Neon Hearts Part 35. Okay, disclaimer, no offense intended to Marvel's copyright 
and all that stuff.

And I'm sorry for the long, long delay between chapters. I seem to have caught a 
virus or something which crept slowly up on my brain (and body) when it wasn't 
looking. I'm on the upswing, I think, though....


PART 35--CROSSCURRENTS AND RIPTIDES 


Despite Hank's best intentions, his attitude grew steadily more sour as the team 
meeting progressed. Though it was nominally a group discussion, in reality they 
were--again--merely receiving marching orders from on high. 'Here is the 
situation; here is the behavior I expect from you all.' 

'How pleasant it must be,' Hank mused darkly, 'to have the power to say "Make it 
so", and know whatever it is will be done.' There was no other way to describe 
his feelings--it RANKLED that Xavier would go all out to smooth the way so their 
old enemy would have a pleasant visit, but act as though Hank was unreasonable 
in wanting the same for HIS guest.

Ah, well. Since HE couldn't order those who were still holding back to accept 
Cassie and give her a chance, he would have to fall back on his own not 
inconsiderable powers of persuasion. And that meant his first move should be to 
mend some fences...

As soon as Xavier dismissed them, Hank carefully maneuvered so he could follow 
Bishop out. "May I speak with you a moment, my friend?"

Bishop cut him a glance, then gave a curt nod. With mutual intent, they slowed 
their steps until the rest of the team had gone their own ways, then turned to 
face each other. "Is it about...her?"

"If by 'her' you mean Cassie, then, yes, somewhat," Hank replied, determined not 
to let Bishop prod him into rancor again, but equally set on getting a few 
things straight. "However, first I want to apologize for being excessively 
abrupt earlier."

Bishop just nodded again, and that was that. "What else?" His firmly crossed 
arms signaled that Hank was going up against a formidable obstacle if he was 
hoping to change his mind on this, or most other subjects.

"Bish, can you possibly imagine anyone less likely to be a threat to us, or 
anyone, than Cassie?" Hank's tone was pure reason, and as engaging as he dared 
make it. "What's she going to do--write us to death?"

"That's ridiculous." 

Bishop had a vast dislike of being made to feel foolish; Hank could see he 
shouldn't go much further in THAT direction. "Of course it is. While the written 
word can be a powerful weapon, it is seldom fatal." He spread his hands, 
inviting agreement. "But other than having some skill in that area, Cassie is 
just not EQUIPPED to be dangerous to anyone, in any way imaginable."

After a noticeable pause Bishop replied, "I...try to consider every 
possibility." 

That was as much of a capitulation as Hank thought he was likely to get, and so 
he left it at that. Changing tack, he said, "I can see why her general air of 
nervousness might look suspicious to you. But I think you can understand...." He 
made a bit of a show of considering whether to continue, which was not too 
difficult, as he WAS slightly reluctant. "She reacts this way out of fear. You 
see, Cassie was once married. Her husband, whom she quite naturally trusted, 
went insane, and tried to kill her." The former policeman's eyes narrowed at 
these words, responding as Hank had hoped he would to this report of a criminal 
incident. "It had the effect of undermining her faith in humanity...in fact, she 
is probably your equal in general suspicion of strangers and their motives." 
Bishop's upper lip twitched a fraction in response to this; his way of 
acknowledging the mildly humorous comparison. "She's slowly becoming able to 
cope again, but she needs time and patience," Hank finished, letting the implied 
plea hang in the air between them.

Bishop considered this, then observed, "She wouldn't have survived in my world." 

There had been little benevolence to spare in that dark future, Hank knew. 
Perhaps he was wasting his time seeking sympathy from Bishop. "Lots of people 
didn't survive, isn't that right? Hardly a sign of poor character." 

"I suppose." Bishop's arms had uncrossed, the bulky muscles relaxing. Hank took 
this as a sign he was at least partly succeeding in his attempt to alter his 
teammate's attitude.

"I think if you allow yourself to get to know Cassie, you'll like her. You two 
have things in common." Bishop looked askance at this idea. "You're the only one 
here from your world. She's the only one here...not a mutant." Now Bishop's 
expression was decidedly odd, and Hank was inspired to ask, "Does that make a 
difference to you?"

"Some." Bishop was too honest to deny it. "Do you think a non-mutant can really 
be trusted?"

"Yes." Hank's reply was instant and unequivocal, and he THOUGHT he was including 
humans other than Cassie in that estimation.

"It's not just because...you and she...?"

For a split-second Hank felt a seething rage, and vaguely wondered at its 
intensity even as he squelched it. "Bishop, in this case, trust came BEFORE 
intimacy, not because of it." On both sides. "Do you understand the difference?"

"I..." The very stolidity of the black man's expression made Hank suspect Bishop 
was accessing some memories he would have rather kept buried. "Yes, I understand 
it."

Hank eyed his friend's habitually hardened face. "Cassie is not your traitor, 
Bishop." He hesitated, then went on. "Indeed, if the scenario you are constantly 
on guard against SHOULD come to pass... she is at highest risk of becoming a 
victim. Since most of the rest of us can defend ourselves...."

"Should she be here, then?" Hank could not help frowning. "If it puts her in 
danger?" Bishop continued, and he actually looked... sympathetic?

"I don't know, Bish," Hank sighed. "I HAVE wondered that." It was easy to say 
that love was well worth any risk--but would he feel the same if he lost Cassie 
to some senseless attack on the X-men? "What a life, that forces us to choose 
between being wise, and being happy."

"Yes," Bishop said simply. The shadows of pain in his eyes showed he knew the 
truth of this all too well.

"I know you don't approve of my choice--"

"It is not my place to judge you, or your choices," Bishop interrupted. "I am 
here to try to keep the X-men safe from the traitor, and that is all."

That mysterious traitor. Hank generally tried not to dwell on the idea--why fret 
over a fate that might be immutable? But right at the moment, threats and 
tragedies were at the forefront of his thoughts. "If...it were ever 
necessary...." he asked, hoping he wanted to hear the answer, "would you protect 
Cassie too?"

"I would protect any innocent person, if I could." 

"That's Cassie. Very innocent." Hank realized as he spoke that the words were 
almost a challenge, but thankfully Bishop chose not to take it up. Stifling a 
sigh, he thanked him and headed off.

As Hank re-passed the door of the war room, Xavier called out to him, startling 
him out of his moody reverie. 'Did he hear me walking by, or was he sweeping for 
my thought signature?' Hank wondered. For some reason, the idea of the latter 
annoyed him, even though it would be a quite ordinary thing for their telepathic 
leader to do. 

Xavier was sitting alone at the table in the huge room. Hank almost took a seat 
as well, but that felt somehow too casual at the moment. If the older man 
noticed, he didn't allow that knowledge to show in his face. The only thing he 
said was, "Do we have a problem, Hank?"

This felt entirely too much like being called on the carpet, and Hank was not in 
the mood. Maybe he'd used up all his spare diplomacy on Bishop. "I don't know, 
do we?"

"That's unworthy of you, Hank. If you prefer not to discuss this matter, say so, 
but don't play childish word games."

And there went the REST of Hank's reluctance to verbally spar. "Very well. I 
don't know what problems YOU have, but I..." he took a deep breath through 
partially gritted teeth, reining his temper in "...I disagree with your not 
allowing Cassie in here this afternoon."

"Do you? May I ask why you thought it would be appropriate to have her attend an 
X-Men team meeting?" There was fire under that ice; Xavier was fighting his own 
battle for self-control.

"Because she's the one who saw Joseph's approach, and therefore could have given 
eye-witness details. Moreover, some people blamed her for him gaining 
entrance--"

"But you explained that in the meeting, with your usual eloquence. Much better, 
I suspect, than she herself would have done in front of our whole group." 

That was very likely true, Hank admitted to himself. "Still, she would have had 
the chance to explain in her own words, so people could see for themselves...." 
He trailed off, mildly perturbed to realize he didn't quite know what he had 
been intending to say.

Xavier appeared to have an idea. His voice was almost gentle as he said, "Hank, 
this is either going to work out, or it isn't. You can't force it."

"I'm not trying to force anything!" Hank's hands clenched in frustration. 
"Encourage, yes...."

"You want her to become one of the X-Men?" Xavier's expression was now as 
thoroughly neutral as his tone.

"No, certainly not...not as such. Not officially. But I want her to 
be...accepted. And not just grudgingly, or as my sanctioned extracurricular 
activity." He didn't think he was imagining that slightly snickering air that 
sometimes hung in sudden silences when he appeared. "For herself."

"Not admitting her to our meetings isn't a rejection of her as a person," Xavier 
said with exaggerated patience, steepling his fingers and frowning at Hank's 
obtuseness--or so Hank perceived it.

"All right, perhaps that WAS ill-conceived," he conceded, fighting down 
indignance as he sought another direction for their discussion. "But are you 
sure you aren't keeping her at arm's length because she's not a mutant?" 
Bishop's admission had stung, even though he ought to have been expecting it.

"I wasn't aware I was doing any such thing." 

Well, perhaps not; at least, no more so than he would with any stranger. Charles 
Xavier was not going to be mistaken for Mister Rogers any time soon in THIS 
space-time continuum. Hank opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it, 
and merely shrugged instead.

"I think you need to think this through, Hank. Decide what you are really asking 
of me. Of her, of all of us." Xavier let his arms return to the rests on the 
sides of his hover chair, but his gaze remained keenly assessing. "The only 
concrete concern I have about your involvement with her is how it is already 
affecting you, and what will happen in the future, if it doesn't work out."

That possibility didn't bear thinking about, and Hank's fear of it made him lash 
out. "If it 'doesn't work out' because of outside forces--because people with 
preconceived notions about who they will and will not accept as worthy to 
associate with the exalted X-men--" He couldn't go on, not without saying things 
better left unsaid, and with an abrupt movement, he turned and stalked out. 

Frowning with concern, Xavier watched him go, worry etched into his features.

*          *          *

To Hank's surprise, he didn't find Cassie in their room. Firmly squelching his 
instant concern, he proceeded to do the sensible thing and search for her. 
Success crowned his efforts almost instantly, or at least as soon as he entered 
the kitchen.

A small group was engaged in various culinary tasks, the scene as harmonious as 
he could have possibly wished. Storm was converting large mounds of fresh 
produce into smaller mounds of salad components. The rest of the counter space 
was occupied by Cassie, Rogue and Joseph, all peeling potatoes industriously as 
they chatted. The intimate little domestic scene, exactly the sort of thing he 
was campaigning for, nevertheless made him feel an odd twinge of jealousy.

Squelching that, he said, "Does this signal your ambrosial potato salad for the 
morrow, Rogue?" 

"Hank!" Cassie turned at the sound of his voice, beaming a welcome that made his 
obscure anxieties suddenly seem silly. He crossed the room to stand behind her, 
placing one hand lightly on her shoulder in a caress he knew doubled as a 
claiming gesture. Safe enough; he doubted anyone present would be consciously 
analyzing his body language. Since her hands were full, Cassie rubbed the crown 
of her head against his chest as a greeting, and he craned his neck to kiss her 
forehead.

"Yeah, an' it better all still BE there tomorrah," Rogue pretended to scold him, 
knowing he HAD been guilty of midnight refrigerator raids in the past. 

"Rogue, you know I'm a reformed character," Hank replied, trying to look 
wounded. He wondered too late if that reference was quite politic, considering 
the situation with 'Joseph', but their new guest didn't seem to suspect it could 
be applied to him. "Furthermore, at least two of those incidents were honest 
mistakes," he assured Cassie and the visitor.

"I am sure," Joseph responded with a pleasant smile. Hank could not be quite 
sure whether he had given them a second, assessing glance or not. 

"Joseph and I ran into each other in the hall--he's using one of the rooms in 
our wing," Cassie explained. "We've all been getting better acquainted while we 
help Rogue.

Hank disliked his growing tendency to analyze every little nuance of Cassie's 
actions; it felt somehow degrading. Love should not make a person suspicious. 
Yet still he wondered why she was telling him this, in this way. Was it 
significant, or was she just chattering the way she always did when nervous? But 
"Should I leap in?" was all he said in reply.

"Rogue has just told us these last few potatoes will be all she needs," Joseph 
informed him, and from behind him, Rogue nodded confirmation. "As soon as she 
puts them on to cook, she's going to show me the house and grounds."

Hank nodded back to both of them, smiling a bland smile. That seemed safe 
enough. Rogue was more than capable of handling any untoward situation that 
might arise. And in the right mood she could be a most gracious hostess; she was 
one of the few who had thus far actively reached out to make Cassie feel 
welcome.

"That's it for mine," Cassie proclaimed. She washed the newly finished potatoes 
and added them to the huge blue-enameled kettle on the stove. With quick, 
efficient movements she gathered her pile of peelings and ran them through the 
disposal, rinsing her hands in the stream of water pouring from the faucet into 
its noisy maw. "Do you want to go for a walk, Hank?"

"As always, your wish is my command," he told her gallantly.

Outside, as they wandered towards the lake, Cassie gave him the complete version 
of her second encounter with Joseph. Her grip slowly tightened on Hank's hand as 
she did so. "He was saying how he'd heard talk about internment camps for 
mutants, and asked what was I doing to prevent it...I didn't know what to say."

The trembling in her voice made Hank stop and pull her to him. As he looked down 
into her anxious face, he said firmly, "That's not going to happen. I don't like 
him frightening you."

"I can do it so much better myself," she tried to joke. "But, Hank--"

"I have it on good authority that there are a number of legal roadblocks and 
challenges planned and ready, should any such proposal ever be seriously made. 
There's a good reason it hasn't--such a radical step would be far over the line 
of what the undecided public is willing to tolerate."

At these sensible words Cassie relaxed, and after a quick squeeze, they resumed 
walking. "Something else he asked that I didn't know," she confided. "Are there 
groups working on this problem from OUR side? Kind of like a mutant's version of 
the NAACP?"

"Nothing solidly organized. The professor feels that to establish such a group 
would be like throwing down the gauntlet to the Friends of Humanity, goading 
them to greater activity."

She considered this in silence for a moment. "Do YOU think it would?"

"I think the benefits would outweigh the risks of such a venture. But I am not a 
political animal." He smiled at the semi-pun. "We don't seem to have anyone in 
our camp yet whose mutant power is extra- effective lobbying."

"It's funny--when I first met you, I was terribly afraid of what could happen to 
you in a fight. It didn't occur to me that there were so many OTHER dangers in 
your life; those FOH lunatics, Legacy...." Hank felt her shudder. "I wish I 
could DO something to help," she ended wistfully.

"You do help," he assured her. "Just by being at my side." 

Cassie sighed, but Hank tentatively classified it as a satisfied one. When she 
stopped so she could reach her arms around his neck for a kiss, he knew he had 
been correct.

The sound of throat clearing interrupted them shortly thereafter. It came from 
Bishop, who had apparently followed them down to the lake. They broke apart like 
kids caught by the hall monitor, but Cassie remained pressed against Hank's 
side. To his credit, Bishop gave no sign there was anything even slightly 
unusual about their behavior. "About what we were discussing after the 
meeting...." He stepped forward, and held an object out towards Cassie.

After a hesitant glance at Hank, she took it and dutifully examined it; an 
elegantly thin chain bearing a decorative medallion, a stylized golden sun with 
a raised center. "It's really pretty," she offered, not knowing quite what else 
to say.

"It's flat and lightweight. You can wear it under clothes, or over them, as you 
prefer." Cassie and Hank exchanged another puzzled look, and Bishop explained, 
with ill-concealed impatience, "It's a comm unit. If anything happens again like 
happened today, you just press the center. It's tied into our security 
system--someone will know you need help. And any...sounds...will be transmitted 
and recorded." His eyes narrowed only slightly as he watched for her reaction.

"Oh, what a good idea!" she exclaimed, looking at the medallion with increased 
interest. "Thank you!"

"I had no idea we had anything like this laying around," Hank added, his 
approval unmistakable.

"You would be amazed at some of the equipment I've come across, stored here and 
there," Bishop replied.

"No doubt." Cassie had slipped the ends of the chain around her neck already, 
holding up her hair so Hank could help with the clasp. "Bishop, thank you," he 
said with extreme warmth.

Bishop only shrugged. "We should have already thought of it, before today." But 
there was meaning in his expression when he added, "It seemed like the wise 
thing to do."

What Bishop did not intend to reveal, unless circumstances forced him to, was 
that the medallion also contained circuits that would send an instant signal if 
the bearer left the grounds or powered up any sort of transmitter or other 
complex electronic device. This was his version of a compromise. If Cassie was 
genuinely innocent, the extra protection was to her benefit. If not...it was to 
the benefit of the X-men, who were his ultimate concern.

His task accomplished, Bishop decently made himself scarce, striding off to his 
next reconnaissance point. Without even needing to confer, the couple began to 
wander in the opposite direction, back the way they had come. They strolled in 
wordless communion as the last of Hank's odd resentment evaporated like mist in 
the sun.

Just before they reached the spot where a narrow footpath-wide trail branched 
off from the main one, towards the boathouse, they met Rogue and Joseph 
descending from the mansion. "There y'all are," called Rogue, by way of 
greeting. She waved a fat manila envelope in the air. "Got somethin' for ya, 
Cassie."

"For me?" Cassie accepted it dubiously, but laughed in relief when she saw the 
label. "Oh, it's from Wendy. Just letters."

"A courier brought it, not th' mailman," Rogue informed her. "What makes ya 
think it's letters?"

"A courier? Really? I wonder why she didn't just mail it like she usually does?" 
Cassie frowned, then let that concern drop for the moment so she could answer 
Rogue's question. "If people write to me in care of my publisher, the letters 
are forwarded to my agent, and she sends them on to me." Joseph's attention 
visibly sharpened at the mention of a publisher, though he seemed content just 
to listen for the moment.

"So that's stuffed fulla letters," Rogue said, her laugh a mixture of respect 
and dismay. "Y'don't hafta answer 'em all, do ya, sugah? That'd give ME writer's 
cramp."

"Oh, no--I used to, but eventually it was taking such a lot of time...I READ 
them all, of course. It would be rude not to." Worrying that she sounded like 
she was bragging, or, worse, that she was boring everyone with this minutia, 
Cassie paused to take a breath and scan the faces around her. Since they still 
looked reasonably interested, she continued, "I'll answer some. The rest will 
get cards that have a little printed 'thank you' message. I'll send those and 
the letters I write back to Wendy so she can mail them out." Rogue and Joseph 
looked equally puzzled by this apparent duplication of effort, so Cassie ended 
by explaining, "I didn't want strangers knowing my real address before, and 
now--" She made a vague gesture that took in their small group and the grounds 
surrounding them.

"Oh, Ah get it," Rogue said instantly. "Makes sense."

"Indeed." Hank's eyes twinkled, offering Cassie a private joke. "Bishop will be 
gratified to know you understand the need for security."

Rogue suddenly snapped her fingers. "Ah almos' forgot! Sam checked th' phone 
messages a bit ago, an' he said if Ah found y'all first, t'say Hank had two 
calls. One's from Moira at Muir Island. It's not a BIG ol' crisis, Ah guess, but 
she wants ya t'be sure an' call her t'night." Then her expression changed from 
business-like to teasing. "Th' other party said it wasn't anythin' important, 
but I 'spect y'better answer that'n first. It was yer mama."

Hank was instantly awash with guilt. He hadn't called home in several weeks, not 
since before he met Cassie. Here he'd been sulking all day because people 
weren't taking his new relationship seriously enough to suit him...but had he 
told his own PARENTS? Noooo. "I believe you're right, Rogue. In fact, I think I 
ought to squeeze that task in before dinner."

Cassie and Hank excused themselves and headed for the mansion, their pace now 
purposeful. "You don't MIND if I tell my parents about us?"

"No, of course not. Fair is fair--mine have actually gotten to MEET you, after 
all," Cassie replied stoutly, doing a good job of disguising her nervousness.

"How would you feel about a little jaunt to West Virginia?" Hank pretended to 
joke. If he gave even the slightest indication of how serious he was about 
Cassie, he knew his mother would be wild to meet her as soon as possible.

"'Almost Heaven', according to John Denver," she quipped. "I'm sure it would be 
fun." This time a tremor in her voice gave her away. Hank's expression switched 
so instantly to concern that Cassie couldn't help laughing, mostly at herself. 
"Were you this nervous to meet MY parents?" she asked sheepishly.

"I was so jittery I would have made coffee nervous," he admitted, and she gave 
him a hard, grateful squeeze.

The couple rounded the turn where the walkway curved to skirt the front of the 
garage. There, in its doorway, Gambit stood motionless, his gaze unfocused...but 
turned towards where he would have last seen Rogue and Joseph after they passed 
by. The appearance of a different pair registered in a heartbeat, but not before 
Hank had taken sympathetic note of that immobile yearning stance. Remy's eyes 
locked with Hank's for that instant, then quickly dropped to something held in 
his hand. When he raised his head again to acknowledge their presence, his face 
bore a smile far too genuine to be real.

"Comm' ca va, Remy?"

"You mad at Gambit too, Hank, dat you be speakin' such in 'is ear?"

"Not at all, my friend." Another time, Hank would have taken up Remy's joking 
challenge and indulged in a spirited defense of his accent. But considering the 
uncharacteristic way he had been reacting to people's well-meant remarks today, 
he suspected even pretend arguments should be avoided. 

Gambit changed the subject, almost succeeding in making it seem casual. "Dey 
givin' som't'in' away free down by de lake? Seems like de whole team be marchin' 
past dis afte'noon."

"Nothing free but the air and the sylvan tranquility," Hank replied, matching 
Gambit's easy tone, giving no hint he knew EXACTLY which team member had 
commanded the Cajun's attention. "What are YOU doing?"

"Jus' workin' on dis ol' Jeep. Came outside t'hold dis alt'nator cap up t'de 
sun, see 'f it be cracked. W'ich it is."

Hank shook his head. "You're going to spend more in replacement parts than you 
would have on a whole new vehicle." Now he did let a hint of his concern for 
Remy escape, in a round-about way. "Some things just can't be mended, my friend. 
Maybe you should give it up?"

If Remy caught the secondary meaning underlying Hank's advice, he didn't let it 
show. "Oh, Gambit got no high hopes." He gestured towards the Jeep, pretending 
that's what they were discussing. "Som't'in' broke down dis bad need a smarter 
man dan me t'fix, fo' certain." His sardonic grin flashed out, repelling Hank's 
hinted offer of sympathy. "But it's de FUN y'get in de tryin', neh?"

Gambit did not look like a man having fun, but Hank was loath to say so. 
"Pleasant as it is to take part in manly chat about carburetors and such, I was 
just informed I have some phone calls to make. So we should press on. See you at 
dinner?"

"Yeah, I be dere t'eat Stormy's salad." Remy caught himself beginning to sigh 
and turned it into a chuckle. "Bye, p'tite. An' nex' time don' be talkin' 
Gambit's head off dis way w'en 'e got work t'do." He winked and Cassie blushed 
as she murmured a goodbye.

'Let that be a lesson to you, McCoy, to be grateful for what you've got,' Hank 
admonished himself secretly, as they continued to the mansion. 'Brooding and 
grumbling over imagined slights, when there are others with MUCH greater 
relationship problems to contend with....' Aloud, all he said was, "About my 
parents. In all likelihood, they'll want to talk to you--is that a problem?"

Cassie smiled ruefully. "I may not make much sense, but I'll try." 

"That's my girl!"

*          *          *

Upstairs in their room, Cassie sank into the chair in front of her computer and 
began struggling to strip off the layers of shipping tape either Wendy or her 
super-efficient assistant had used to encapsulate the envelope. Hank picked up 
his phoneset and tapped in the appropriate number, beaming at Cassie's earnest 
industry as he waited for the call to ring through. 

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mom. Guess who?"

"You might have to give me a hint, it's been so long," Edna McCoy replied 
tartly, but with a warm undercurrent that negated any possibility of 
misunderstanding. "Norton, dear, pick up the extension--it's Hank."

Mother and son exchanged the required small talk as they waited for Norton to 
come on the line. As he conversed, Hank watched Cassie pull an inner envelope 
from the outer one, then remove an attached note. Her lips thinned as she read 
it, then she thrust it under the full letter packet before looking up at him 
brightly. It reminded him jarringly of how Gambit had reschooled HIS expression 
just a bit ago, trying to hide his troubles.

But just then his father boomed, "Hello, hello? Is this another one of those 
crank calls claiming to be from my long lost son?" With only a quick mental note 
to check with Cassie later about the worrisome enclosure, he refocused his full 
attention on the three way conversation.

The note which Cassie had buried away read:


  Thought this was a surer, faster way to reach you--you know
  how I hate voice mail! Winter's office called today in a
  rush to do the interview--call me soonest to confirm you
  can make this day and time. Naturally it's my day at
  Pantheon--drat it--but I'll cancel and come with if you want.
  Just let me know!

  Love, 
  Wendy


Susan the Neon Nurse
(Susan Crites/CRITESS)

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


INFO, ETC.

Previous chapters of this story can be found at http://web2.spydernet.com/lori/
iclinks.htm OR from the author IF you can't access the Web. Many thanks to Lori 
for our new home! 

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: Found the hen that went missing last week. She'd crawled 
in behind the planter by the porch. Needless to say, she was no longer in top 
working order, except perhaps as a fly production facility....


-----------
Neon Hearts Part 36. Appropriate greetings of the season! (Pick your favorite!) 
It's been a heck of a long time, but here at last is another Neon Hearts 
chapter. Plus, it's my intention to have the next one out before 1997 comes 
around (with any kind of luck, barring bad). Keep your fingers crossed for me, 
please. (I can't cross 'em and type at the same time, you see....)

You will find that this version of certain events varies slightly (what a 
surprise, eh?) from the official Marvel version. In this instance, it's 
deliberate, not a failure to do proper research. :)

Speaking of Marvel, I'd better mention Marvel's copyright of their characters 
here, or I might find a lump of coal in my stocking tomorrow!


PART 36--PAST TENSIONS, FUTURE TRIALS


The path which paralleled the shore opened onto a small beach. Rogue and Joseph 
stepped out of the shaded woods, blinking for a moment in the glare of the late 
afternoon sunlight. "Looks like th' sand lasted anotha winter," observed Rogue.

"Did you expect it not to?" Joseph inquired, prepared to be amused if his guide 
were making a joke.

"This ain't a natural sand beach," she explained, digging the toe of her sneaker 
into the ground to reveal the soil beneath the sandy top- dressing. "Ever' few 
years, the professor has somebody bring a new load in a barge. We spread it, 
then little by little th' water takes it away agin."

"So why do it at all?"

"It's our li'l getaway," Rogue said, looking over the circle of flat sand with a 
strange wistful expression. "We come down here t'have a cookout an' swim an' 
jus' kick back for an evenin'. Pretend we're like normal folks."

Joseph eyed her, but didn't remark on her comment. He moved closer to the 
water's edge, enjoying the comfortable squeak of the wet, hard- packed sand 
under his worn boots. The bay spread before him, the open arms of land that 
allowed the river its passage only faint, hazy sketches on the far horizon. 
Following a boyish impulse, he bent to select a stone from the ground.

Reaching into it with his special sense, he sought in a way that no language had 
a word for; the answer he received was partly a feeling, partly a pure sound 
within his mind like a musician might pluck from a well-tuned string instrument. 
The stone, like most, had some ferrous content. Joseph drew his arm back and 
flung the rock, adding a push with his powers. It sailed away and was quickly 
lost to sight, sending back a faint splash only audible due to the near-silence 
surrounding them.

"Not bad, sugah," Rogue allowed, stepping up to stand beside him. She too had 
picked up a stone. "Folks tell me AH throw like a girl." Without apparent 
effort, she lobbed hers. It shot away as though blasted out of a rifle-cannon, 
whistling a faint shriek that trailed away behind it. Not unexpectedly, no 
splashdown was heard.

Squelching his surprise, Joseph nodded with gentlemanly aplomb, which made Rogue 
grin. He could see now why SHE was not afraid of his powers, or of being alone 
with him.

After a bit, they strolled away from the waterline, heading for the short stone 
wall that had obviously been constructed to hold back the encroaching woods. 
There was a large barbecue grill built into the center of it, with a stone table 
in front. Joseph wondered idly who had made it as they sat at its far end to 
enjoy the last of the sun, now beginning to sink into the trees in the west. "I 
can see why you all stay here," he said at last. "So wonderfully peaceful. A 
sanctuary from the human world." Joseph sighed minutely. "I have been traveling 
so long--an outcast among strangers. Humans." He spread his long-fingered hands 
over the sun-warmed rock of the table top. "I don't know if you can comprehend 
how it feels to suddenly know you are safe, and among your own kind."

He glanced across at Rogue, but her face was unreadable. Something he had just 
said seemed to have disturbed her. Not wishing to upset her further, he sought a 
natural change of subject. "ARE their any other...non-mutants here besides 
Cassie?"

"No," she almost snapped, and he realized he had instead charged the 
conversation with yet more fuel for contention. "And Ah happen to LIKE th' gal, 
so--"

Joseph held up both hands in capitulation. "I meant nothing derogatory, I assure 
you." Rogue eyed him narrowly, then nodded, accepting his statement. "She seems 
like a pleasant and well-meaning individual...if a bit naive."

"Maybe it IS naive, t'think that if ya love somebody enough, y'can work out any 
problems, no matter how big they seem." Rogue was speaking to him, but clearly 
thinking of something else entirely. "But wouldn' that be...kinda nice, if it 
was true?" 

"Yes, I suppose it would." He had no memories to base his opinion on, but found 
he seemed to lean more to Rogue's worldview than Cassie's. Love alone could not 
solve problems. 

"What is this about a publisher?" he asked, trying a second time to find a less 
emotion-ridden subject.

"She's a writer--romance books."

Joseph gave a laugh that was half a groan. "That fits." So much for his 
tentative plans to make Cassie a resource, should he ever come up with ideas 
involving the publishing industry.

"And jus' whad'ya mean by that?"

Not wanting to fight, even verbally, with one of his hosts, Joseph kept his 
voice even. "She means us no harm, but has no conception of how to help. She 
admitted this to me herself."

"Oh." Rogue considered this, then said warily, "Help what?"

"Mutants." His thoughts, never far from this subject, took it up. "Our kind are 
in danger, a danger that grows greater every day. Surely, even though you live 
in this sheltered haven, you realize that." 

Those green eyes flashed in annoyance. "Ah know plenty about it, thank 
y'kindly."

"I'd like to hear your thoughts on the matter, then," Joseph said smoothly, 
which took some of the heat from her expression. "While I am here, I hope to 
talk to everyone. Find out what IS being done at this time for the protection of 
mutants."

"That kinda interests ya, huh?" Again he came up against some shield, something 
she knew which he did not that made her guard her words.

"I think it must interest every mutant, don't you?" 

"Ah 'spose."

"I just want to learn what is already being done, so I can find the place I can 
be of the most use." She said nothing, but looked out towards the bay. "I...read 
in my magazine, about Xavier's dream of peaceful coexistence. He must have a 
plan on how to bring that about?"

"Guess y'gonna hafta discuss that with him." But after another brief hesitation 
she added, "Ah know he goes to a lotta meetin's with bigwigs from all around th' 
world. Some of 'em are boun' t'be about gettin' humans an' mutants t'live 
t'gether in peace."

"Humans don't even live in peace with each other, as far as I can tell," Joseph 
said, shaking his head a fraction at the folly of it all.

"Nope," Rogue agreed morosely. "And WE'RE 'sposed t'be fer peace, but seems like 
all we end up doin' is gettin' called out t'fight somebody ever' other minute. 
Not that mostly the somebodies haven't NEEDED takin' down a peg 'r two...." She 
crossed her arms over her chest. "Some days Ah don' know WHAT t'think."

"Perhaps it's like the sand here," Joseph suggested. "You do the same things 
again and again, because the quality of life would be less if you did not."

That made her smile. "Y'know, you c'n be a real nice fella some--" She broke off 
sharply, looking guilty for some reason.

A suspicion Joseph had been only vaguely aware of sharpened to almost- 
knowledge. "Rogue...did you know me...before?"

She froze, then slowly nodded. "But please, don' ask me fer any details. Ask th' 
professor--if y'hafta."

"You sound like you think I should not."

"Y'got a chance t'start fresh here--not many people ever get that. Maybe 
y'should take it."

"Would you?"

"If Ah thought it would help, Ah might." There was a world of pain in her 
gem-green eyes. "If Ah din't think Ah'd cause harm all over again...it'd be 
heaven, not t'remember some things." Abruptly, she arose. "Y'know, there's not 
much more t'see down thisaway. Maybe we oughta head back." 

*          *          *

There was no other word for the communal evening meal but awkward. The 
conversation ran in fits and starts, with polite remarks addressed to him 
sandwiched in between the fragments of genuine talk. The terrible forced 
informality made Joseph wonder what secret was being so strenuously squelched. 

It was clear to him that his presence was preventing them from attaining a 
normal conversational rhythm. That COULD be all it was--a stranger throwing them 
off their stride. Except for the covert glances he kept noticing. And the young 
blond man across the table and over two seats who stared so steadfastly down at 
his plate--was he trying to avoid EVERYONE'S eyes, or just his?

Rogue had admitted she knew him. Was it somehow possible EVERYONE here?--no, 
surely that would be the most outrageous of coincidences!

Joseph gave up on the riddle and the stumbling discussions to concentrate on the 
food. Fresh, top-quality salad vegetables weren't something he'd seen much of in 
the cheap cafes and grocery store delis and homeless shelters that had fed him 
during his journey. And there was also an abundant supply of assorted breads and 
cheeses filling out the meal. It was not difficult to let the pleasure of eating 
well take his mind off this feeling of somehow intruding.

"Could you pass the rolls, please?" Cassie asked him. He did so with a smile, 
which she returned without hesitation as she thanked him. Hank gazed upon this 
interaction with benign approval. Joseph wondered what silent message that 
expression was intended to convey, and to whom.

It plainly spoke volumes to Cassie, who turned fully to Hank, basking in his 
approval like a flower in the sun. Something about the way she looked at him 
made Joseph obscurely sad, as though it reminded him of some memory lost to him 
forever.

Xavier chose this moment to speak. "Hank, did you get in touch with Moira? She 
phoned this afternoon, and told me she needed to consult with you."

"Yes, I returned her call shortly before we came down to dinner--but thank you 
for the reminder." Joseph thought the blue-furred mutant's reply carried a hint 
of testiness under the calm words.

"She told me she needed some help, if you were free."

"And am I?" Hank's tone sounded even enough; why did several heads start to turn 
towards this conversation, then look away rapidly?

"If it suits your schedule," Xavier replied. Joseph was by now nearly certain a 
very civilized confrontation was taking place. The faintly confused look on 
Cassie's face would have told him that, if nothing else did. But he couldn't 
detect any hints it had anything to do with him.

"Fortunately, I CAN make the time. I know Moira wouldn't have asked if it wasn't 
some kind of emergency."

"I agree. Have you decided when you'll go?"

"Cassie and I will go tomorrow, as soon as I can load up the Blackbird with 
whatever spare computer modules we have on hand."

Xavier opened his mouth, then closed it again for an instant. When he spoke 
again, all he said was, "Anything we have that Moira might need, she is of 
course welcome to."

This seemed to finish the conversation to both men's satisfaction, or at least 
satisfy the bare minimum. Joseph wondered who this Moira was, and what had 
happened to make her call for assistance. He suspected others at the table did 
too, but were for some reason disinclined to enquire at the moment. Probably his 
presence was inhibiting this also. He shrugged and turned himself to his private 
thoughts as he finished his meal.

*          *          *

As dinner drew to a close, the various people in attendance drifted away. Joseph 
waited to see whether someone would take up the task of shepherding him around 
again, but no one stepped forth to volunteer. From a distance, he followed 
several individuals into the kitchen, but his offer of assistance was gracefully 
declined. So instead he stepped out the back door into the night.

He could hear murmuring voices heading down the path to the lake, but not 
clearly enough for him to feel he was eavesdropping. The night was remarkably 
peaceful, and he strolled in the opposite direction from the walkers, actually 
slightly glad to be alone for a bit.

Now that he was alone, Joseph became aware of a mild melancholy troubling his 
soul. He knew it was partly because he had reached his journey's end, and apart 
from the startling response to his arrival, it had begun to seem somehow 
anticlimactic. 'What were you expecting?' he mentally chided himself. 'That they 
would be so impressed with your powers they'd immediately beg you to join their 
group?'

He did know better, truly. But what then WOULD he do with his future? He had 
hoped to find answers here, as well as assistance, but Rogue's warning made him 
wonder if he was wise to seek them. Could it be he WOULD regret learning about 
his past? But turning aside from that mystery seemed to paint his future in 
bleak shades of grey. Might not his ignorance be a trap waiting to sabotage any 
plans he instigated?

'I cannot NOT ask,' he finally admitted to himself. Sooner or later, the 
knowledge that someone held the key to the missing part of his life would force 
him to give into his curiosity. He knew that much about himself, at any rate. So 
perhaps it was as well to ask now, rather than later.

Nodding to himself, he turned back to the mansion, to go in search of Professor 
Xavier.

*          *          *

Joseph knocked on the door of the office he had been in earlier that afternoon. 
From within, he heard Xavier say, "Come." He entered without bothering to look 
around at the artifacts of culture and privilege with which the room was 
replete. Xavier's face was solemn as he indicated a chair, but not unwelcoming.

"I have decided I want to know my past--whatever you can tell me."

"I thought you would," Xavier said, with a fractional nod, followed by a 
strangely cheerless smile. "I have never known you to back off from the most 
difficult challenge." 

"You knew me, before...?" Joseph almost added 'as well', but refrained at the 
last minute, not wishing to make trouble for Rogue.

Xavier moved a tall stack of thick binders across the polished desktop, putting 
them between him and Joseph. His fingers toyed at straightening the edges of 
their covers as he spoke, although the assortment seemed to be neatly aligned 
already. "You were once my closest friend." In the silence that followed this 
startling statement, he paused, then added in a low voice, "And no one has 
filled that place since."

"But...how can that be?" Joseph asked, truly confused. "I'm... you're...." He 
sought for a polite phrase to explain himself. "We are nowhere near 
contemporaries."

"You are, in fact, a few years older than I am," Xavier told him. "Your current 
appearance was, I must admit, a surprise, a mystery I would be interested in 
exploring at some time in the future." He visibly collected himself. "The last 
time I saw you, you looked your true age."

Something in the controlled set of Xavier's face warned Joseph again to consider 
heeding Rogue's advice before it was too late. "Go on," was all he said.

"It is ironic in the extreme that someone sent you to me for help," said Xavier. 
"I am the one responsible for your amnesia."

"YOU?" Joseph stood up, disbelief fighting a fierce battle with sudden outrage. 
Xavier did not move, did not allow his face to change expression, and Joseph 
slowly sat down again. "Why?" he asked, not bothering to hide his bitter 
astonishment. "How could you say you were once my friend, and yet have done such 
a thing to me?"

"I hope some of that question will be answered as you read these reports," 
Xavier said, and pushed the heavy stack a few inches forward. "This is a 
compilation of all our history with you, all our...encounters." Joseph frowned, 
but did not move to take them. The only sign of the anger he was suppressing was 
his clenched hands clinging to the arms of the chair in which he sat. "As for my 
personal reply to you--" Now Xavier leaned back in his hoverchair, as if this 
confrontation had already exhausted him. "It was a crisis situation. You posed a 
terrible danger--to certain individuals, and to the world at large."

"The WORLD?" Joseph snorted his disbelief. "I am THAT powerful?"

"Yes," Xavier answered calmly. "You are one of the most powerful mutants on the 
planet."

"Then why did you risk letting me live?" Joseph bent his will to removing all 
emotion from his face, his voice, matching that of the man sitting behind the 
desk. The tower of incriminating papers was like a wall between them. "Why did 
you condemn me instead to this life I have been living?"

Xavier hesitated, and for the first time, a look of regret came to his face. "I 
started out just wanting to convince you to change your intentions. I am a 
telepath--I confronted you mind to mind. And that is something I have seldom 
done in my life--use my power to try to sway another person from his 
convictions. As we struggled, you started to attack one of my X-men...." Now 
Xavier bowed his head. "And...I lost control." He stared down at his folded 
hands as he finished his confession. "I remember thinking...it had just been too 
long. Too many years, fighting each other again and again--it was time for it to 
END!"

"You did this to me in anger, then?" Joseph said quietly.

"Yes." Xavier raised his head again, and looked his former foe, his former 
friend, in the eye, waiting for his judgement.

"Good. Doing it in cold blood, THAT I would find unforgivable." Joseph rose from 
his chair and reached out to take the pile of binders from Xavier's desk, the 
recitation of unknown deeds that had turned his former friend into his enemy. "I 
will read this. I'll be back with questions." 

He moved to the doorway, then turned back for a moment. Xavier was looking after 
him with a searching expression that yet gave no real clue as to his thoughts. 
Joseph found he could not, in honesty, say 'thank you', so he merely nodded. 
Xavier returned it with equal solemnity.

*          *          *

As Joseph neared the room he had been given, the blond youth who had refused to 
look at him during dinner came out of a door. He looked at the papers Joseph 
carried with deep suspicion, but did not speak. His eyes were full of questions, 
though, which prompted Joseph to say, "Xavier gave these to me. I've decided I 
have had enough of being a man without a past."

The boy pursed his lips, then said, "Ya may not like what ya find."

"I know. Rogue and the professor both warned me." He shrugged fatalistically. 
"Yet, I must know."

"Well, Ah guess Ah can understand that." The youth made as if to pass by, then 
paused. "Ah should tell ya...."

"Yes?" Joseph said, when nothing further came forth.

"When Ah knew ya, Ah had a lotta respect for ya." He half-smiled, though it 
didn't take the cloud of doubt from his eyes. "Ah b'leeve ther'll be some good 
stuff about ya in there somewhere." He indicated the numerous reports with his 
chin.

"Thank you," Joseph replied, strangely moved. 

As the boy walked away, Joseph entered his loaned quarters. He laid the 
incriminating papers on the desk, considering whether to take this one last 
chance at the bliss of ignorance. Then he squared his shoulders, sat down, 
opened the first folder and began to read. 


Susan the Neon Nurse
(Susan Crites/CRITESS)

INFO, ETC.

More chapters of this story can be found at: 
http://web2.spydernet.com/lori/x-men.htm OR from the author, Susan Crites 
(carosue@iguana.ruralnet.net) IF you can't access the Web. Many thanks to Lori 
for our new home! 

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.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 
Don't forget to support the fanfic writers who work tirelessly to support your 
reading habit! Tell your friends about Untold-L, alt.comics.fan-fiction and 
CFAN! Comment early and often! And ALWAYS ask permission before archiving or 
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The Neon Nurse thanks you!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 


--------
Neon Hearts Part 37A. The following chapter was an experiment, brought about by my 
fear of wildly screwing up Brit-type dialogue. Ian Phil Pinta Scrumpy Foster 
very kindly agreed to co-write this Excalibur extravaganza with me. (And I hope 
it didn't put him off joint projects for life!) If you care to make comments 
about this section, I hope you will share them with him as well--his address is: 
ianf@cogs.susx.ac.uk

New Year's Resolution: Not to forget to mention the Marvel copyright thingie in 
1997!

And now a word from Phil:

Well here it is at last, for those of you who've been eagerly awaiting this 
chapter since...oh whenever it was we first promised it. =) Apologies to those 
of you who are Douglock and Rory fans - there just wasn't any room...

Most kudos go to Susan, who not only did a fair chunk of the writing, but did 
most of the editing and re-writing as well. (What *is* a kudo, anyway?). Any 
complaints about Excal dialogue come to me - and I'm English so I *know* Pete's 
dialogue is fine *grin*; and while there're no prizes for the first person to 
solve the mystery, I'd be interested to know just how long it took you to work 
it out.

Enjoy!


PART 37A--HIGH SPIRITS AT MUIR ISLAND


"It almost seems like we're standing still!" Cassie was leaning up and forward, 
half out of her seat, face pressed to the glass of the Blackbird's canopy. The 
blue-green expanse of ocean far below them looked surreal, suspended in time. 
The glossy billows that would turn to waves near land were here slowed to 
near-immobility by their own mass, each ponderously heaving into the space 
vacated by the one before as they blindly followed their mother the moon.

Cassie dropped back into the co-pilot's chair from where she was doing 
absolutely nothing whatsoever, and beamed at Hank. "This is so fun! Going off 
for a little ride, just you and me! It's like...like...."

"Like the good old days?" Hank offered, and she laughed.

"The good old days of last week!" She swiveled her chair, laced her fingers 
behind her neck, and leaned back, the seat obediently reclining at her mere 
suggestion. "So much has happened so fast."

"Do you regret it?" Hank asked, keeping his eyes on the controls as he tried 
very hard to sound casual.

"No!"

Her clear astonishment that Hank could even consider such an idea made him shrug 
an instant apology, but also let out a secret internal sigh of relief. "I know 
some things have been...upsetting to you," was all he said, by way of 
explanation.

"A little," Cassie admitted. "But...I'd be miserable all by myself back home. I 
know I would."

This was exactly what Hank wanted to hear, but somehow it didn't seem quite 
apropos to say so. "And you'd be missing this chance for a free trans-Atlantic 
vacation!"

"I've probably never flown this fast before," Cassie said, her thoughts 
returning to her awe of the advanced technological splendor surrounding them.

Hank's thoughts had been distracted in a different direction. "Want to join the 
Mach 2 club?" he asked with his most charming leer.

"What's that?"

"Kind of like the Mile High Club, only for more...accomplished fliers." His grin 
widened as he patted his lap. "Come sit over here and I'll...explain it to you."

"Well...you did say this plane could pretty much fly itself," Cassie conceded, 
moving over to the position suggested, displaying a slightly wicked smile of her 
own.

"I did, and it can." This last came out a bit muffled, since Hank was now 
nuzzling the back of Cassie's neck.

"Are we really--ahh!--going...." Cassie's voice trailed off as she temporarily 
lost her train of thought.

"Hmmmmmmm?"

"Going Mach 2?"

"Does it matter?"

"No."

*          *          *

Quite a while later, Hank idly glanced over the control panel readouts, which 
winked back at him like cheerful partners in crime. Everything, himself 
included, seemed to be in tune with the universe, which seemed strange 
considering how shamelessly he was indulging in guilty pleasures. Cassie was 
sprawled in a cosy and most unladylike manner across his chest, her head 
snuggled up under his chin. Hank stroked a hand down her bare thigh, considering 
with a secret smile how shocked his teammates would be if they could see him 
now, and for more reasons than the obvious one. Hank, the official X-Men 
stick-in- the-mud about no flying without a back-up pilot, no fooling around--so 
to speak--at the controls, and ESPECIALLY no letting the auto-pilot run without 
safety checks except in emergency situations....

"How long until we land at...at...that place where you have to help fix the 
computers?" Cassie murmured into Hank's chest fur.

"Oh, roughly half an hour," he responded, after another quick glance at the 
instruments.

"I'll need to go...freshen up," she rather unnecessarily explained. "In a minute 
or two...."

Hank had every confidence in Cassie's ability to freshen up, as she put it, and 
emerge at their destination looking as chaste as if she'd just walked out of 
church services. It had helped him make his decision to entertain her in a way 
that would distract her from fretting about meeting yet another group of 
strangers. He also hoped that, being more relaxed now, she'd be less likely to 
become excessively distressed at the scene he suspected they'd see upon landing. 
Moira had waxed eloquently profane when describing the damage that had been done 
to the Muir Island facility the day before by a confused young mutant with 
frightening abilities.

When he first asked Cassie to come live with him, Hank had hoped to introduce 
her GRADUALLY to some of the more upsetting realities of life amongst the 
mutants. That plan had not been entirely successful. Now he was leaning more 
towards getting the worst over with as quickly as possible. Seeing this fresh 
destruction, but with the inhabitants taking it in stride, might be as good an 
example as he was likely to find for a while. And if she...became a little 
overwhelmed...it at least wouldn't be in front of certain people he was trying 
to convince about her ability to cope....

*          *          *

Three individuals stood at the home end of Muir Island's airstrip, watching the 
X-Men's Blackbird complete its landing protocols. The women's hair and the man's 
skinny black tie whipped back and forth like demented windsocks, as gusts off 
the North Sea competed with the blasts from the plane's powerful engines.

"Right, who knows any sick jokes about Beauty and the Beast, then?" Pete 
quipped, preparing himself in his own way for the encounter.

"If ye come out wi' any more 'o yuir so-called jokes I'll wire yuir mouth shut 
f'r a month!" Moira retorted, with a quite convincing glare of promised 
retribution for any sins Wisdom might be considering.

"Yer gettin' soft in your old age, Moira. Last time you tried to force-feed me 
some of your coffee."

Kitty quietly snorted as she hushed him up, and shrugged Lockheed's limp form a 
bit higher on her shoulder. Only her intense curiosity about the Beast's 
'Beauty' had lured her out to be a part of the welcoming committee, with her 
little dragon not feeling well. "There's the hatch opening. Let's all go say 
hi."

Cassie and Hank waited until the landing platform was firmly in place, then 
started down its ramp. Cassie walked as close to Hank as was possible with him 
carrying all their luggage at once. The first thing to hit her was the cold 
breeze, carrying alien scents of saltwater and fishlike substances. The next 
thing that clamored for her attention was...destruction.

The building before them was clearly meant to have two matching wings coming off 
the futuristic-looking central structure. One was simply gone. Well, not gone. 
It was all still there, but in a vast number of jagged pieces, scattered like a 
mad puzzle kicked apart by a gigantic sulking child.

"Cassie?" Hank stopped and spoke over his shoulder, which jolted her out of her 
stunned astonishment.

'Just one person did all this?' she thought, with no small amount of alarm. No 
WONDER everyone had been so instantly defensive when Joseph turned up at the 
mansion! "Coming," was all she said aloud, moving forward again.

There was a small group approaching from the direction of the ruins: a man in a 
dark suit who looked like the poster child for terminal cynicism; a woman with 
auburn hair, wearing glasses and a white lab coat; and a younger one 
carrying...something...partly over one shoulder. It was smaller than a baby, but 
bigger than a cat, and distinctly purple...

"Good of ye to come on such short notice, Hank," called the older woman 
cheerfully as she pulled ahead of the others. "Is this Cassie then?"

"It is indeed," Hank replied, setting down his collection of suitcases so he 
could unobtrusively let Cassie stand close to him during the introductions. 
"Cassie, this is Dr. Moira MacTaggert."

"Just call me Moira, there's a good lass." Cassie smiled shyly and nodded. 
"Welcome to Muir Island. Please excuse the look of the place--"

"Cleanin' woman's day off," inserted the man, earning himself a repressing look 
from the females on either side of him.

"This is Pete Wisdom," Moira said, with the grim look of someone who wonders why 
the Lord has chosen to afflict her so.

"Cigarette?" he asked Cassie, holding out a small and rumpled box of Silk Cut.

"Um...no. I don't smoke, sorry," Cassie answered, a bit taken aback.

"And if she DID, Pete Wisdom, I'm sure she'd have the good manners to do it 
outside without WHININ' about it--"

"I NEVER whine!"

"Oh, PLEASE," interrupted the other woman, her wide grin making it obvious she 
was in possession of much evidence to the contrary. Then she stepped forward a 
bit and held out the hand that wasn't securing her odd burden. "I'm Katherine 
Pryde; most people call me Kitty. Don't mind Pete and Moira--they just act this 
way so they won't have to face their true feelings and run off to Gretna Green 
together, leaving me a broken woman." This produced instant loud and appalled 
denials from both accused parties, which Kitty cheerfully ignored. "Nice to see 
you again, Hank." Cassie shook Kitty's hand while trying to stare unobtrusively 
at the purple...animal?

"A pleasure, as always, Kitty," Hank replied. With the exception of Pete Wisdom, 
who he understood was always an exception in matters like these, the first 
introductions were going very smoothly.

"And this is Lockheed," Kitty continued. At the sound of its name, the creature 
raised its head and turned it around very slowly and carefully.

Cassie gasped just a bit as she involuntarily stepped closer. "Is... is it 
really a dragon?" Not possible, part of her mind insisted. And yet...it had 
already become abundantly clear to her that all bets about reality were off if 
the X-men were in any way involved.

"Nah, it's just a flyin' rat with a smart mouth," Pete told her helpfully, and 
Lockheed hissed at him, then squeezed his little eyes shut as if in pain.

"He doesn't really talk--it's a game Pete plays," Kitty added. That worthy 
scowled and jammed his fists into the pockets of his coat, muttering black words 
the wind whipped away.

"He's a lovely color," Cassie said. "Is he friendly to strangers?" She had an 
almost overwhelming urge to stroke the leathers of the lavender wings.

"Not so's you'd notice," Pete said, just as Kitty said, "Mostly." Pete resumed 
his silence as Kitty continued, "He's not quite feeling himself today, is all."

"Oh, that's too bad." Cassie forced herself to pull her hand back. "It's a funny 
coincidence--I'm writing a book with a dragon in it at the moment."

"Storm told me you were a writer," Kitty said politely.

Cassie recognized the expression of someone who was NOT going to encourage a 
discussion of the subject, which was fine with her. But this was a detail Moira 
apparently hadn't heard. "A book about a dragon? Do ye write the fantasy 
stories, then?"

"Um--this is a little change of pace for me," Cassie murmured, glancing up at 
Hank for a hint as to how much to say. "I normally write romances," she 
admitted.

"Yer the next Barbara Cartland, are ya?" Wisdom inquired solemnly, but with an 
evil twinkle in his eyes, and Cassie could not entirely contain a wince.

"I wouldn't mind selling as many books as she has." This was her standard answer 
when someone compared her to more popular authors. It was her personal code not 
to stoop to criticizing fellow romance writers in public, even those whose works 
she thought were absolute swill for the vocabulary-challenged.

Hank was starting to look upon Wisdom with faintly narrowed eyes. But before 
relations could degenerate any further, there was a loud popping noise, a whiff 
of sulphur, and a new person walking towards the group with a loose, springy 
stride. "Am I late?"

Cassie's eyes widened at the sight of the newcomer. He was giddily, electrically 
blue, and covered in short dense fur, so that he looked like nothing so much as 
a brand new plush toy. But his smile was so broad and friendly that she could no 
more be afraid of him than... than Hank.

"We DID start the introductions without you," Hank said. "Cassie, this is Kurt 
Wagner, a former X-man like Kitty."

"Hello," she said. "It's very nice to meet you."

Kurt swept low in a courtly bow over Cassie's hand, then kissed it. <Your most 
rapturously adoring servant, dear lady!> he said, gold eyes glowing with humor.

<I respectfully suggest you abate your adoration,> Hank replied in excellent 
German, which caused Cassie to look up at him with pleased astonishment. <You 
are speaking to a potentially married woman.>

"Ach, so?" Kurt's vulpine grin was nearly as wide as Hank's. <That's the way of 
it, then? Well, don't fret, my friend. I will not be wanting to have to explain 
myself to my dear Amanda, yes?>

The amiable conversation was suddenly cut short by a strangely biological 
gurgling sound. "Oh, Lockheed!" exclaimed Kitty. "You're not going to be sick 
again, are you?" A pair of droopy eyes squeezed out from the lump on her 
shoulder in response to its mistress' question. "Oh, dear. I'd better get you 
back to the total containment unit in the infirmary."

"Containment as in quarantine?" Hank queried. "Isn't that a little drastic?"

"Total containment as in fire-proof," Kitty explained. "Have you ever seen a 
fire-breathing dragon throwing up?" Carefully avoiding putting too much pressure 
on the little dragon's stomach, she carried him off, Pete in tow. The remaining 
four were amused to hear a comment blow back to them on the wind. "Y'know, Pete, 
you getting in trouble with people's huge boyfriends is getting to be a habit."

"Oh, the poor thing," exclaimed Cassie as she watched them go. "Have you any 
idea what's wrong with him?"

"Not really, lass," replied Moira. "Although he's nae been the same since young 
Nate's outburst, so I can only think that has something to do with his 
behavior."

"Does he have any other symptoms?" Hank asked, his scientific curiosity 
intrigued by the thought of an alien illness.

"Aye, I'll say! Flying around like a bloody great rocket, f'r one thing. He 
nearly had me over last night. But it was something Kurt saw that really makes 
me worry aboot him."

"Ja, that's right," Kurt nodded, pausing in his task of helping Hank gather up 
their luggage once again. "I found Lockheed fast asleep last night in front of 
the television, apparently exhausted after his sudden burst of energy. However, 
it was in that room that Pete had also fallen asleep, and not only was Lockheed 
sleeping in the same room, but he was actually sleeping ON Pete's lap!"

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand," Hank queried as the foursome set off. "Is 
that an unusual occurrence?"

"Lockheed holds Pete in about as high a regard as Moira does."

"Oh...."

It only took a few paces for the group to round a corner of the building, 
allowing them to see much of the inside. Glancing round at the piles of rubble 
and machinery, Cassie was stopped dead in her tracks by the sight before her.

"Oh, wow!" She nearly squealed in delight as she saw a huge man effortlessly 
lifting a chunk of concrete that must have been the size of a small house. As he 
turned, she saw small glints of light reflecting off of his...clothes? Unsure, 
she peered closer, and thought she could make out some sort of armor. 'That's 
odd,' she thought. 'Why would he be wearing armor?' Though the weather was 
hardly what she would call hot, he must still be getting overheated with all the 
work he was doing.

By now he had moved the large chunk clear of the building. Cassie was 
transfixed, fascinated by the ease with which he carried the huge mass. She was 
expecting him to carry it off and put it down somewhere, so she was surprised 
when he merely stood where he was and threw the lump straight into the air above 
him.

Her questions were answered when another man appeared, floating high in the air. 
He caught the fast moving lump of concrete with one hand and casually flew off 
with it in tow, unaware of Cassie's eyes fixed on him for as long as she could 
see him. A sight like this was impressive at any time, but she could remember 
her reaction to being taken on a comparatively easy flight with Rogue back at 
the mansion, and she found it almost impossible to imagine how anyone could make 
such a feat look so easy.

"Cassie?" Hank was unable to keep himself from grinning at the open- mouthed 
look on her face.

"Oh, yes. Sorry." With one more backward glance at the activity over to her 
left, she followed them into the building.

*          *          *

Piotr turned to briefly watch the small group leaving the devastated area. He 
had managed to avoid meeting Hank when they had arrived, by claiming that there 
was too much clearing up to do, and that he would go and see him later in the 
evening. Moira had kindly not challenged the lie, understanding his reasons.

He knew Hank would have heard about what happened when he had arrived on the 
Isle, how he had nearly beaten Pete Wisdom to death, driven by a mad jealousy 
after seeing Kitty in someone else's arms. He had never been particularly close 
to Hank, neither of them having been on the same team for very long, but he 
still had a great deal of respect for the Beast, and was not looking forward to 
having to face him this evening.

He still had difficulty facing the rest of Excalibur as yet--only Kurt had 
really taken the time to talk to him about the incident--and seeing Hank arrive 
a few minutes ago had reminded him that sometime he would have to face the rest 
of the X-men back home, and explain to them exactly what had happened.

Walking over to a large lump of metal blocking the entrance to one of the 
storage sheds, he went back to losing himself in physical exertion. He looked at 
the shape, judging the size and weight of the metal, and took hold of a large 
piece jutting out, getting his arms far underneath to give himself more 
leverage.

He enjoyed the work; he had always found peace in hard labor ever since he was a 
young boy working on his parents' farm back in the Motherland. Standing in a 
field forcing stakes into the ground to build a fence, or pulling stones away to 
clear the soil for plowing-- those were some of the things he missed most about 
the life he had once led, the life he wished more than anything he could go back 
to.

Bracing himself, Piotr pushed upward against the metal, only to find it 
resisting far more than he expected. He pushed harder, welcoming the challenge 
as a test to his strength, and yet the lump still did not move. Surprised, he 
adjusted his grip and pushed upwards against the stubborn metal, feeling it 
begin to mold its shape to the shape of his arms. He was confused. He knew his 
strength, and knew he was easily capable of lifting something this size.

"Can I help?" a voice called from above him.

"Thank you, Meggan. Yes," Piotr replied, standing away and watching the blonde 
woman glide gently down from the sky. "I am confused. This block is only small; 
I should be able to lift it easily."

"That's because it's stuck, silly," she replied. "I saw you trying to force it 
loose from above and took a deeper look into it. This lump is stuck fast to the 
building. I imagine the explosion welded the metal to it--you were trying to 
lift the whole building from its foundations!"

"I should have realized."

"Oh, no. You couldn't see it from outside, the metal's only fused in a few 
places. I could only see it by feeling my way into the rock of the building, 
something that Moira has been teaching me to do recently."

"So it cannot be moved?"

"Well, I think there's something I can do about it, if you'll just stand back?" 
Meggan moved round to a bare part of the side of the building, her bare feet 
easily avoiding the sharp lumps of metal on the ground. With a quick smile at 
him she lifted her hands and put her newly discovered mutant abilities to use. 
Empathically 'feeling' her way into the fused rock and metal she reached out and 
gently coaxed the molecules of rock away from the molecules of the metal, 
separating the two objects without doing any more damage to the building than 
was already there.

"There. You should be able to lift it now."

He put his arms under the metal and once more pushed against it. This time it 
lifted with little resistance, and he was able to carry it away to a clear area 
for Brian to dispose of, leaving the front of the building clear to repair the 
damage there. "Spaceeba, Meggan."

With a grin and a wave she flew off, leaving him to his work.


(End Section 1 of 4)
Neon Hearts Part 37B
PART 37B--HIGH SPIRITS AT MUIR ISLAND


Predictably, almost the minute their suitcases hit the floor in the guest 
quarters Moira was standing ready to guide Hank to the computer room to start 
the refitting. "Why doon't I show ye to our wee library, Cassie?" she suggested. 
"Or would ye rather jist poke about the place yersel'?"

"The library would be fine," she answered hastily. And so within minutes of her 
arrival, Cassie found herself in a serviceable old lounger, happily starting a 
Dick Francis she had somehow never read. This peaceable state of affairs lasted 
a good ten minutes, until a young woman, red-headed and bearing distinctly 
pointed ears, walked in.

"Och, I'm nae interrupting you, am I?" the intruder apologized immediately. "I 
was jus' looking f'r something new...."

"Please, come on in," Cassie replied, forcing the chair upright with some 
difficulty, then struggling out of it to her feet. "I'm only reading in here 
because the electricity is off in the room we're staying in."

"Then ye mus' be the one...that is...the lady with...I mean to say, Dr. 
McCoy's...er...." The girl's initial expression of shy friendliness was rapidly 
shifting to one of acute embarrassment.

"Yes, that's me," Cassie admitted, jumping in before conversation became 
hopelessly unredeemable. "And I haven't been able to decide WHAT to call myself 
to Hank's friends, so don't feel bad." She stuck out the hand not holding the 
book. "My name's Cassie."

"I'm Rahne," said the other, relieved to be back on sure social ground. "It's 
verra nice to have ye visit us."

"Thanks," Cassie replied. "I was a little worried I would just be in the way, 
but Hank..." She paused, having to search for the right words now herself. 
"...thought it would be okay." She ended with a little apologetic shrug.

"Och, o'course it is!" Rahne hastened to say, happy to take the role of a 
reassuring hostess. "We enjoy company verra much--especially folk who WON'T 
bring the place crashin' doon aroun' our ears."

"I'd only do that by tripping over something crucial bracing up the remaining 
walls," Cassie laughed. "Which isn't at ALL impossible, I have to warn you." 

Rahne joined in the laughter as she gracefully settled down on a nearby hassock. 
"Then we'll just keep ye away from t'ither side until our stout lads finish 
shiftin' the loose bits--which should be quite soon, I'm sure," she added, 
changing to a serious tone. Perhaps it was Rahne's age, or her ingenuous air; 
somehow she didn't trigger the nervous reaction, that feeling of being judged 
and found inadequate, which made it so difficult for Cassie to interact with 
most strangers. Cassie dropped back down into her chair with a grateful smile. 
"Yes, it looked like things were well in hand when we passed by coming in from 
the plane."

"Did ye have a nice flight?"

Cassie tried to fight down a blush, recalling it. "Oh, yes, very nice." She 
suddenly hoped her new friend wasn't one of the telepathic type of mutants. 
"I've never flown in a private jet before. 

Rahne leaned forward, her intense interest in all things involving relationships 
temporarily overcoming her usual diffidence. "It seems verra romantic, f'r Dr. 
McCoy tae be bringin' ye here with him," she hinted.

"Yes," Cassie said, eyes twinkling now. "Like something in a book."

"The kind o' book with a proposal at th' end?" Rahne ventured further, with a 
mischievous look that made her look even younger for a moment.

For some reason, that made Cassie blush again. "We...we MIGHT get married 
sometime," she murmured, thinking of the previous night's phone conversation 
with Hank's parents. It had been a struggle not to laugh at Hank's expressions 
as he answered questions about his new relationship, questions that had clearly 
grown less and less subtle. But he hadn't tried to change the subject, or 
deflect his folks from the conclusions they were obviously drawing.... 

"'Might?'" This made Rahne quirk her head. "Are ye...tryin' to decide if ye love 
him first?"

"Oh, I love him," Cassie asserted instantly. "More than I ever imagined was 
possible."

Rahne looked instantly dubious, then compassionate. "Is it that... HE'S nae sure 
yet?"

"I think he would marry me," Cassie said quietly. She studied the other's elfin, 
earnest face. "But I don't want to break another--I mean...I don't want to be 
wrong...again."

"What d'ye mean...if I'm nae too bold askin'?"

"I was married once already. It didn't...work out like I expected."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. You're...divorced?" said Rahne, honest sympathy quickly 
crowding out her momentary shock.

Cassie nodded. It was a relief, in a way, to talk to someone who seemed to share 
her feeling that divorce wasn't something done lightly. "It was because he went 
insane and tried to kill me," she explained.

"OH!" Rahne sat straight up, horrified and indignant. "But that's--!" She didn't 
seem to be able to find words awful enough to express her disapproval. "His own 
wife!"

"I don't think he meant it personally, if you know what I mean," Cassie 
explained. "I mean, he couldn't help it. I don't think."

Cassie's new friend's brows drew together, which somehow made them look much 
bushier for just an instant. "But surely ye aren't afraid of Dr. McCoy doin' the 
same?"

"Oh, NO! No, nothing like that." 'Does HANK think I think that?' Cassie wondered 
in brief dismay. "I can't imagine Hank ever even doing anything MEAN." The girl 
nodded her agreement, and slumped back into her easy curl on the hassock. "What 
I worry about is that I'm not worthy of him. He needs someone who can...go 
through someone blowing up the whole place, and bake cookies as soon as the 
power's back on." She smiled sadly, sure it was obvious SHE was not such a 
paragon.

"Och, well, no one here will be bakin' anythin' fer a while. The kitchen's power 
cable blew out in the ruckus, so we've been eatin' from cold tins all day." 
Rahne gave an apologetic smile, as if she had been responsible for looking after 
the electrical lines, and somehow let the side down when they failed.

Cassie simply stared. "But a place like this...." Whatever else she was going to 
say went unspoken. "Tell me, is there some handy open bare spot nearby?"

"Plenty," Rahne laughed. "This island's empty, apart fr'm us." She looked at her 
new friend with interest. "Why?"

"Well, if we can make a little fire, I can camp cook pretty well."

"Ye can? Like in the American Westerns?"

"I'm FROM the West," Cassie said with delight, thrilled there might be something 
here SHE could do that no one else could.

"Oh, somethin' hot to eat would be lovely," said the girl, jumping up. "Tell me 
what t'do, and I'll help!"

"Great!" The chair creaked as Cassie struggled out of it again. "Let's go skulk 
through the kitchen, and see what there is to work with!"

*          *          *

"Oh my stars and garters...." Hank swept his eyes slowly round what used to be 
the main computer room, eyeing up the damage to try and imagine just how much 
was salvageable. The room was, to put it bluntly, a disaster zone. Not a single 
monitor was unbroken, and the sophisticated Shi'ar enhanced holographic 
projection unit was lying in a sad little heap near one corner. He had to resist 
the urge to bow his head and give a moment's silence.

"It's actually no' as bad as it looks," Moira said, moving briskly into the 
room. "Most of the storage devices are intact, and from what I've been able tae 
find out, so are most of the information stores. Fortunately young Nate's powers 
are purely physical--if it'd been someone like Magneto, all the disks would have 
been wiped immediately." Hands on hips, she glared around at the mess, then 
sighed. With a wry look at Hank, she added melodramatically, "Mah puir wee 
bairns."

Hank caught the reference at once. "Why, Moira, you do a wonderful Scotty! Yet 
another of your talents revealed!"

"Ye'd have to EXPECT I could do Scotty," she pointed out. "It's nae sa 
marvelous."

"It's just that whenever I try to do imitations, someone invariably suggests 
with great kindness that I not give up my day job." 

"Mmmph. Well, we've got a day's work and more here ahead of us. So let's get to 
it."

*          *          *

Cassie and Rahne's supper was a nearly unqualified success. Falling back on Girl 
Scout tradition, Cassie managed to concoct a tasty slumgullion stew from the 
odds and ends of canned and frozen goods they rooted out of various cupboards 
and the large walk-in freezer. "My mom used to call this Clean Out the 
Refrigerator Soup," she explained gaily, bringing a half-amused and 
half-appalled look to Rahne's face.

The biscuits Cassie attempted to bake in a cobbled together campfire- stove made 
of cookie sheets were somewhat uncooperative; the first few experimental batches 
resulted in various combinations of burnt on the outside and raw on the inside. 
But with perseverance, a reasonable number came out in an edible state, and 
Rahne philosophically observed that the island's birds would happily take care 
of the rejects.

After the meal, which had been a most welcome surprise to the Excalibur team, a 
small group formed for the purpose of "catchin' up on this an' that," as Moira 
put it. Hank, Cassie, Kitty, Pete Wisdom and Kurt followed Moira through a 
series of complicated passageways to the former heart of the Muir Island 
dwelling.

"Och, it's been a while since I've had any use for this old thing," Moira said, 
looking down, or rather into, the huge old fireplace that dominated the room. 
"But sit ye doon, we'll soon hae a blaze going."

The room they were in, according to Moira, used to be the main dining room for 
the original house that had been built here centuries ago. As such it was large 
and spacious enough to hold a good twenty or thirty people for a feast, but 
still cosy enough for a warm night in front of the fireplace. A dozen or more 
dining chairs stood in loose clusters to one side of the room, as if speculating 
amongst themselves where their friend the table had vanished to. In front of the 
hearth, two lavishly upholstered armchairs and an elegant old settee kept their 
backs to the more mundane furniture.

Out of habit, Hank headed towards the sturdiest looking chair, and eased himself 
down, testing for any suggestion of imminent destruction. Cassie started to sink 
to a place at his feet. But the chair felt remarkably solid to Hank--older 
furniture was often far better crafted than modern pieces--so he patted his lap, 
winking an invitation that she accepted happily.

Pete smirked and glanced at Kitty, intending to share his reaction to such overt 
and gooey behavior. But she bore a wistful smile that touched off his masculine 
pride. He dropped into the other chair, grasped the back waistband of Kitty's 
slacks, and pulled her into an equally cozy embrace. The look she gave him was 
startled but pleased, and he barely kept himself from making a triumphant nod at 
the visiting American.

Lockheed, who had improved enough to follow Kitty down to dinner, glared at this 
spectacle. Now unable to cuddle near his Kitty without touching his despised 
foe, he galumphed away to seat himself practically within the mouth of the 
fireplace, tail lashing in annoyance like a cat's.

Hank looked past Moira into the dark gloom, noticing the thick piles of soot and 
ash heaped up at the bottom of the grating. "You say that fireplace is the 
oldest remaining part of the house?" He was asking for the sake of conversation 
only, because it certainly LOOKED ancient. Not to mention that, judging by the 
state of the concrete and bricks around the grating, the fireplace had not been 
used for a good long while. He had a horrible suspicion it would need to be 
thoroughly cleaned before any self-respecting fire could be persuaded to take 
residence there.

"Aye, tha's right," Moira replied, stoking up the ashes with a poker. "It disnae 
get used much at the moment, as we've nae had many guests over f'r a while. At 
least, guests who've nae wanted to blow the place up. Kurt?" She looked over to 
where Kurt was currently sitting--or rather crouching, as he was balancing 
deftly on the back of the sofa. "Could ye put some o' these logs on the grate, 
and we'll see if we c'n get this fire goin'?"

"Of course, Moira."

Cassie watched him, still amazed at the fluid gracefulness with which he moved. 
With a quiet leap that barely rocked the couch he was sitting on, Kurt flipped 
over towards the fireplace, looking for a heart-stopping moment as if he was 
going to crash into it. At the last minute he executed a superb mid-air twist 
that let him land easily on the mantlepiece above the fireplace, his feet 
holding him effortlessly in place on the three-inch ledge.

He canted his head inquiringly at Cassie, and she suddenly realized she was 
staring. "Oh...I'm sorry," she said quietly, feeling instantly embarrassed at 
her apparent rudeness. "I didn't mean to stare, but...."

"From a lady as beautiful as you, such attention is a compliment," Kurt replied, 
with a quick grin at Hank. "But if you liked that, then I think you might also 
enjoy...this!" His eyes twinkling as his natural showmanship came to the fore, 
he swung himself down, holding onto the ledge with his feet and hanging upside 
down before the fireplace. Then he reached out towards the chopped wood and in 
one quick maneuver grabbed hold of three pieces, two with his hands and one with 
his tail. "Drumroll, please!" he said, warning with his mock-dramatic tone that 
the grand finale was near. Almost faster than the eye could follow, he leapt off 
in a spinning dismount, lobbing all three pieces of wood into place on the 
grating before he flipped over to land standing, then finish with a sweeping 
bow.

Cassie applauded with delight at his performance, her embarrassment forgotten. 
"A 10, a perfect 10!" she laughed.

"Weel, if th' Olympic trials are over," Moira pretended to fuss, "let's see if 
this thing wants to light f'r us." She reached for the firelighters.

Pete nudged Kitty over to the armrest, got up, and moved towards Moira, almost 
shuffling in unaccustomed politeness. "Um, shall I light it for you?" he asked, 
doing his best to seem sincere and not really succeeding.

"Aye, ye kin gi'it a go," she replied. "But remember, I'm no' gonna even THINK 
about forgiving ye until yiv replaced tha' bottle a whisky ye stole."

"Yeah, alright. I SAID I'd get you some more next time I went to London."

"Tha's no ordinary whisky, I'll have ye ken." Moira thickened her accent as she 
spoke to him, knowing how it annoyed him. "Ye canna joost go an' buy it fr'm the 
offie, y'know."

"Moira, this is LONDON I'm talking about. You know? Big place? City? Lots of 
shops? Getting some old Scots whisky is hardly gonna be a problem."

"Och, is tha' so?"

Hank gave a quizzical look at Kitty while this conversation was going on, 
realizing he must have missed some important occurrence. She leaned forward to 
fill him in. "Pete stole a bottle of whisky from Moira," she explained quietly. 
"Well, not STOLE exactly, just borrowed it.... Anyway, apparently this whisky 
was a very old and very rare type that Moira has, so when she found out about 
it...well, let's just say it didn't improve the friendship between the two of 
them."

"I didn't know you drank whisky," Hank said, somewhat surprised that Kitty would 
like the stuff.

"Oh, it wasn't for us two," she replied. "A friend of Pete's from London came up 
to visit a couple of nights ago, and as both he and Pete are whisky drinkers 
Pete went and got hold of one of Moira's expensive bottles. Unfortunately he 
forgot to ask her first."

"Ah," Hank nodded, understanding. He had heard that Moira and Pete weren't 
exactly close, and the scene before him merely confirmed his suspicion--Moira 
was the purebred Scot, and Pete was the Englishman brave enough to cross the 
border.

Pete knelt down in front of the fire, eager to get the thing lit so he could go 
outside and have a cigarette. He'd been dying for a smoke ever since dinner, but 
given the current situation with Moira didn't dare light one up in the same room 
as her, in case she tried to put it out with the fire extinguisher or something 
equally daft.

He was also getting slightly worried about the whisky. He'd known it was an 
unusual brand by the label on the bottle--it had been handwritten--but he was 
beginning to realize that getting a replacement bottle wouldn't be quite as easy 
as he thought.

Pete looked at the logs on the fireplace and concentrated. 'Not too much,' he 
thought, 'just enough power to get the things lit without blowing a hole in the 
back of the firewall.' He stretched his hand out towards the logs and let loose 
a few of his mutant 'hot-knives'-- small blades of intense heat concentrated 
into a tiny area that were his particular mutant talent. Playing the knives 
carefully over and into the thick logs set them blazing into a instant 
mini-inferno. Using firelighters, it would have taken a lot of work to get the 
logs hot enough to sustain the fire, but the heat generated by his knives worked 
better than phosphor flares.

Once the fire was going he stood up, feeling slightly smug at his demonstration 
of the control he had developed over his powers. With a quick "'Scuse me, all, 
I'm goin' for a fag," Pete left the room.

Cassie's jaw dropped as her eyebrows arced upwards in astonishment. Seeing this, 
Kurt tried and failed to stifle an ungentlemanly chortle. Hank, also trying not 
to smile, merely said, "British expression, Cassie. Pete's going out to smoke."

"Oh!" Now she smiled with the others at her misunderstanding. "Silly me, I knew 
that!"

"So," said Kitty, kindly changing the subject as she stretched out in the 
armchair she had wholly appropriated, enjoying the warmth of the fire. "What do 
you think of our island? Or at least, what you've seen of it so far."

"Oh, it's lovely!" Cassie replied enthusiastically. "It's so...open, and the air 
here smells so...ocean-like." Which was actually not bad, now that she was 
getting used to it. "It must be wonderful living here!"

"Aye, 'tis a fine island." Moira allowed herself a small flush of pride at the 
praise of her home.

"And this house, and the center--it's amazing! There's so much here!"

"Yes, and your computer systems have developed considerably since my last 
visit," Hank added. "I may have to come here more often."

"You see, Katzchen? Even the great Dr. Hank McCoy says your work on the 
computers is an improvement. Fine praise indeed!" said Kurt, beaming at Kitty.

"Ye know," Moira said, leaning forward in her chair. "It's been a while since 
I've opened a bottle o' that whisky, and since we've got guests over why don't I 
go and bring a bottle doon?"

At that moment the door opened and Pete walked back into the room, looking 
somewhat more relaxed and smelling slightly of smoke. On the hearth, Lockheed 
burbled a faint hissing growl. "Someone mention whisky?"

"Oh, no, none for ye, Pete Wisdom. Y've helped yuirself to more than enough o' 
my whisky as it is!"

"Oh, so you'll let your OTHER guests have some of the bloody stuff, but when I 
grab a bottle you hit the roof?" he complained, squeezing in grumpily next to 
Kitty, who shifted back aboard his lap with ease, helped by her phasing powers.

"You know perfectly well that I'd've been happy tae let any of my guests have a 
dram or two 'o whisky. At least most other people have the manners tae ASK 
before helping themselves!" And with that she left the room, not giving Pete a 
chance to get the last word in.

"God Almighty. Will that woman EVER let it drop?!" Pete muttered, half to 
himself.

"Oh, don't worry about it. We've got a shopping trip to London in a couple of 
days, and we can go and get her some more then. That and a better apology from 
you should calm her down." Kitty ran her hand through his hair, managing to not 
let him see the laughter on her face. "So, Hank" she said, resuming the previous 
conversation. "What do you think of what I've done to the communications suite?"

Cassie sank further into Hank's arms, and the side of the chair, content to let 
the technical conversation wash over her for a while. For some reason, even with 
Pete and Moira bickering, and a dragon on the hearth, Muir Island seemed more 
friendly and homey, more...more NORMAL, than the mansion presided over by 
Professor Xavier. It was encouraging to meet mutants like Kurt having FUN with 
their powers; to see people like those who'd been outside, flying--actually 
flying though their work--and moving pieces of metal and rocks the size of a 
truck! A relief, in some strange way, to discover powers were good for more than 
fighting.

Just then the quiet conversation was interrupted by a scream of rage coming 
towards the room. "PETE WISDOM, AH'M GONAE *KILL* YOU!!"

"Huh?!"

As everyone looked round in surprise Moira burst into the room like a galleon in 
full sail, sheer fury emanating from her in a wave of physical force. She 
stormed up to the bewildered Pete and yelled into his face, "Ye went and did it 
AGIN! Not only d'ye steal from me ONCE, ye went and did it AGIN! Ye...ye...ye 
ENGLISHMUN!!"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about, woman?"

"Ye know perfectly well what I'm talking aboot, Wisdom! Ma whisky! Ma old, 
expensive, rare whisky! Ye've been at it again, helping yuirself to ma stuff!"

"Again?! No, I didn't!" Pete tried to protest his innocence against the force of 
Scotland raging inches from his face. "Look, I only took the one bottle..."

"Oh, ye think I'd believe ye? Ye've stolen from me once, ye'd do it again!" 
Moira was quieter now, exuding a calmer, more controlled fury. Pete didn't know 
if this was better or worse.

"OK, I stole one bottle. I admitted that, alright? But I didn't take any more!"

"Really? Prove it then!"

"Huh? How d'you expect me--"

Pete was spared the task of proving his innocence for the moment. There was a 
slight hiss from the fireplace, followed by the sound of a small, somewhat 
muffled explosion. The group turned as one to the fireplace, thus ensuring they 
all got caught full in the face by a cloud of thick soot that boiled out of the 
chimney. Lockheed, who had been sitting watching the argument with a smug look 
on his face, jumped up and flew from the room like a shot.

"What was that?"

"Gott in Himmel!"

"Huh?"

"Are we under attack?"

"Moira, you haven't suddenly developed mutant powers, have you?"

While the cloud of soot settled, everyone kept their eyes fixed--between 
blinking against the irritating stuff--on the fireplace, ready for another 
explosion. Hank was the first to investigate once the air had cleared somewhat, 
moving forward to rummage around in the ashes of the now-extinguished fire.

"I believe this might be the answer to our conundrum," he proclaimed, holding 
something up to the light.

"What is it?" Kitty asked, moving forward to get a better look. "A piece of 
glass?"

"I think it is more a question of what the glass contained," he replied, wiping 
some of the soot off the shard. "Moira, do you recognize this?"

He handed the piece to her, and she saw that it had a label on it, with some 
handwriting saying....

"Ma whisky! This is part o' a bottle o' ma whisky!"

"Exactly. I would imagine that if you searched through the rest of the ashes you 
would find all the other parts of the bottle. The heat of the fire obviously 
caused the contents to expand rather rapidly, creating the explosion we have 
just witnessed."

"Moira, if you wanted to hide the whisky from me, don't you think there were 
better places to put it than up the bloody chimney?" Pete asked, somewhat 
confused.

"Wait a minute! *I* didnae put it there!"

"Then how did it get there?" Kitty asked. "Wait, you said you hadn't used that 
fireplace for a while. Perhaps it could have been put there years ago for some 
reason?"

"I donae think so, luv. The other bottle just went missin' today. It MUST be one 
o' mine."

"Then the question remains as to who put it there." Hank pondered as he 
attempted, with little success, to dust off his hands.

"Well, besides the fact that not many of us could reach up to put ANYthing in 
there," Kitty pointed out, "why would anyone do it anyway?"

"Perhaps," offered Kurt, "perhaps we have a poltergeist in the house?"

"A poltergeist? Oh, come on, Kurt! I know we've seen some pretty strange things 
with the X-men, but isn't that a little ridiculous?"

"Poltergeist? Oh, great, now the German's flipped as well."

"There better no' be any poltergeists in MA house!"

"Well, it would explain it, wouldn't it?" Cassie spoke up, while trying to 
unobtrusively clear the soot out of her hair. "I mean, how else could the bottle 
have gotten up there? And it's exactly the sort of thing a poltergeist would do, 
isn't it?" 'Plus,' she thought to herself, 'any house that has a real live 
DRAGON in it is sure to have a ghost or two around the place.'

They all stood around for a moment, thinking to themselves.

"Nah," Pete snorted. "'s all a load of rubbish, isn't it?"

"Ja, you're correct." 'Although Kitty is right,' thought Kurt. 'We HAVE seen a 
lot of strange things. So why not a poltergeist?'

"Och, for once I'll agree with him. Anyway, what say we all move into the 
kitchen and we can have the whisky in there?" Moira began to move them all out.

Pete was the last one out of the room, and just before he left he turned to 
glance again at the fireplace. 'Nah. Load of rubbish. Isn't it?'


(End Section 2 of 4)
Neon Hearts Part 37C
PART 37C--HIGH SPIRITS AT MUIR ISLAND


Cassie slowly surfaced out of what had been a sound sleep, muzzily wondering 
what was disturbing her. The room was absolutely black except for Hank's little 
battery-powered travel alarm, set to local time, which said 1:47 am. He was 
rumbling away next to her, not QUITE snoring, but definitely not awake.

Vaguely annoyed, Cassie realized what had woken her up. No doubt due to the time 
difference, she needed a bathroom. And unfortunately, the makeshift guestroom 
they were using did not have an adjoining one.

'Moira said it was just down the hall, around the corner,' she remembered, 
sitting up quietly. Weighing the comfort of having Hank's presence as a guide 
and protector against her inclination to not be a bother, Cassie perched on the 
edge of the bed a moment. Then she stood up resolutely in the darkness, 
determined to make this small expedition on her own. She fumbled around and 
found her bathrobe where she had left it, over the back of the chair next to the 
nightstand.

Now she wished they had chosen practicality over romance and taken the 
flashlight Moira had offered, rather than a few assorted candles. But Cassie 
found the matches right away, and striking one to light the largest taper didn't 
disturb Hank in the slightest. He slept on as she walked across the cold bare 
floor and out the door to the corridor. She left it open just a crack for ease 
of identification later and headed out.

Comforting herself with Kurt's assurance that the power would definitely be back 
on tomorrow, Cassie padded down the hall. It looked different in the light of 
one candle than it had when Moira had shown them to their room with the bright 
battery-powered lantern. In fact, it looked completely unfamiliar from within 
her faint circle of light.

Cassie realized soon that she was quite lost. The hallway had ended at a modern 
looking door. On the other side of it was an entirely different building--the 
public section of the research center. She remembered following Rahne through it 
briefly that afternoon, as a short cut to the leeward side of the complex. But 
if this was the public section, there should be...yes! Restrooms!

The lights were even working in this area, Cassie found as she entered the door 
marked 'Ladies'--modern automated ones! But this realization gave birth to a new 
worry--if she wandered into the wrong part of the public section, would she 
trigger lights AND alarms? Had she already?

As quickly as she could, Cassie finished and returned to the older hallways for 
further candle-light explorations. At least now she had no need to hurry, she 
thought with wry relief. If need be, she could just trail around the place until 
dawn, or whenever someone got up....

As if in answer to her thoughts, Cassie heard a sound off to her left, like a 
door thudding open. She paused, then tiptoed hesitantly in that direction. No 
further noises followed, but bits of the territory she was traversing began to 
look familiar. Wasn't this the way to the kitchen?

Just as she was thinking she should surely go back the other way, and never mind 
the first sound, she heard a stifled gasp. Cassie froze. 'Who was that?' she 
thought, mind racing. 'Should I say something? I should. But what?'

Before she could answer her self-imposed questions, a dark shape leapt from the 
connecting hall to land and growl at her from the shadows where the candlelight 
did not reach. Although a frantic shriek burst within her mind, Cassie's throat 
spasmed, and only a strangled peep squeezed out. The candle in its holder 
wavered and almost fell from her grasp.

Then an animal--a dog?--walked forward, questing for her scent. To Cassie's 
astonishment, it began to rise up and change shape as it came forward. "Cassie? 
Is that you?"

"Rahne?" she managed to croak. It was indeed the Scots girl standing before her 
now, and she looked as shocked as Cassie felt, though almost certainly not for 
the same reason.

"Did ye hear it too?"

"Hear what? That thump a minute ago?"

"That too." Rahne's brown eyes were huge. "But I heard somethin' strange before 
that. And I thought, what if it's the...."

"The ghost?" Cassie swallowed hard. In daylight, she did not believe in ghosts. 
But that conviction was more difficult to cling to in the dark.

From the same direction came another lighter thump and a clank. Rahne and Cassie 
instantly clutched at each other, almost losing the candle in the process. "It's 
comin' from the kitchen," Rahne whispered.

"A haunted kitchen?" This abruptly struck Cassie as unlikely in the extreme. 
Feeling a bit like one of her own characters, she murmured, "You want to go 
check it out?"

Rahne straightened her spine, visibly gathering her nerve. "Aye, let's." 
Together they crept towards the suspect room, from which new tinks and muffled 
clunks were now coming with an ominous regularity.

Just outside the entrance, they paused to link gazes. "On three?" said Rahne, 
speaking as the professional of the duo. Cassie nodded. "One, two, THREE!"

They dashed into the kitchen, and a hail of cooking utensils exploded in an 
ungodly clatter out of a floor-level cupboard, rattling around their ankles. 
Jumping in a panicky attempt to avoid God knew what, Cassie dropped the 
candlestick. The candle guttered out as it fell.

The clank of the brass holder hitting a saucepan was the last of the noise. 
Silence deep as the darkness surrounded them now, broken only by Cassie and 
Rahne's rapid breathing. "Now what?" Cassie asked at last, truly hoping Rahne 
would have an answer.

"We'd best go get Moira," Rahne said, with only a hint of a quaver in her voice.

"And Hank." Cassie thrust a foot out blindly and kicked something that skittered 
across the floor at a distressing volume. "Might be easier said than done, 
though."

"Dinnae worry, I'll just shift tae wolf form--I can get along quite well in the 
dark then. Hang on tae me, and I'll guide us."

'A Seeing Eye werewolf. Why ever not?' Cassie grinned to herself. It was simply 
amazing how quickly all this sort of thing was becoming handy but unremarkable. 
"Lead on, then."

Not long afterward, a small group stood in the kitchen, looking over the 
mysterious visitor's mess by the brilliant glow of two heavy-duty lanterns. 
Moira, muttering, cleared a path through an unlikely assortment of mismatched 
cookware to peer deep into a floor level storage area. "As I thought, nearly 
empty. Thorough, our prankster."

"Scattering pots and pans IS traditional poltergeist activity," Hank said 
slowly, clearly resisting the absurd notion with all his might.

"You girls saw nothing?" Moira demanded, although she had already heard their 
breathless account of the whole thing.

"I dropped the candle almost right away," Cassie admitted. "But even before, it 
didn't shed enough light to show much of this big room."

"Rahne, did YE see anythin' strange?"

"Nooo...but, after I shifted...I SMELLED something." Moira looked expectant, but 
her hopes were dashed when Rahne's next word was, "Whisky."

"Och, o'course ye did--we'd all had a nip in here afore bed. I'd hoped ye'd 
gotten a sniff of whoever played this foolish joke."

Rahne looked dubious. "It seemed...fresher than that. Like it was spilled just 
then. Sharp enough, anyway, to keep me from pickin' up any other scents." She 
shared a nervous look with Cassie. "IF there was anything to scent...."

"Still--perhaps you should recount your bottles, just in case?" Hank suggested. 
Moira inhaled sharply, whirled and stormed from the room. In a few moments, 
there came the faint echo of an unearthly screech from upstairs.

"Oh, dear," said Cassie. "That doesn't sound promising."

By the time a seething, nearly speechless Moira returned to the kitchen, Hank 
and the ladies had gathered up all the loose cookware and secured it in the 
cupboard. "This cannae, and SHALL nae go on!" the furious Scots woman promised. 
"I'll nae be robbed in ma own house! I'll...I'll--" Words failed her.

"Perhaps it would be wise to return to bed, and let our sleeping subconscious 
minds form a plan of attack, or rather, defense," Hank suggested.

Seeing the logic of this, Moira managed to calm down enough to agree. "Aye, we 
can do nae more tonight. But tomorrow the thief had best beware!"

*          *          *

Safe again in their room, with Cassie warming her freezing feet against Hank's 
furry legs, the couple waited for sleep to find them again. "What time did you 
say the alarm was set for?" Cassie asked.

"Six AM, per your instructions, madame," Hank replied. "Since you feel you MUST 
shoulder the burden of feeding the troops." He thought he did a good job in 
managing to keep his lingering disapproval out of his voice.

"I promised Rahne I would help her--she's so tickled by the idea of learning to 
cook over a campfire." Cassie yawned. "Guess she didn't get to be in Girl 
Scouts."

"I believe it is Girl Guides, on this side of the pond, but no, probably not." 
He hesitated, then continued, "As long as this is something you WANT to do...?"

"I'd feel awful just sitting around in the middle of this disaster, not doing 
anything to help," Cassie said, a little too quietly. She DID grasp that he 
wasn't pleased by her assuming housekeeping duties as though it was all she was 
good for. "Especially now that I know I CAN...and after everyone has been so 
nice."

"You feel more comfortable here, don't you?" Hank asked, changing the subject.

Cassie understood he was referring to her continuing unease among the X-men. 
"Yes, well...it's different here."

"How so?" he asked, stroking her thigh to reassure her.

There was a pause while she searched for the right words. "We're both just 
guests here. All we have to do is follow the Good Guest rules, and we're fine."

"Politely ignore all bickering, help track down poltergeists--" He was 
interrupted by Cassie's laugh and a light elbow dig in the ribs, exactly where 
he was most ticklish.

"See, it's EASY to fit in someplace temporarily," she continued. "But...back at 
the mansion, I'm...I guess...more than a guest, really. But not a member of the 
household."

"Why do you think that's so?" It was surprisingly difficult to frame questions 
like this to sound non-judgmental, he thought in passing.

"Because I'm just...THERE. I don't DO anything, I don't contribute--"

"You contribute to my well-being," Hank pointed out. "*I* don't consider that 
'nothing'."

"Well, no, I don't either. But...." Cassie trailed off, not sure how to put her 
instinct into words. "That makes an attachment between US--not with me and any 
of the others." She stopped to think again. "I don't have a ROLE in the 
household, the group. Not like everyone else does."

"So...it's not that you think the rest of the team doesn't like you?" Hank 
ventured, feeling he was on the verge of understanding something that had 
somehow thus far eluded him.

"No, of course not."

"Were you...upset to be left out of the meeting about Joseph?"

"Oh, no. Not at all," Cassie assured him. "Actually, I was glad it worked out 
that you could go explain for me. Everyone was so...so on edge...I wouldn't have 
enjoyed being there much."

Now they both lay in silence, contemplating the implications of each other's 
words. "I suppose you will just have to create, and grow into, your own role," 
Hank said at last.

"Knowing I am setting a precedent for untold generations of X-girlfriends and 
boyfriends," she replied, expressing her fear of inadequacy as a joke.

"That," Hank said, as he pulled her close for a kiss, "will be THEIR problem, my 
dear; how to live up to your brilliant success."

*          *          *

Like unexpectedly fed stray cats, most of Excalibur came creeping hopefully 
around the kitchen again early the next morning. They were rewarded by the 
sights, sounds and smells of an impromptu breakfast buffet: eggs, bacon and 
sausages happily cooked by Rahne over the campfire, bread and jam, boxed 
crackers and cold cereal. And Cassie had more successfully repeated her 
experiment in campfire-oven biscuits. She entered the kitchen--where the crowd 
had doubled since her last trip in--bearing a tray of these, while Hank 
followed, carefully carrying a small kettle by its hoop handle.

An appealing aroma wafted from it, and Pete Wisdom's head snapped up. "Is 
that...coffee?"

"Yes, it is," Cassie replied. "Would you like some?"

He approached with a distrustful slouch, clearly not letting himself get his 
hopes up. When Cassie used a ladle to dip a dark brown liquid out of the pot, an 
expression of extreme suspicion crossed his face, but he held out his hand for 
the cup she proffered. That look became astonishment after his first sip. 
"Bloody 'ell. I'm impressed! How'd ya make this?"

"I couldn't find a coffee pot, so I had to use this," Cassie explained, pointing 
at the kettle Hank had placed on the counter. "You just boil some water, and put 
the ground coffee in it--"

"And some eggshells," Hank added helpfully.

"Eggshells? Why?" Pete eyed his cup doubtfully, searching for organic foreign 
objects.

"I don't know--it's just how you do it," Cassie said apologetically. 
"Anyway--then you boil it a bit, and let it sit awhile--and it's coffee."

Kitty, looking faintly distracted by worry, joined them for a cup. "D'ya see 
this?" Pete demanded. "Boiled over an open fire with eggs thrown in it--"

"Shells," Hank said again.

"--and it's FAR less of a witch's brew than that poison Moira cooks up! She HAS 
to be doin' it deliberately!"

"Oh, Pete!" Kitty took her cup and moved over to make room for a yawning Kurt, 
who was at the head of a line of others seeking a dose of morning-antidote.

"How's Lockheed this morning?" Cassie asked as she dipped up coffee, filling the 
cups that Hank passed to her.

"Feeling sick again," Kitty said. "He was so much better last night--I'm 
starting to get worried."

"Once we put the computer back on line, Moira and I can do a more in- depth 
analysis of the little fellow," Hank suggested. "Perhaps that will give us a 
clue."

Next in line for the freshly made coffee was the large blonde man Cassie had 
only briefly been introduced to recently. He didn't LOOK like Betsy's brother, 
but she supposed it was one of those mutant things.

He took the offered cup and sniffed at it in a surprisingly genteel manner for 
such a large person. "Hmm," he said, in a deep resonant baritone. "You don't 
happen to have any tea, do you?"

"Uhm, I'm afraid not, no. I don't think this way of cooking will work as well 
with tea as with coffee, sorry," Cassie offered her apologies.

"Oh," he replied, with a somewhat crestfallen look on his face. "Unfortunately 
all the tea strainers were destroyed, and I've got a tin of Earl Grey sitting 
neglected in a cupboard somewhere."

"No problem, Brian, mate," Pete called out from where he was nursing the remains 
of his coffee. "I'll pick up a pack of Typhoo next time I'm on the mainland."

Brian turned towards Pete with a slightly pained expression on his face. 
"Teabags?!?" He sighed and turned back to Cassie. "Londoners," he said, with a 
slight grin. "I'm sure your coffee will be wonderful, thank you." 

Cassie passed over a plate of food, unable to help herself grinning in response, 
even though she didn't quite understand the connotations of the conversation. 
Yet another member of Excalibur who, with just a few lines, had managed to make 
her feel involved in the easy going teasing that went on between the team 
members.

As breakfast progressed, Kurt wandered amongst the individuals present, casually 
setting up the day's workload. Cassie marveled once again at the 'all in a day's 
work' attitude the group seemed to be taking towards the need to reconstruct a 
large portion of their home. Maybe it WAS something you somehow got used to?

The food quickly disappeared, and the people more slowly followed suit, off to 
their various tasks. "I'm afraid my work with Moira is likely to be dull to 
watch," Hank told Cassie, as he prepared to join his colleague in the computer 
center. "You might prefer to just rest, or walk down to see the ocean...."

"I'll see what I feel like later," Cassie told him. "Um, after I finish helping 
Rahne clean up in here." At Hank's level look, she said, "Well, I can't just 
leave her to do it all herself!"

"No, of course not." With a fondly dubious shake of his head, Hank gave her a 
quick kiss. "If you SHOULD want to seek me out, just ask anyone to lead you to 
the computer lab. But I think I can persuade Moira to break for lunch, so I 
should see you then."

As Cassie opened her mouth to agree, Rahne poked her head in the kitchen door. 
"Should I let the fire go out, or will we be wanting it for lunch?"

"Kurt said he'd have the power on in here in a couple hours," Cassie replied, 
evading Hank's eyes. "So we probably don't need it anymore."

"I'll just douse it then," said Rahne, with mostly hidden disappointment, and 
darted back outside.

"What are we having for lunch?" Hank asked blandly.

"It, uh, depends on what they have around, I guess," Cassie said sheepishly. He 
didn't comment further, and she hastened to add, "But Hank, I have to feed YOU, 
and if I'm cooking for you it would be RUDE to ignore everyone else."

He couldn't help laughing at the appeal on her face. "Your logic is impeccable." 
He kissed her again, on the forehead. "Have a most enjoyable morning, Ms. 
Crocker, and I will see you at noon."


(End Section 3 of 4)
Neon Hearts Part 37D
PART 37D--HIGH SPIRITS AT MUIR ISLAND


"Soo, Hank. D'ye think it'd work?"

Hank pondered. Moira and he were back in the main computer lab, and had been 
discussing the prospect of setting up some sort of security device around the 
remaining bottles of whisky in Moira's room. "Well, a basic security alarm would 
be relatively simple--we could set it to react to anyone attempting to move the 
bottles, with only you and me able to shut it down. But what particular reaction 
did you have in mind for the thief?"

"Weel, I KNOW it's that Englishmun helping himself, so something painful. Very 
painful. Horribly, long-lastingly, torturously painful."

The vengeful light in Moira's eye unnerved Hank a bit. He THOUGHT she was merely 
indulging in a bit of hyperbole to vent her anger, but.... "Don't you find," he 
suggested diffidently, "that the most effective punishments, ah, fit the crime?"

If she knew he was hinting for a reduction in severity of sentence, she didn't 
show it. Her eyes narrowed over a daunting smile of anticipation as she stroked 
her chin in thought. "Ye know, maybe I should rig it up ta play ma tape o' 
highland bagpipe music on continuous loop. I know as an Englishmun he wouldnae 
have the taste tae enjoy that."

Hank let a slightly panicked look steal across his face. "Hmmm," he pondered 
aloud, "with a good burst of adrenaline, and adding two minutes to collect 
Cassie, I believe I could make it to the Blackbird and leave the island in a 
minimum of thirteen and a half minutes." He looked at Moira pleadingly. "Moira, 
please. Thirteen and a half minutes of bagpipe music...."

She grinned in response to his joke and gave him a light bat round the shoulder. 
"Just because ye've nae got the taste f'r good music is nae reason tae let that 
Englishmun off lightly. And ye never know, ye might learn to like it."

"Well, I'm sure it'll make Pete think twice about crossing you again," Hank 
suggested.

"Nae, that's the trouble. He won't. He baits and pesters ever'one continually. I 
dinnae see how Kitty stands it."

"Maybe because Kitty understands his reasons?" Moira frowned her lack of 
comprehension, and Hank continued his impromptu analysis. "Maybe he, for some 
reason, feels a need to keep others from getting too close to him?" Hank tilted 
his head, considering his colleague, someone he both knew well and didn't know 
at all. "I think you can understand that, Moira." 'You do the same thing', he 
added silently.

Moira seemed to grasp what Hank was hinting at, because she shrugged in 
irritation. "If I want to listen to psychobabble, Dr. Jack o' all trades and 
master o' none, I'll call Rory in. Fer now, we ha'e work before us."

Their conversation was interrupted as the door swung open and a large boxful of 
complex-looking equipment walked in on a pair of silvery metal legs. "Where 
would you like me to place this, Moira?" it asked in a Russian accent.

"There's a table to yuir right, Piotr. Just prop it up there, thanks."

The box deposited itself upon the nearby workspace, and was instantly leaped 
upon by Moira, who carefully pulled out the individual pieces of equipment and 
started laying them out in an orderly fashion. Piotr, his work done, was about 
to leave when he was interrupted by Hank coming over from the far side of the 
room.

"Ah, Piotr," Hank called, beaming at him. "Good to see you again."

"And you, my friend. I am sorry I was unable to meet you yesterday...."

"No need to apologize, my Russian comrade. Moira explained that you and the 
others were somewhat busy." At this point Moira finished her thorough analysis 
of the box's contents, and tactfully decided to leave the room. "Are you 
thinking of returning to the mansion soon?" Hank asked sociably.

"I...do not think that would be wise, at the moment," Piotr replied, his eyes 
only briefly leaving the floor.

"Ah, yes. Kurt mentioned the recent altercation." Although perhaps he had not 
explained the full extent of what happened between Kitty's former boyfriend and 
her current lover, thought Hank, studying the melancholy man in front of him. 
Even though he had never become as close to the Russian as he was with his older 
friends, he could still recognize that the man in front of him was suffering a 
great deal. Piotr had always been so...intense, so driven by his emotions....

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Hank said, "Of course, having met Mr. Wisdom 
recently, I must confess a certain desire to give him a good thump or two 
myself." He waited. "That was a joke. Please indulge me by laughing sometime 
soon...?"

"I am sorry. I do not feel much like laughing about it at the moment."

Hank began to worry. Things were DEFINITELY worse than they had first appeared 
with the young Russian. He made a mental note to have a good talk with Ororo 
about the situation when he got back. But for now he decided to change the 
subject.

"I have some news for you. About Magneto."

Piotr's eyes lit up at the name. "Magnus? You have heard of him?"

"More than that. He arrived at the gates of the mansion the day before 
yesterday--"

"Arrived? How do you mean? Has he recovered?" Piotr's eyes were now fixed on 
Hank, eager for news of his friend.

"Not...quite. He IS perfectly functional physically; indeed, he's remarkably 
healthy. He calls himself Joseph, and seems to have retained at least some 
knowledge of how to use his powers. However, he has no memory of his life 
previous to Charles wiping his mind."

"And no one has told him?"

"About who he was? No, not yet; at least, not to my knowledge. The professor HAS 
given him the option of learning about his past, but I do not know what...Joseph 
has decided to do."

Piotr stood still for a moment, absorbing the information. "Then...perhaps I 
SHOULD return to the mansion sometime soon," he said with slow deliberation.

"You are always welcome," Hank replied, thinking that now would probably be a 
very good time for Piotr to do so. He knew the Russian felt a great deal of 
guilt over the events of the past few months. Seeing 'Joseph' being given a 
second chance might reassure Piotr he deserved at least as much.

*          *          *

Pete Wisdom shouldered his way in through the kitchen door, both hands occupied 
with grasping the handle of a large wicker basket containing the pitiful huddled 
form of Lockheed. When Rahne and Cassie turned to see who had come in, he 
scowled to cover his embarrassment. "Kitty wants 'im to get some fresh air an' 
sunshine," he muttered.

"That might help," said Cassie, and Rahne chimed in, "Aye, a good idea."

Wisdom scanned their faces for any sign they were secretly mocking him, nodded 
brusquely, and continued through the room. At the door leading outside, he 
paused. "Don' suppose there's any a'that coffee left?"

"Oh, yes, we poured what was left into a big Thermos we found," Cassie replied. 
Pete started to lower the basket to the ground and she added, "Go on, your hands 
are full. I'll bring a cup out to you."

The mid-morning sun was warm in the lee of the building, out of the wind. 
Lockheed had responded to the brightness by pulling his wings up over his head, 
and huddling into an even smaller lump. Pete was leaning against the side of the 
building, lighting up. He took the cup from Cassie's hand with a grunt of 
thanks.

"He doesn't look all that good today, does he?" Cassie said, gazing at the 
strange creature, her interest now mixed with concern.

"Like me after a night out with the lads," Pete agreed, flippant as usual.

Cassie gave him a sidelong look that was just the slightest bit reproachful. "It 
must be scary for Kitty, not knowing what's wrong with him."

"Yeah, Kitty's fond of the little git." A half-sigh escaped him as he flicked 
his cigarette ash. "Can't think why."

"It could be worse, you know," Cassie suggested diffidently.

"What, she could have a pair, and be breedin' 'em on the roof like bloody 
pigeons?"

The mental image made Cassie laugh in spite of herself. "That too. But I was 
thinking about my own situation. I have a cat, you see, and when she met Hank--"

"--the fur flew?" Wisdom finished for her, smirking. The Beast on the run from 
his girl's tabby was a sight he'd pay good money to have witnessed.

"No, the opposite. She really liked him. She ADORED him, actually. Wouldn't 
leave him alone--sitting on him, climbing his legs, licking his fur...." Cassie 
shook her head. "It was really embarrassing."

Pete Wisdom pictured himself with Lockheed clinging around his neck at every 
opportunity, and shuddered. "Yer right, that would be worse." They both again 
considered the little dragon, and he found himself saying, "It's not like I'm 
glad he's sick, or hopin' he'll pop off. I've been figurin' that sooner or 
later, he'll catch on that I'm here to stay, and give over with this feudin'."

"That sounds likely," Cassie said. "You know, my folks used to keep Cornflower 
for me when I was away--they're doing that right now, actually--and at first, my 
Dad would grump around about 'Cassie's damn ol' cat' being spoiled rotten." She 
grinned. "That was because she liked my mom best, and ignored him. Then suddenly 
one day she was his little cutie, following him everywhere."

"She just got used to the idea, huh?"

"Mom says she caught Dad sneaking her special treats."

Pete just shook his head. "I've tried that. The little sod took it, and still 
hates me anyway."

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Kurt and Kitty, with Rahne 
bringing up the rear. "Congratulate me, I AM a genius," Kurt proclaimed. "The 
power is now fully operational, as good as new, or possibly better!" He bowed 
modestly as Cassie and Rahne dutifully applauded.

The noise made Lockheed poke his head out from under his wing, emitting a 
whining growl of complain. Kitty instantly picked him up and attempted to 
comfort him. "It's okay, little guy. The computers will be up and running soon, 
and we'll find out what's wrong with you."

She blinked hard, trying not to cry, and Pete rose to the occasion, flicking 
away his cigarette before putting an arm around her shoulders. "I could be 
wrong, but I think he was more comfortable up in his den in your room."

Kitty sniffed and nodded, and let Pete guide her away, carrying her sick little 
companion. She turned back to say, "Kurt, will you please tell Hank and Moira 
I'll be down to help directly?"

"Immediately, katzchen," he promised, and vanished with a soft pop.

"You know, they might be ready for a break. Let's take down the rest of the 
coffee before we start lunch," Cassie suggested to Rahne, feeling it was a good 
excuse to see Hank for a moment. This was quite agreeable to Rahne, and after 
they gathered mugs and other necessities, she led the way to the computer lab.

They were only just nearing the labs when they saw Moira march through the door, 
and seconds later march out again followed by a somewhat bewildered Hank.

"Moira, exactly what is wrong?" Hank asked, attempting to get an explanation as 
to why she was pulling him away from the very work she was so anxious for him to 
complete.

"Oh, just ye wait and see," she replied, moving briskly up the stairs. "Ye'll 
have tae see this tae believe it."

Cassie followed them automatically, catching up with Hank. The portable coffee 
break was set aside, unheeded. "Hank, what...?"

"Weel, luv, let's jus' say I'm beginning tae giv' this poltergeist idea a wee 
bit more consideration," Moira replied over her shoulder.

The little procession met Kitty in the hall, and took her in tow as they 
continued to Moira's room. Opening the door, the excited Scot guided them 
through to one of the wardrobes and flung it open. "There!"

They all peered into the dark depths of the old oak wardrobe. It contained the 
usual wardrobe innards: a rack of clothes--mostly thick coats, a pile of shoes 
and assortments on the floor, and in the corner a cardboard box full of bottles 
of whisky.

"Ummm, it's a wardrobe, Moira," Kitty pointed out, unsure of what she was 
supposed to be seeing.

"Aye, tha's right. It's a wardrobe, an' the one where my whisky's bein' stolen 
fr'm. Rahne, could ye get one o' those bottles oot f'r me?"

With a puzzled look on her face, the young girl complied. The wardrobe was very 
deep, and the bottles were stored right at the back. To get to them she had to 
step right into the wardrobe. However, as soon as her foot touched the wooden 
floor she jerked it back in alarm.

The room had suddenly filled with an awful groaning and wheezing noise, echoing 
madly around like the last agonizing gasps of a dying soul. Still jumpy after 
their encounter last night, and with thoughts of poltergeists and ghouls still 
fresh on their minds both Rahne and Cassie leapt for the nearest source of 
masculine comfort--Hank. Kitty just covered her ears and grimaced.

"Well, the alarm system is clearly working correctly," Hank said loudly to 
Moira, automatically comforting the two trembling females in his arms. "Moira?"

Moira was standing still, her eyes half closed in dreamy contentment as the 
caterwauls and wails droned over her. "Hmm? Och, yes. Sorry." She reached out 
towards the side of the wardrobe and the horrendous noises ceased. "Ahh, Ah've 
nae heard tha' in a long while." 

"What was it?" Rahne asked in a shocked voice, disentangling herself from Hank.

"The GlenMorran Pipers," Moira replied, still looking slightly dreamy with 
nostalgia. "An album of auld airs and strathspeys. Beautiful stuff."

"I take it the correctly functioning alarm system was not the reason you 
requested our presence here," Hank said.

"Nae. The problem is, another bottle's gone."

"Ah," Kitty said as realization dawned. "So you set up an alarm system to stop 
anyone from stealing any more of your whisky, but it didn't work."

"Tha's right."

"But surely it wouldn't be too hard to get around it? If all you did was make 
the floor pressure sensitive...."

"We did a bit more than that, Kitty," Hank responded. "Not only will the alarm 
go off if there is any registered pressure on the floor, but there are infra-red 
beams crossing the entrance to the wardrobe. To be able to get through those you 
would have to be rather smaller than an average person. Which, I'm afraid to 
say, Moira, discounts our ruffled Englishman from the list of suspects."

"Aye. 'Tis a pity, but yuir right. In fact the only person who COULD get through 
these defenses easily would be Meggan, with her shape-shiftin' powers. But I 
can't see her drinkin' whisky, an' she certainly wouldnae steal..."

"Not Meggan, no way," Kitty said firmly, and Rahne also shook her head in 
vehement support of her friend.

"Could Kurt, um, pop in and out?" Cassie suggested, drawn by professional 
interest into the mystery. "For a joke?"

"I doubt it," Hank replied, after an instant's consideration. "Unless he has 
refined his powers considerably since we last met."

"Nae, lass, he needs to teleport into free, open space," Moira explained kindly. 
"He'd ne'er try such a mad thing as popping into my wardrobe for just a joke."

"Agreed," Kitty added. "Which leaves..."

"The poltergeist?" Rahne finished off, rather tremulously.

"Or at least SOMETHING with rather remarkable abilities," Hank clarified.

"Y'know, I remember Kurt telling me about facing something similar not too long 
ago," Kitty said. "It was when he was training the Technet a while back. There 
were reports of items going missing, and no amount of security seemed to stop it 
happening."

"So what did he do about it?" Hank asked.

"He set a trap."

"Far be it from me to point out the obvious," Hank said gently, "but we just did 
exactly that."

"Then we obviously have to upgrade," Kitty smiled, taking no offense. "Pretend 
we're crossing over from Excalibur to the X-files."

*          *          *

Hank, Kitty and Moira gave over the remainder of the morning to this new 
project. As the attempt to catch the thief in the bedroom had been unsuccessful, 
they decided to set the trap in the other area of poltergeist activity--the 
kitchen.

Fortunately, Hank and Moira had repaired the worst of the physical destruction 
the afternoon before, and this morning had made fair progress in retrofitting 
the software and connections between peripherals, and regaining access to the 
core database. Now, with Kitty's help added, it was a quick task to prepare the 
new trap.

The X-ghostbusters broke for a festive lunch with the rest of the team, roast 
chicken and potatoes and vegetable marrow pie made even more festive with 
another bottle of Moira's dwindling stock of whisky. The resulting half-full 
bottle was left innocently on a worktop in the kitchen. Innocently, that is, 
except for the motion detectors rigged up to it that would register the 
slightest bit of movement of the bottle. None of the group helping load the 
dishwasher came anywhere near it, and it soon stood in lonely splendor in the 
silent kitchen.

The motion detectors had been connected to the now more or less up-and-running 
computer network, so that if the bottle was moved, screens all over the rest of 
the building would give a visible signal of the occurrence. With the trap set, 
all the computer wizards went back to the tedious task of finishing up the 
details, eyes flickering constantly to the various computer screens that would 
give warning of the poltergeist's activity, even though all agreed they likely 
wouldn't get a nibble until after dark. The waiting made time pass very slowly.

When Pete came in to inform Kitty that Lockheed was up out of bed on his own 
power, she took the opportunity to grab both Pete and Moira, suggesting some 
clearing of the air was in order. She leaned comfortably against a workbench, 
enjoying the all-too-rare spectacle of Moira apologizing to the rumpled 
Englishman.

"So you admit it wasn't me, then?" Pete asked, a slight grin on his face. He was 
prepared to enjoy this.

"Aye, I'll admit it couldn't have been ye who took the last bottle, unless yiv 
suddenly got a lot better with them hot-knives of yuirs," Moira replied 
grudgingly. "And since I know ye didnae take that 'un, I suppose I can believe 
ye were nae responsible f'r the others, either."

"So yer gonna apologize for accusing me, then?" He was grinning openly now.

Moira sighed deeply. She hated to do it, but honesty won over her natural 
Scottish desire to not give an inch where the English were concerned, and she 
forced the words out. "I'm sorry for accusing you."

"None of this was my fault?"

"No."

Pete's evil grin grew wider. "I'm not sure that's enough. Y'know, maybe you 
should tell that to the whole team, public-like."

Moira's eyebrows rose, then dived to a glare. "Any more o' that, young man, and 
ye can take yuir apology and stick it right up yuir--"

"Moira!" Kitty interrupted. "The alarm's gone off!"

"Whit?"

"The alarm! Someone's grabbed the bottle!"

Trying to keep as quiet as possible the three of them rushed to the door of the 
kitchen, bumping into Hank, Cassie and Rahne as they did so. "What're ye 
plannin' to do, Lady Moira?" Rahne asked in a hushed whisper. "If'n it IS a 
poltergeist..."

"If it IS a poltergeist, then I want it OOT o' ma hoose!" Moira replied in an 
aggressive whisper. "So we're gonnae take a look."

"On three, then," Hank whispered, unknowingly echoing the events of the previous 
night.

"One, two...three!"

The six of them burst open the door, rushed into the kitchen and stopped dead at 
the sight before them. The bottle of whisky had been lifted into the air, turned 
almost upside down and held while its contents were swiftly guzzled by....

"LOCKHEED!!"

Caught mauve-handed, the little dragon tried to flee. Hank snagged the nearly 
empty bottle as it fell, and Kitty, due to years of experience, made a flying 
leap to catch her reptile delinquent. "Lockheed, I am TOTALLY ASHAMED of you!" 
Her bright red cheeks betrayed her chagrin at her pet's misbehavior. Lockheed 
smiled blearily, already feeling the alcohol's effects, and gave her a hopeful 
nuzzle, angling for instant forgiveness.

"We should get her a squirt gun," Cassie murmured to Hank, who recalled that 
device's quelling effects on Cornflower's antics, and nodded.

"Och, we should hae guessed," Moira exclaimed, managing to look puzzled and 
indignant at the same time.

"Lockheed, you had me so worried--and you were just HUNG OVER the whole time?" 
Kitty held him out and shook him lightly, which made his head weave alarmingly. 
"Oh, you--you DRAGON!" She then clasped him to her chest.

Pete cleared his throat. "Can't blame the little devil fer havin' a taste fer 
th' finer things in life."

"Pete, don't you start--" Kitty began, then listened to his actual words. 
"--defending him?"

This brought forth from Pete an 'I've been naughty but you'll forgive me' grin 
uncannily similar to Lockheed's. "Only to be expected he'd go for quality stuff, 
when you see who he picked for a mistress."

Kitty tried and failed to suppress a smile. "Strange how I seem to attract 
rascals." From his position over Kitty's shoulder, Lockheed eyed Pete 
thoughtfully.

"Well, now your only problem will be how to devise a dragon-proof storage 
compartment for your potables," Hank said. "No doubt a piece of cake."

"I wonder what made him develop such a thirst of a sudden--it's obviously bad 
for his system," Moira mused.

Kitty's eyes widened. "Pete! It has to be--do you remember? When that friend of 
yours from London was here you poured a nip in a saucer for Lockheed as a joke!"

"WISDOM gave MY ancient whisky to Lockheed in a saucer!?" Moira gasped. Then 
further comprehension made her smile with fierce anticipation. "So I guess ye'd 
be wrong about this not bein' yuir fault, eh, Wisdom?"

"Err..."

"What's that? I canna hear ye!" she crowed. "I guess we'll have to make this a 
matter for a public apology after all."

"While you're considering your options, Moira," Hank suggested, hoping to avert 
another fight, "perhaps we could wrap this up and finish our work with the 
computers. I think we can get you totally back on line this evening, with a bit 
more work."

"Verra weel," Moira grumbled. "But I'll nae be fergettin' this soon--and it will 
be longer than that before yon beastie gets even a whiff o' ma whisky."

"Or ANY alcohol," Kitty added firmly. Lockheed gave a faint keen of dismay.

"Hey, that's a bit rough," Pete protested. "A little drop now and then won't do 
any harm."

Ever eager to disagree with Pete, Moira replied, "We've SEEN what happens when 
he starts on the beers." 

"This WAS his first time. The little'un just don't know 'is limits yet," Pete 
argued. "An' OK, he gets a bit rowdy when he's had a few--at least he doesn't 
start pickin' fights, like SOME I could mention." Moira glared, but declined to 
dignify that remark with a response.

"Well, we'll see," Kitty said, stroking the back of Lockheed's neck lovingly.

And from over Kitty's shoulder, where no one else could see, Lockheed winked a 
grudging thanks to Pete.


(End Section 4 of 4)

Susan the Neon Nurse
(Susan Crites/CRITESS)

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


INFO, ETC.

More chapters of this story can be found at: 
http://web2.spydernet.com/lori/x-men.htm OR from the author, Susan Crites 
(carosue@iguana.ruralnet.net) IF you can't access the Web. Many thanks to Lori 
for our new home! 

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.

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