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Author's Chapter Notes:
Sorry this one's a bit late. RL's been horribly hectic this weekend. I'm ready for an evening of hiding out & eating chocolate. This is one of those setting up the plot chapters, so bear with it - the next one's far more exciting. And you don't have to wait so long because I was so slow in posting this one *g*.

Ugh.

It’s bright, it’s as painful as needles stabbing my eyes, and dark glasses do absolutely nothing to help. The whole thing is a stupid myth. Unfortunately. I don’t even have that glamorous could-be-a-movie-star thing going on, I just look like shit. I know. I had the unpleasant experience of seeing my smudged, hair-every-which-way reflection in the expensive mirror before we left this morning.

Was yesterday worth it? Who knows. Probably.

The bits of it I remember.

I think I’ve cured myself of a craving for whiskey anyway. I never want to see the God forsaken stuff again. Christ, just remembering the smell of it makes my vision swim and my stomach clench in sympathy. I feel so rough.

After an alcohol orientated night’s sleep, we spent the morning driving the rest of our journey in a hangover induced silence. But now that we’re finally here, now that it’s time to part ways, I don’t think I’ve got the stomach to step out the air-con’d comfort of the truck.

Literally.

I think I’m gonna hurl.

I force myself to swallow as I grab my duffle bag, flinching as the thunk of the slamming door rips through my head like a blunt axe. Ouch. The after shock sways the sidewalk around me until my palms feel clammy and cold despite the midday heat. Did I mention I feel rough?

Oh God, I think I’m gonna... I’m gonna... No. Nope, I’m hanging in there. Kinda.

My throat burns. I gulp a deep breath.

Jesus, what a mess!

I don’t look back as I walk away; she wouldn’t expect me to. I don’t think I could handle the turning around thing anyway. It takes all my concentration just to remain upright.

The first thing I do, when my feet are steady enough to take more than a few steps, is find myself a motel. That’s actually quite easy, thank God, there are loads of them. The one I settle for isn’t too bad either. The room smells clean and the plumped up towels are fresh and eye-stingingly white. Usually a good sign... I think. Or at least I try to think. My brain is currently on alcohol poisoning strike. I think it may be starting a union with my liver. Maybe they’ll sue for better working environment rights.

Or not.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m completely sane.

Heh. Who cares. Maybe I can blame my random thoughts on someone else. Magneto. Yup. He’s definitely getting the credit for that last one.

I stash my stuff and force down some icy tap water before I drag myself under the shower. I stay there until the world slides into focus; forehead resting against the cool wall tiles, lukewarm spray trickling over me until I slowly begin to feel a little more human again. Or maybe I should say a little more mutant. Magneto again. Whatever. The urge to throw up my breakfast is no longer top of my list, so I consider that an achievement.

Once out, I scrape around for clean clothes. I let my hair stay loose for a change, feeling the damp weight fan out behind me as I slouch back on the bed and wonder what to do for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, that’s when we’ll sort out surveillance. We’ve already got our meeting place arranged, although the memory of it swings in dizzy circles through my head and makes me want to forget my own name. Yeah, tomorrow is business. Today is only about one thing. Settling in.

That and laundry.

Hell yeah, the life of crime is all glamour let me tell you.

Decision made, I haul my hung-over ass off the bed and risk the daylight long enough to find myself a Laundromat.

The door opens to the scent of washing power and clean clothes. It usually relaxes me, but today the whirlpooling hum of the machines just makes me giddy. I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth as my stomach churns along with them, haphazardly bundling in my clothes, leaving as quickly as possible, staggering outside and taking great deep breaths, eyes darting around like a lunatic until I spy an internet café to hang around instead.

This proves to be the best idea I’ve had all day.

By some selective searching, I find the details of the orphanage. It’s not a big place, nothing like the school. It’s quiet and contained; protected, I think would be the right word to use. The details of the children that reside there are conveniently glossed over citing child protection laws, but I know it’s the right place. The Professor’s gentle style is marked all over it.

A few clicks later and I’m able to leave them an anonymous donation of a couple of hundred thousand dollars.

I feel very pleased with myself. I know, technically, it’s not my money, but I’ve just put it to a far better use and the thought leaves me content ... in what I admit is a deliciously powerful kind of way. So what if I’ve taken a hefty cut? I’ve done a good thing. Really.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

I must be quite convincing as well, because I find myself very willing to believe it. Heh! Especially after I remind myself that I don’t do self-doubt anymore.

One thing does nag me though, even though I don’t like to admit it. Something Logan said. He mentioned the Professor.

Okay, I know I cut him off before he was able to tell me whatever it was he had to say, but there’s part of me that’s convinced he was gonna use it as a moral hinge. ‘The Professor would be ashamed of you kid’ is the one that strikes me the most.

I try not to think about it too much. I don’t like to think what the Professor would have said about all this. His opinion was one of the few that actually mattered to me. It still feels wrong that he’s gone.

Disjointed.

I frown over the word.

Like a giant piece of the puzzle is now missing.

He always seemed so in control, so indestructible. For some reason there was a part of me that thought he was always going to be there... which was stupid. No one lives forever. He died as easily as the rest of us can. In fact, he died when he should have put up a fight. He let himself be killed! He died pathetically! And I hate that! How could he do it? How could he leave us when we needed him the most! What gave him the right?

And more than the completely unjustified resentment I’m trying not to feel, I hate the little voice inside that whispers, ‘you weren’t there either, were you.’

I shut it away. So what if I wasn’t? I had to grab my chance at the cure while I could! I shouldn’t feel guilty!

I shouldn’t!

Yeah... right...

Ugh.

For a moment I just swirl my mouse curser idly over the screen, lost in thought. Then I realise what I’m doing and sit up suddenly, glancing around... as if it must be clear to everyone what I’m thinking, like ‘has guilty conscience’ is tattooed across my face or something. But all the other users remain unaffected. They don’t even notice me.

Eew, except that pervy guy in the corner who keeps trying to leer at me over the top of his monitor. His hand’s firmly ensconced in his pocket... and I really don’t want to know what he’s doing. Gross.

I deliberately look the other way. Try and shoehorn my thoughts back on track. Oh but he’s still... oh that really is freaking me out! I don’t want to see that!

I give him a glare. He responds with a smile which makes me feel all kinds of creeped out and dirty. Bastard. I drag my monitor over so I’m completely facing the other way. So what if he gets to stare at my ass. At least I can pretend he doesn’t exist. And pretending’s something I’m rather good at these days.

What was I thinking about again? Oh yeah. Justification. Right.

Oh hell, it doesn’t matter what the Professor would think anyway. He’s not here; therefore the decision’s mine. The orphanage needs money, I need a shot at a life. And as for means justifying anything, I think, in this case, it does.

And I’m tempted to add a ‘so there.’

So... there.

Ha.

But for all my empowered thoughts, it’s not like any of them actually make me feel any better, and goddamit I hate that too! I want to feel good about myself! I don’t want any of this sorry assed mooching crap.

Right, that’s it. Apparently I think too much in places like these, I’m leaving.

I check my emails before I log out. It takes ages and my patience is officially wearing thin. Two hundred and sixty three little envelopes of spam, seventeen from Jubilee, a couple from Pete, God there’s even several from Ororo. They really must have been worried.

Again I shrug the thought off my shoulders, try not to think about it. Then just to make myself feel a little better, I forward a couple of the ‘fifty great ways to enlarge your penis’ emails to Bobby.

Heh.

I don’t feel guilty about what I’m doing, living out here, forging a... different... kind of life for myself. Really I don’t. I’m just hung over and creeped out, that’s all. After a good night’s sleep, I’ll be much better.



The following day I’m sat at the diner, and guess what? She’s late. Big surprise. Good job I don’t care. I just use the time to tuck in to some food. I didn’t eat much yesterday, so today I’m starving and there’s nothing dignified about the way I stuff down my burger. God but that tastes good. Unhealthy, yes, and it’s still so hot that it deadens my tongue and scolds the roof of my mouth, but damn, right now it feels like I’ve never eaten anything better.

When she comes in, it’s as a sleek haired brunette, the disguise so effective that even I don’t recognise her at first. It’s only when she slides in opposite me, folds her legs in that seductive way and gives me that sly twitch of a smile that I realise. Barely suppressed smug tension radiates off her like beauty. She smells of bar smoke and alcohol, so I’m guessing she had a busy night. Personally I don’t know how she does it; I went back to my motel and crashed. Big time. Dammit, I really need to work on my life of glamour and sin. So far it’s rather lacking.

"Something on your mind?"

Huh? Her casual comment jolts me and I shake my head. "No... No it’s nothing."

"Well, wherever you were... I found some interesting information last night." She licks her lips, flirts with the guy sitting opposite us.

I ignore the way he practically drools over his cheap menu. "Are you gonna share?" I say around another mouthful of food.

"You want the good news first? The bad? Or the other bad?"

What a choice. "Surprise me."

"Well, the bad news is that the facility is currently in possession of a little over one point six billion dollars... but unfortunately manages all it’s money off site."

That’s some pretty hefty information. I’m not sure I even want to know how she found that out. Or who she had to sleep with.

"The other bad news is that it uses a public bank."

"What’s the good news?"

"A rather large deposit is due to be made, in cash, two days time."

"In a public bank?" Somehow I’m finding that hard to believe.

"Something to do with building public trust by keeping tax payer’s money in the public eye."

Yeah right. That’s the lamest reason I’ve heard of. These places always have motives... although that doesn’t necessarily mean we can’t take advantage of them. "Nearby?"

Her smile widens. "Not far."

"So am I to take it that we have a slightly different target now?"

"Well," she almost pouts, "we wouldn’t want to hit the facility and leave all the money. Where would be the fun in that?"

...She does have a point. "You have a plan?"

She steals a mouthful of my food and uses it to flirt even more seductively with the guy opposite. Believe me, you’ve never seen anyone eat fries quite the way she does.

"The usual," she says, lips curling. "You scout out the bank, take a good look around, and I’ll...check out the staff." Her eyebrows flick up towards her hair line and I know exactly what she’s thinking. She enjoys that part of the job; it’s some kind of power trip. That’s why my role is usually limited to surveillance. She knows how to get her information, and whilst I have some of her memories, I have none of her skills. Heh, unfortunately. Besides, I’d be rubbish at the whole seduction part...y’know... with the whole sucking out the life-force, probable coma and eventual death...thing.

I’m not really anyone’s idea of a good evening out.

"Sound okay to you?"

Ahh to hell with it, I’m good at surveillance anyway. And I’m not going down the route of feeling sorry for myself again. Instead I let my smile widen into a full southern grin and I slam a couple of ratty looking bills on the table. "It sounds, sugar, like a damn fine way to spend an afternoon." Because the more I think about it, the more it really does. Cool.

Already my mind is racing with ideas. Another bank. A larger one this time. We’ll have to get floor plans because no matter how nice I am when I arrive there, I doubt taking a look around the back rooms will be an option. Hmmm.

I’m still thinking about it as we leave. I don’t really pay attention when she stops me outside. I don’t notice until she pulls the sleeve of my glove down and grips my arm with her bare hand.

I’m not expecting it, and when the power hits me suddenly it’s far stronger than usual. It flashes through me, exhilarating, almost painful; like freefalling; like diving into water so fast your nose hurts. It takes me a moment to realise that she’s the cause of the pain and pull away.

I fight for a minute to clear my head. Mystique looks worse off; she staggers slightly, a blueish tint showing through her skin.

"Are you okay?"

She holds up a hand to stave off any further concern. "I’m fine. You shouldn’t go as yourself."

As if that explains everything! There are risks that we just shouldn’t take! We’re on a public street. I could’ve killed her, or at least knocked her unconscious, and what the hell would I have done then? It would have been a...

I stop myself.

Shit. I sound like one of the freakin’ X-men again.

I press my hands against my eyes for a moment, just to try and get my thoughts under control. But when I look up, she’s gone, already disappearing into the crowd.

Dammit, dammit DAMMIT! Why is my first instinct always to play it safe? I don’t want to be that person any more! And I wish she hadn’t done that. I know it’s useful when we’re actually hitting the place, but checking it out? Okay, okay, I can see her point. She doesn’t want either of us associated with this at all. Especially this time. This is much bigger than anything we’ve done before. But it feels wrong stealing mutation from her so easily.

Although... it has given me food for thought.

I lean back against the wall while I attempt to gather my wits again. It’s never really hurt like that before. It took me by surprise and my skin flipped into full defence mode. It was so strong. Much stronger than when I’ve chosen to touch people in the past. Could that...?

For a moment I don’t dare to breathe, or even blink; I don’t do anything that might make the thought that’s suddenly tipping over the edge of my mind go away, because even though I’m crawling towards it, I almost can’t bring myself to believe it. Because... could it mean that I have an element of...control?

Is that even possible?

Suddenly I’m smiling. A kind of startled disbelief washing over me. The idea fills me with such a giddy excitement that I don’t quite know what to do with myself. I want to dance in the street. I want to scream. I want to flop back on the hard concrete and be at peace with the world. I want to go back after Mystique, just to share it with someone. Then I have a strange longing to phone Jubes. She’d understand. She’d be delighted squeals all round. I remember the day we found out about the cure. She was one of the only people who supported me through the whole thing, she never judged. She knew how important it was to me.

But I can’t phone her. I no longer have my cell. And I know I’d never use it if I did.

That time is in the past. I’m different now.

So I take a deep breath, rein in the sudden bombardment of feelings until once again they’re under control. I’m so used to it by now that it’s almost too easy. Then I melt backwards into the damp shadow of an ally.

Being so covert makes me feel like Superman or something and I find myself smirking at the thought of ripping off my clothes to reveal the spandex underneath. Yeah right. Instead I feel the ripple of change flow over my skin, moulding it until I look like the waitress in the diner we just left. She was about my size so the clothes will fit. And she was smart. Short dark bob. Plain face.

The sort that won’t stand out.

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