          *

Cassie stepped out into the hall with confidence, secure in the knowledge 
everyone else was at the meeting. This eliminated any possibility of a graceful 
retreat when she nearly collided with Joseph, who had been passing their bedroom 
door. "Oh!" she said inanely, then managed to add, "Hello...."

"We meet again, but this time as fellow guests," Joseph replied with that 
strange, inherent graciousness. He was plainly fresh from a shower; his long, 
white, neatly combed hair spread circles of dampness on his clean but faded 
chambray workshirt. Its color matched his eyes. The shirt hung on him, and 
Cassie wondered whether it had once belonged to a larger man, or if he had 
merely lost a lot of weight since he first acquired it.

"That's nice," Cassie replied, grubbing with no little desperation for normalcy. 
She had made up her mind she was going to be braver--this was an excellent 
chance to work on that resolution! "I'm sure you'll like it here." Joseph nodded 
his willingness to do so, still smiling. "Is...there anything I can help you 
find? This place is so huge...."

"I thought I would like something cold to drink, and someone to talk to," Joseph 
answered solemnly. He kept his hands behind his back, perhaps knowing that was 
the least threatening posture he could take.

"Well, everyone else is in a meeting," Cassie explained, an instant before 
wondering if it was wise to say so. "But *I* was going to the kitchen for some 
iced tea. You can talk to me, if you want to." 

"Most kind," he replied, his smile growing warmer, and Cassie relaxed in 
response, then gestured towards the head of the stairs. He still did not seem at 
all like someone who wanted to run the world and kill everyone like her, she 
reflected as they walked. Could there possibly have been some mistake?

Cassie babbled small talk all the way to the kitchen, which had, if nothing 
else, a calming effect on her. Joseph gave the impression of hiding secret 
amusement behind his gracious, well-bred air. At least this time there was no 
startling interruption as she poured two glasses of tea.

Looking him over as she bustled about, still chattering, Cassie was struck again 
by the man's thinness. He was muscular but gaunt, as though he had missed more 
meals than he got during his recent travels. "Joseph?" He raised his eyebrows in 
pleasant inquiry. "I wonder if you'd...do me a favor?"

"If I can." 

Cassie's appreciation for him increased. Only people who cared about not 
breaking their word took the trouble to make a politely restricted response to 
that sort of question. "There's a bit of strawberry pie left from lunch. I'd 
like to have some--but I don't want to eat in front of you. Could I get you a 
slice too?" 

Joseph's white eyebrows drew together in an instant frown, and his face grew 
stony, far older in an instant. Cassie realized with a pang of guilt that he 
must sense she felt sorry for him. "I made it myself," she added in a weak 
voice.

Somehow this non-sequitur pacified him, and he slowly relaxed. "Then I would 
certainly like to try it," he said, a king granting a royal favor. Cassie 
beamed, and got out two dessert plates. Soon they were sitting across from each 
other at the kitchen table, forks in hand. She stabbed the first berry at the 
point of her slice, and nibbled on it, watching out of the corner of her eye as 
Joseph neatly cut off a bite- sized piece and placed it in his mouth. 

He closed his eyes as he slowly chewed, a quiet pleasure stealing across his 
face as he savored the taste. "I think it must have been some time since I ate 
fresh strawberries," he remarked when he was free to speak again. "But I seem to 
know I have always liked them." There was a wistful, but somehow serene note in 
the words; he had retrieved a little piece of himself just there, and that meant 
something to him.

"They ARE great, aren't they?" Cassie said amiably. "I'd say they were my 
favorite, but I like almost all kinds of fruit, so usually whatever is ripe and 
right in front of me is my favorite at any given moment." Joseph nodded 
agreement, or at least understanding; he was busy with another mouthful of pie. 
"It's funny, when you stop to think about it. Most people like most kinds of 
fruit. But with vegetables, it's a different story--almost everyone actively 
dislikes one kind or another. I wonder why that is?"

"Perhaps it's one of the invisible mutations?" Joseph suggested with a 
half-smile. 

"You think so?" Cassie stopped eating, caught up in this intriguing new idea. 
Surely not--or at least, not the X sort of mutation. But Hank would know. She 
could ask him later....

"Speaking of that sort of thing," Joseph said, "if you don't feel I'm prying, 
what is yours?"

"Mine?" For a moment, Cassie had no idea what he meant, and then she felt silly 
when the realization hit. "Oh! Oh, I'm afraid I don't have one. I'm just...an 
ordinary type person."

Joseph's hand, bearing another strawberry on his fork, froze halfway to his 
mouth. "You're not a mutant?" he demanded in a strangely neutral voice which was 
quite at odds with the tone he had been using a moment before. 

"No, sorry," she apologized, out of habit, and was irritated to hear the word 
come out of her mouth. Hank was right, she said it ALL the TIME. "Did you think 
I was?"

"I...assumed everyone here was." Joseph was giving her a cold, assessing look 
which made the worries about him that she had dismissed nudge the back of her 
mind. "Why else would anyone come to Xavier's?"

"I was invited by Hank. Hank McCoy," Cassie explained, feeling a faint blushing 
start just at the mention of his name.

"I see." He continued to look her up and down, and gradually his cool 
benevolence returned. "That is why you smiled so, to see the picture on my 
magazine."

"Yes," she admitted, certain she was blushing for real now. 

"I did not see him...earlier."

"Oh, you did. He just looks different now. That's an old picture," she 
explained.

He looked as if he did not QUITE believe her. "Which one was he, then?"

"The one in the white lab coat, right in front? Blue, with fur?"

It was lucky Joseph wasn't chewing any pie right at that moment. After his 
startled reaction, he lay down his fork. "The one who looked like he would 
happily bite my neck out, given the chance?"

"He thought that I might be in danger," Cassie replied hotly, instantly ready to 
defend Hank and his motives. Then she relented, knowing it must have looked 
different from Joseph's point of view. "But he's not usually so...so violent 
looking. When you get to know him better, you'll see. He's...." She struggled to 
think of the perfect words to describe Hank, not knowing the increasingly tender 
expression on her face was doing it for her.

"You love him." It was a plain statement, and Cassie nodded quiet but emphatic 
agreement.

"In spite of his looks?"

"I love him AND his looks." Now she felt an uncharacteristic impatience, that 
this man who was supposed to be so supportive of mutants could still be so 
blind, just like most of the rest of the world. "I don't know why that's so hard 
for people to understand. He's one of a kind--himself!" 

"I didn't say he wasn't," Joseph pointed out mildly.

His face now held a restrained curiosity that encouraged Cassie to continue. 
"It's like...if the only plants in the world were flowers, but suddenly one 
day--there was a tree!" She made an upward sweeping gesture with both hands, 
sketching its comparative grandeur. "It would be silly to compare the look of a 
tree with flowers." MERE flowers, her tone implied. "A tree is wonderful all on 
its own." She returned his steady gaze. "There's nobody in the world like 
Hank--and that's too bad for the world."

"It's unfortunate that so few humans share your attitude."

After brief hesitation, Cassie asked, "Are there really that few?" hoping he 
would not think her insolent. "I've come to realize, you see, that I'm not in 
any position to know. Hank says there is--when I can get him to talk about it. 
But I thought...maybe he just sees more prejudice than others, because of the 
way he looks?"

"You don't see how pervasive it is because you are safe," Joseph said with calm 
accusation. "I have been hearing it for months, on radios and televisions, in 
the daily talk in shops and shelters and on the street."

Cassie's blue eyes grew dark as she considered this. "A lot of people 
who...don't have much want there to be someone else with even less. That would 
maybe explain some of what you heard?" Joseph merely shrugged. "I didn't know 
much about all this before I came here, but I do know decent people don't take 
those Friends of Humanity types seriously. They're cranks! Nuts!"

"Perhaps." Joseph did not look especially relieved by this assessment. "As I 
travelled here, I read anything I could put my hand to; life on the road is 
extremely boring. I find I seem to have an interest in history..." his sudden 
pensive look disturbed her somehow "...and I have read of a time, in this 
century, when one individual with questionable sanity rallied his countrymen to 
wage war on the world. And on those peoples he thought unsuitable."

'Who does he mean? Hitler...or himself?' Cassie wondered in sick fascination.

"There is again talk of camps, you know," Joseph informed her, as composed as if 
he were reminding her of the existence of barber shops.

"Oh, but this is America! That couldn't happen--" Cassie's voice cut off as a 
childhood memory flashed into her mind. She and her parents stood on a desolate, 
sun-baked stretch of scrubland, surrounded by rows of crumbling old concrete 
foundations. Her father's face bore grim disgust as he explained that this was 
all that was left of Camp Amache, a World War II Japanese relocation center. 
Little more than an hour's drive from where she had been born.

"...couldn't happen again," she continued, but weakly. "Things are different 
now."

"Are they?" Joseph's eyes were cold. "If you are wrong, would you follow your 
Hank to one? Presuming you were even permitted the choice, since you are human?"

"Yes. I would." Her answer sounded inadequate, automatic, but Cassie was too 
caught up in sudden visions of horror to be troubled by that. It was too AWFUL 
to happen--but what if it COULD? She felt her heart pounding, as if the 
predicted event was actually imminent, and it took all her strength of will not 
to leap up from the table and run in search of Hank this instant.

"Something must be done before the situation grows that bad again," Joseph said, 
drawing her attention back to him. 

"Yes. What?" Action, yes. Something had to be done. What had she been THINKING, 
wasting time worrying about her own minuscule problems, when an atrocity like 
this could be brewing?

"What are YOU doing?" Joseph countered.

"I...I don't know." She had never for a moment considered the problem before. 
"Voting? For people who would fight something like this?" Joseph didn't speak, 
but his single raised eyebrow did it for him. "Well, what SHOULD we be doing?"

This gave him pause. "I don't know," he admitted at last. "I feel as though I 
DID know once...." 

"Someone, somewhere, must be doing SOMETHING," Cassie reasoned aloud. "Hank will 
know--we can ask him!"

"And Charles...he and I already have much to discuss, but I suspect we can 
explore this topic as well." Something about that idea seemed to hearten him, 
and he regarded Cassie with the barest beginning of acceptance.

Their impromptu council session was interrupted by Rogue's entrance. She seemed 
startled to see them both, but made a good effort at hiding that reaction. 
"Y'all ain't ruinin' your dinner, now, are ya?"

"No," Cassie answered, not quite truthfully. Not on the pie, at any rate. The 
heaviness she felt in her stomach came solely from the fear Joseph's words had 
aroused in her. "We just felt like a snack."

"Don't s'pose y'feel like peelin' any potatahs?" Rogue wheedled, obviously 
including them both. "Ah'm makin' potatah salad for tomorrow's lunch."

To Cassie's surprise, Joseph said, "Yes, I'll help." He rose from his chair, and 
carried their two empty plates to the sink. 

Cassie jumped to her feet as well. "Me too. It IS better if it sits overnight, 
isn't it?" She felt grateful to Rogue for providing a simple task in which she 
could immerse herself, putting her new worries on hold. The Southern woman was 
pleasant company as well. Joseph was nice enough, but so intense!

Within minutes, the trio was busily involved in meal preparation, and cheerfully 
discussing nothing more controversial than favorite foods, unfavorite vegetables 
and the difficulties of preventing midnight raids on stashes of potato salad.


Susan the Neon Nurse
(Susan Crites/CRITESS)

++++++++++++++++++carosue@iguana.ruralnet.net++++++++++++++++++
Courtesy*Integrity*Perseverance*Self Control*Indomitable Spirit


INFO, ETC.

This ongoing story began being archived under the not too creative title of 
'Beast Romance'. The new, improved, expanded version is called 'Neon Hearts'. (I 
mention this to make it a bit easier for people to find the first sections.)

There is also a mailing list for people who want to get new chapters ASAP. Be 
warned--you sometimes get odd extra mailings as well, when the spirit moves 
me....

Disclaimer: Since I am a) inserting a new character and b) not privy to any of 
Marvel's editorial decisions, this story is forced to be an alternate universe. 
It is similar to the 'real' one when it works out, plotwise, okay? And I DO make 
mistakes sometimes, I know. Such is life.

Complaint of the Day: There is no job so difficult that it cannot be made more 
so by the help of a little kid! :) Like building a pen for the baby ducks!


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