Prologue: Undercover

[Wolverine]

That night in New Orleans had been longer than he’d expected. In ways it made him feel like a caged animal. No where to go. Barely enough room to turn around. Pyslock had been a voice of reasoning to the Canadian natives own. The already injured Gambit might have turned out all that much worse, if Logan had his way about it. Sometimes he forgot to take into account not everyone was as gifted as he was. That X factor. Mutant healing. There wasn’t much that could keep the man down. Well, save for Rogue. Perhaps Jean. But that was in other ways. Nostrils flared thinking about it. For a long time he was blind to how someone like Scott Summers had beaten him. Scott was a better leader of the team. Communicator. Everything it seemed he was not. Everything that she had wanted. No matter how hard he tried, Wolverine could never be that man, he’d always be the beast.

But this wasn’t some fairy tale, you read to children to get them to sleep at night. There wasn’t much of a silver lining in his life. Save for the indestructible metal grafted to his entire skeletal structure. You wouldn’t find a happy ending here. Though that was something that carried on through out the mutant community. It was like those times you’d read about in a history book. The segregation. Separation. Human verses Mutants. You had to learn early that it was a dog eat dog kind of world. And he was one of the big dogs. When Logan’s mind was set on something he didn’t let anything or anyone stand in his way. That’s what made him a loose cannon for the team. This was his time now however. Muscles tightened as he shifted his stocky body weight. Claws extending quickly as he moved with speed and an agility, perhaps some might not have expected from him.

A fighter. That’s what he was, and how he remained. Wooden planks clattered to the ground as he moved from one target to another. The cold blades that were now always a part of him, cut easily through obstacles in his path. The Danger Room was more like home than anywhere else in the mansion. It was also an area where he could let of steam with out endangering the lives of those around him. Teeth gritted as lips pulled back, before a yell cleared from his throat. Bare heel hitting it’s mark hard, the training dummy broken from it’s stand, landing in a heap beneath him. Sweat beaded his wrinkled brow, as dark eyebrows narrowed over dark eyes. Through flaring nostrils he took deep intakes of breath. The salty tack of sweat rolling down against bare arms a hair covered, scared chest. Standing Logan ran stocky fingers into dark semi-spiked hair heavy with his work out while claws retracted.

He tightened the tie of the white gi styled pants he wore, with a bit of a grunt. Fingertips pressed the commands that would close down the training session and allow him to leave. The man was in need of a cold beer. Wheather it was hear in his comfortable lounge or opening his motorcycle on the winding high way road to the Biker Joint, he didn’t care. Towel draped around his neck and broad shoulders as he stalked forwards. Pausing for only the briefest of moments near the bay window of the medical area where the Cajun lie recouping. Head shook as he turned down the hallway...

[Dr. Jean Grey]

Over the years the telekinetic doctor had seen a lot in of tragedy in the medical lab, and each patient that came in struck a chord; but nothing hit closer then when it was a fellow teammate. When Logan and Betsy brought in the Cajun charmer, it was hard for her to separate emotions from duty, especially because she could feel their shared pain in her mind. Hours passed as she worked on his unconscious body. His stomach was pumped, anti-toxins injected intravenously though the constant IV line, a heart monitor keeping the time. It was all the same, and yet even her clinical efficient mind couldn’t just play the role of cold apathetic doctor. Periodically Jean would pause and return to Remy’s bedside to draw herself into his mind. It wasn’t something that she was truly gifted with, her talents were still quite raw and naive by comparison to the Professor, but everyday she could feel them growing and adapting. Reluctantly the redhead pulled herself from the inky black depths of Remington’s mind and rested her hands on the edges of the gurney.

“I know you’re in there… I just don’t know what to do...” she said with a low dejected voice.
Gambit was lost in a madness of guilt and pain, brought on from the ordeal at the thieves guild and the fight thereafter with Sabretooth. Thankfully Psylocke had been able to maintain a sort of mental leash on what remained of Remy’s mind while the trio was in transit, but medically Jean still had a lot of work ahead of her.
“Jean.”
She held up a hand, “in a minute Hank.”
Beast neared her, “Jean… Take a break, or I’ll personally remove your access code from the door pass.”
The blue-haired genius turned her around and lifted her chin with a clawed digit.
“Not to point out the obvious but you’re exhausted. I prescribe a warm cup of tea, a good book and a backrub. Now go on, let this be my sleepless night Jean.” She smiled warmly to Dr. McCoy, squeezing his arm gently.
“Let me know if there’s any progress…” she urged before slipping out of the room. She exited the lab, stuffing a pen into her breast coat pocket as noticing Wolverine stepping into the elevator.
“Hold the door please!” she called out hurrying her stride and slipping into the lift before the doors came closed.

[Wolverine]

Maybe he was too harsh on the Cajun at times. It wasn’t like the man wasn’t without his own share of problems. And ex-wife out to kill him. Along with countless others. Logan was sure their list were equally as long when it came to that regards. Of course he wasn’t ever even going to vocalize such things. But still there was something similar between them. Gambit and Rogue. Lovers that could never touch without consequences. Himself. More along the lines of never meant to be. The jagged edged Wolverine, however felt his own odd sense of worry over him. They’d been teammates for far too long. One of those love-hate relationships, leaning more towards the hate end of the scale at times.

He couldn’t think about, there were probing minds about the mansion. Charles always tried to work with Logan on a different level. But there was just too much bottled up within him. Too much horror and pain. Some to himself. And the rest to others. A grumble worked over his lips as he waited for the elevator, as the doors finally opened with a familiar hiss of air. After pressing the level he wished, hands gripped about the towels ends. While eyes scanned up from the floor to the hallway as doors started to close. Jean’s voice echoed out to him. Stepping forwards the palm of his hand came to rest upon the closing door cupping it, until the mechanics opened once again.

“Eve’nin Jeanie.”
Looking over at her once he took in her sights. Even in the lab coat she was beautiful. She would always be to him. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much to know that rejection. Shoulders rolled forwards has hands gripped the terry cloth towel once more. Eyes turned their attentions to the numbers lighting above the doors as the elevator started to move. Awkward silence bothered him more than complete silence. At least in complete silence he could tell something was a miss, prepare for what might have been lurking in it. Finally he cleared his throat as gruff voice questioned her.
“How’s ‘e doin’?”

They all knew that Gambit was in bad shape. Jean, the Professor and Betsy were constantly working with his unconscious being. While Hank most of the time looked over his physical well being. With the added hours Jean put in. She was some kind of woman. It’s what attracted him to her. The strength shown from the Telekinetic Mutant. The hope that the world could change. Be better. For all of mankind, mutant and human alike.
“Look like you could use a beer. Care to join me.”
Almost instantly he regretted asking. They were both adults. That didn’t make it any easier for him. A cough rose slightly as he shifted
“I was going up to the kitchen to grab one…”

[Dr. Jean Grey]

Breathlessly Jean slipped though the doors and then tried to look comfortable next to the adamantium enhanced mutant. A small smile of passed over her lips as she spoke low, “Thanks… no change, but we’re out of the woods.” The next minute felt like an hour, her eyes glancing from the glowing number pad to the readout above the doors, then down to the floor. This was life; Fates nasty way of really sticking the knife in and then breaking it off. It was just bad timing. Had she met him before Cyclops was in her life things might have played out differently, but when it came to Scott Summers she was undoubtedly sure of his solidarity; with Logan she always has a reserve of doubt.

Sure the relationship was what some might call, routine, but it didn’t change the fact that she knew Scott would always be there for her in the morning. Scott wouldn’t bail if she came down with a terminal illness, or if things got too intense. She never could say the same for Logan. But why, why was it that he always seemed to stir that animalistic craving in her? Was it just what she instinctively read from his surface thoughts, or was this really a mutual attraction? With some concerted effort Dr. Grey pushed these questions from her mind and again smiled at the sweat drenched mutant.
“It’s that obvious huh? Yeah, thanks I could use a muscle relaxer, I’ve been on my feet for hours.” Jean rolled her neck and made a face that illustrated her point.

The doors slid open with a hiss and the pair exited. As the walked, Jean felt the silence between them working on her like a rash. Desperately she grabbed at a thread of conversation that was a little less heavy, hoping to mask what she was feeling with humor and levity.
“Did you hear about the Chem. student did to the girls locker room? Apparently they dumped a concoction into the water softener and dyed the lacrosse team purple. Hank is still trying to figure out how to get the dye out of their skin.” She giggled lightly, but it was clearly nervous and filled with tension. God he smelled good, even after the workout. His sweat bringing out a natural musk that nearly made her knees buckle. Her green orbs glanced to him and then quickly away as she entered the kitchen.

[Domino]

Her form stretched as if she were a lithe cat, muscles coordinating perfectly to make nothing more than the faint whisper of a sound as she moved. Ahh, this was the life, the life of an assassin. There wasn’t much she could say, after all, the majority of the time, her job was a lonely one… save for when she had been with Cable and the teens… but lately she had fallen out of the trap… that, teacher crap.

Domino had been up to her old tricks since regaining her life back, and discovering about the death of her former husband Milo… yes she had quite the life before, and now it was all gone. A sigh escaped her lips as she thought about those days… a sigh that just cost her the most precious thing she could have-control. She just lost control of her ‘job’… by making that small sound, she was found out. The dogs that she had been down-wind from instantly heard the soft air and bounded towards her.

Dropping from the window in a summersault fashion, Neena pulled her tranquilizer guns from her arm band and shot both Doberman dogs in the shoulder. After a few moments of dodging the attacks from the vicious beasts… Domino stood, eyeing the fallen, yet breathing, creatures before her.

This is why you have to concentrate Dom… you’re slacking and really fucking up, this is getting bad, before you could maneuver around hundreds of these dogs… now two and you’re caught. Her head shook at the thought before she continued on her way towards the File Library. She needed Milo’s files… needed to know… well she needed to know who he was… in a way she always felt as if he was hiding something from her… here, she could possibly find out…<br>
Then she heard the large step of the mechanical beast behind her. “Oh shit…” she murmured to herself before turning and eyeing the robot. Stepping back she pulled the unhinged gun from her sidearm and began shooting, distracting it long enough to run past and slip through the doors the machine had come through.

The whole mission was a bust… and with this asshole tracking her… she needed somewhere safe to go. Thinking for a mere moment, she found herself on her bike, heading towards the mansion, a place she thought she would never go again… a place she was heading to. Xaviers School for Gifted Youngsters.

[Psylocke]

Elisabeth was away from the mansion, her business suited figure driving swiftly toward downtown Manhattan. S.T.R.I.K.E. [S.H.I.E.L.D British Arm], had contacted her and without question she was on the move, ready to serve despite her ties to the X-Men. First and foremost she had loyalties to S.T.R.I.K.E. that she had trouble ignoring. After taking up her brother’s mantle of Captain Britain, she’d realized how much time she’d lost while she was working with RCX’s ESPer psi-unit. Too much time had been lost, between them, and truly it was only after her eyes had been slashed she realized how much training she’d lost when she turned her back on Brian. It was hard not to hate him. Her mind would always see the identical dimensional counterpart who briefly replaced Brian during her stay at the Braddock Manor. She would always remember what it felt like have who she thought was her twin brother try to rape her, and what it felt like to destroy his mind and kill him. It was something Bets carried, and it was why she always came back to atone.

She entered the mirrored glass doorway of the large skyscraper, the click of her heels echoing though the large open lobby. It was late, but this building gave no signs of slowing. To and fro marched groups of men in business attire, phones rang out as secretaries answered perkily, and as Elisabeth neared the main reception the man before the half-moon counter looked up. Fingers depressed a button on his headset.
“Good evening Miss Braddock, you’ve been expected,” he rounded the desk and fell into pace next to her, “right this way…”

Twenty seven minutes later Elizabeth was exiting the building from a side door. Her attire was altered as was her hair. Brown eyes housed bright blue contact lenses under oversized sunglasses of rose, purple locks were tucked up under a wig of white blonde, and the dark suit had been replaced with an airy sundress and the heels with some chunky sandals. Her walk was different. Instead of the precise clip she’d had before, now her hips swayed, her glossed lips smiled and laughed, and her voice held a southern accent. She hailed a cab, leaving her car in the underground lot for the time being. There wasn’t time to backtrack, her mission had begun and she was on her way to hell’s kitchen.