"Wazzat?"


"What do you think?"


"Oooh. You're not s'posed to..."


"Here. Chocolate chip. Mmmmmm. Taaasteeeee. MMMMmmmm."


"But..."


"Here's the spoon. Who's your favorite uncle?"


"Unca Logan."


"Why, you li'l... here, careful, don't spill any on the dress...
Logan?! All right, all right - who is your second favorite uncle?"


"Unca Remy."


"... that's just sick. Sick and wrong. But you're young yet,
eventually you'll grow out of it. Grow faster! Anyway... Who is your
third favorite uncle? The one and only who intrepidly braved the
barren wilderness of the kitchen and brought back the sweet, sugary,
chocolate chip-y spoils of war?"


"You are! Unca Bobby!"


"Damn straight. Unca Bobby is da man. Eat your ice-cream and tell me
how wonderful I am."


"Can't."


"What? Why not?"


"Can't have 'scream 'fore breakfast. Dad told me so. Spoils appetite."


"Ellie, mi amiga, lemme tell you a little secret. Never listen to your
Dad. Ever. That's the key to long and happy life - eat much ice-cream and ignore your Dad. Trust me."


"We gonna get in trouble."


"God. I knew nothing good would come of letting your parents take over
your bringing up. Who's the adult here?"


"..."


"Oh, that's very funny. Hilarious. Lemme put it to you another way -
who is bigger?"


"We still gonna get in trouble. Daddy won't like this."


"Just eat it. Everything is gonna be fine. Trust me. Your Dad doesn't
have a clue."


"Mmm. That's what Unca Logan says too."


"Does he now?" The reaction provoked by the question was decidedly at
odds with the mild tone in which it was delivered. Robert Drake AKA the
Iceman froze with a spoon inches from his lips, the chocolate chip
balanced precariously on a top of a very big scoop. He raised an
eyebrow cautiously at the 6-year old girl sitting before him and asked
somewhat plaintively, "That wasn't you talking right now, was it?"
Ellie shook her head somberly and licked the spoon.


Bobby sighed and regarded his own spoon with deeply felt regret,
"Didn't think so." Chuckling nervously he raised his voice slightly,
"Ummm... before I turn around, could you do me a favor and tell me who
you are?"


"Pardon me?"


"Well, you know the echo in this attic.. And it's vital for me to know
whether it makes any sense for me to make the break for the window.
Good intelligence is half the battle you know. My great and forgiving
friend who also happens to be the greatest tactical genius of all
time told me that."


"You are dead man, Bobby."


"You'll never take me alive!" With a speed worthy of an Olympic
athlete, Bobby sprang to his feet and wheeled around brandishing his
spoon, "I have a dairy product and I'm not afraid to use it!"


Scott Summers smiled thinly and dangerously at his teammate, "You're
a dead man. You're cornered. Your morale is low and your lines of
retreat are cut. And if you persist, I shall call the wrath of Storm
on you. Base villain, you have but one option...."


Bobby's eyes lit up with a faint hope, "I have an option? One that
doesn't involve dying horribly?"


"Yes."


"Well, tell!"


Cyclops' smile grew a little wider and Bobby, puzzled, followed his
gaze as Scott looked at his 6-year old offspring, who remained
seraphically calm during the exchange, sitting crosslegged on the
dusty attic floor.


Logan 'Ellie' Summers raised her eyes at Bobby and smiled
beatifically, gesturing her spoon. "Bribe the Daddy."


Deftly snatching the bowl from the box serving as the makeshift table,
Scott dropped on the floor next to his daughter and dipped his index
finger inside, "That's right. Bribe the Daddy."


Bobby looked upon his fast emptying bowl forlornly. He sighed and
looked down on the spoon he was still holding. He sighed again and
licked the remaining ice-cream dejectedly. "I hate you, Summers. Move over."


***


"Well where are they? I swear, if they don't show up soon, Ororo is
going to do something drastically permanent to Hank."


Logan shrugged philosophically and turned the newspaper over, "He
deserves it. Never try to help a woman cooking breakfast."


Sam opened his mouth to rebuff, then thought better of it. "All right.
Maybe. But I need my coffee! BOOOOOBBBBY!"


Logan winced, "Damn, boy. Unclench." Sam glared at him and Logan hid
his grin behind the newspaper. Personally he had no sympathy for
Guthrie. The schedule was out for everyone to see and everyone knew
that 'Ro made a grand production when it was her turn to cook. Even if
Drake wasn't late as usual it'd still be a while before the table was
ready. Besides... "Drake ain't the only one missing. Where's Cyke?"


"Getting himself into trouble." Jean's threat was belied by the
suppressed laughter. Logan raised an eyebrow at her, but she just
shook her head, her eyes slightly unfocussed as always when she used
her telepathy.


"She's just mad that he doesn't want to share." Alex added helpfully.
Logan transferred his silent query at the Pick, but the former Morlock
refused to elaborate farther.


"I'm with the kid." Rogue bit down on an apple and swallowed in
evident disgust. "I'm hungry as all hell."


Sam nodded decisively, "I say we take matters into our own hands."


"Have fun storming the kitchen."


"You hush up, Alex."


The telepath grinned, the ivory white teeth contrasting against the
dark purple skin, and winked at Barbara. The latter smiled shyly in
return but remained silent. Logan shook his head, almost
imperceptibly.


Both Alex and Babs were relative newcomers. In fact, Alex had joined the team last but he seemed to fit in almost effortlessly, while Barrage still remained somewhat aloof. He chuckled softly. She reminded him of Gambit in an odd way, of how he was during his early days. Of course the Cajun always hid behind charm, Babs was just shy. Painfully so. Still something was similar... maybe that was why Remy was the one who seemed to get closer to her than the rest.


The chuckle died and he stopped himself before he looked. He knew what
he'd see in any case. The lanky figure reclining easily in the
arm-chair, watching the argument amusedly through the half-lidded
eyes, one leg thrown over the arm-rest. Hard to believe that the leg
wasn't real. Logan shrugged faintly, harder for him perhaps than for
everyone else. For months after Chicago and 'bonding' of the Shi'ar
prosthetic, he was on edge around Gambit. Simply because the smell
coming of him was… wrong. Not right. That mechanical smell of
not-quite-metal meshing unnaturally with Remy's. As if the faint aroma
of death persisted in clinging to the X-Man.


"Well.. When do we eat? I'm starving!" Bobby inquired cheerfully,
striding through the room with all the nonchalance of a cat.


The pause brought on by his statement did not last long and neither
did his nonchalance as Sam lunged for him with murder in his eyes.


Drake's inevitable messy demise was, in Logan's opinion, prevented
solely by Hank's declaration of breakfast being ready. Still, it was
probably wise that Bobby decided to sit himself on the far end of the
table. The rest of the X-Men joined them in the kitchen quickly enough
after that, those not brought down by the aroma of pancakes, corralled
by Jean. Logan relaxed, enjoying the meal and the friendly clamor.
Usually he preferred to get the breakfast quickly over with but there
was something about today... 'Maybe I'm feeling my mortality', he
thought with a chuckle. He caught Storm laughing silently as Bobby and
Da Costa loudly made bets on who was going to demolish their pancake
first, Ellie or Mike, Alex's and Rogue's kid.


"Ha! I win. Pay up, Da Costa."


"What?! What are you talking about? What about the syrup? She didn't
finish the syrup. You lose, Amerrrican! Take it like a man."


"Why... You, sir, are a cheat! A cheat and a scoundrel!"


"You dare? Dawns at pistol!"


"Pistols at dawn, you moron."


"That's what I said. This is a matter of honor now."


Bobby waved his fork airily, 'accidentally' dropping a piece of
pancake down Roberto's shirt, "My seconds shall call your seconds.
We'll do lunch."


"You two bozos aren't turning the Danger Room in the arena for your
demented games again." Amelia Voght threw Roberto a warning look on
her way to the stove. "Not a word, Da Costa. Not a single word."


Roberto shut up.


For a short while anyway. As Drake baited him back into the argument
again, Logan made his way closer to Voght just in time to hear her
whispered answer to Summers's question.


"No, of course he isn't fine, Scott! It's his third stroke, for god's sake!"


The frustration was clearly not directed at Cyke, Logan thought. The
Professor continued in his steadfast refusal to start the
NV-treatments and Amelia's helpless anger was starting to show. It
wasn't easy for any of them to see the Professor's own telepathy
killing him by inches, but hardest on her in many ways. He caught
Scott's eyes and the latter shook his head as Voght leaned into his
chest, her own shoulders shaking.


Nodding, Logan turned away. Perhaps this was what Amelia needed. He
frowned suddenly, "Where's Bish?"


"He's running the security check. Again."


***


Bishop scowled at the computer screen, tapping the keys in a rapid
succession. "Damn it."


"Problem?"


Bishop sighed pushed the keyboard away. "You could say that. What do
you want, LeBeau?"


Gambit raised his eyebrows, "Well, I _was_ going to give you these
pancakes and a cup of coffee which I thoughtfully saved from the horde
downstairs, but if that's the way you're going to be..."


"Coffee?"


"Yes."


Bishop's eyes narrowed and Remy shook his head resignedly, "I accept
your apology, homme. Here." Sliding the tray to Bishop, he leaned
forward to look at the screen, "What's bothering you? You've been
disappearing here for the last week."


"Run the Danger Room security protocol," Bishop replied somewhat
testily and bit into his pancake.


Shrugging Remy shouldered him unceremoniously from the chair and typed
in the password. Several minutes later Bishop snorted in satisfaction
as Gambit was frowning and chewing on the pen. "Something isn't right here...."


"Grr."


"Where are you, Grimjack? Cut that out and tell me - did you figure
out what's wrong yet?"


"No. Well, not exactly... I got an idea - here, look at this... I've been thinking about asking Kitty or Forge to come down and take a look."


"Nonsense. We are a couple of very smart... well one of us is a very
smart man. We'll get this in no time. Ok let's see... Uh-hah… This is
the problem right here, see. This file is way too big…"


Bishop was loath to admit it, but the truth was that Gambit _was_ much
more proficient with Shi'ar programming language  and with his
help the work moved much faster. It was only twenty minutes later that
Remy exclaimed excitedly.


"What?"


"Got it. See… Merde, this is well done. It's a some sort of
multi-sequenced program piggybacking on a security check program. Very
well written too..."


"And we didn't notice it because..."


"Nobody runs a security check on a security check."


Bishop forced his way to the machine, "What is it doing?"


Remy frowned and tapped his lip with the remnants of a pen,
thoughtfully scanning the data streaming across the monitor, "Well
it's accelerating..." He paused suddenly, his eyes widening, "No. It's
not accelerating, it's -"


"Counting down."


Bishop wheeled around, his fists glowing with energy.


Barbara smiled gently, her normally reserved face shining. Carefully,
lovingly, she set down the two small, lifeless bodies. "It's better
this way. They did not suffe..."


She did not finish. She did not have time as the locks of blond hair
fell away revealing the familiar brown eyes. Ellie's eyes. Still open
as if she was just pausing... her arm carelessly thrown over Mike's shoulders.


With inarticulate roar of rage and pain Bishop fired.


The sound of the weapon's discharge and whatever explanation Barbara
tried to whisper to Remy, as half her chest disappeared., was drowned out by the larger explosion that rocked the Westchester countryside.


***


Time. Finally it's time. It doesn't feel real. I've taken this walk a
thousand times and every time I dreamt of this day. And it's here. Finally.


The rain is letting up. Almost over in fact, just the slow ugly drizzle now.


On the day they killed you, it was sunny. Ten years. A decade. An eternity.


Out of the corner of my eyes I see them. Silent shadows separating
themselves from the darkness and falling in step behind me. Black and
quiet, wordlessly sure of their place. Like a wolf pack lining up for
a final stretch of a long hunt. Like... hah.. like Crows indeed. I
still remember the day vividly. The last time all of us were
together. All the Acolytes. It was beautiful, Old Man. Beautiful. All
of us decked out in black, teleporting to our seats in Parliament on
the day they passed the Markie Bill. I thought HE would explode when
Cortez smiled at him and said we were in mourning for the freedom of
Genosha. Yeah. That was the last time.


Cortez is dead now. For sure this time. Exodus too. Had to put them
down myself. They wanted to move too soon, would have buried us all. I wish they'd lived to see this day. Or rather night.... It's been a
long time, but now it's over. The sun is setting over the remnants of the day, the past is over.


I still can't believe it worked, you know. I knew it should have, but never really thought it would. We got them. Got 'em all. Only one team
hasn't checked in yet. That worries me a bit, I had some doubts about
that one from the beginning. I know, I know -  a bit late in the game
to start being squeamish, eh? So what that none of them were there?
Generation X. The West Coast X-Men. The X-Men. It's all the same. They
took our future from us and now it's our turn. Nits make lice, have to
break eggs... and I will deal with a few more ghosts haunting my nights.


Here we are. At the very gates of the Tower. And we're in. Just like
that. What fool HE is, after all. He demobilized 3/4 of the army, the
rest were ours by the end of HIS first term. And he never suspected.


His Service proved to be difficult, but in the end... the bloody
stains on Katu's hands speak for themselves.


Soon. I can taste the moment coming. The corridor seems to stretch out
forever and I can feel my mind start wandering again as the tension
behind me starts to build into almost palpable, pulsating mass. They
all waited for this. Almost mutinied when I forbade any of them to
head the strikes. To Hell with it. I learned my lessons. Ah... This is
the room. You remember? This is where you pinned the sigil on me and
said I was to be the one carry the challenge to the flatscans. I was
to personify the New Genosha to the world. Damn, I was proud. And
scared. But then I was still young. Still a warrior.


No. Not any more. When they drugged me and electrocuted me under
Pentagon - I was still a soldier then. My honor would see me through.
When the mind-witch came and broke my mind and bent my will - I was
still a warrior. Screaming and rending deep inside, caged in my own
head. But my oath would see me through. In the middle of Magda Square,
when Logan killed you and I stood by, ready to protect him - that's
when I changed. Not a warrior any more. Not a soldier. A politico, a
terrorist, a subversive, a revolutionary - whatever was necessary to
do the job. No luxuries of honor. All for today.


Today we reap the fruits. I'd give it all to be the one to pull the trigger on the Nest. To be there when that traitor-bitch Voght died screaming. To squeeze my hands around the neck of Grey and show her... show her... I would give it all for that - once.


I guess I was wrong. Not everything has changed. Duty still comes
first. Above all.


Except revenge.


Senyaka is the first through the doors. The rest of us step through the
splintering remnants and into the bedroom. He's awake and is half
erect, the opened book laying close by. The wife starts to scream but
stifles it when he squeezes her hand. He knows. I can see the
understanding flood his eyes, their flicker as he considers the only
option that might still save him.


I waited for this. So long. It's such a small gesture and yet he
registers the movement almost immediately, his brain taking in the
small doll and its implications almost immediately. He raises his eyes
and looks at me. "Is she alive?"


She gasps, finally realizing what the toy means, but I ignore her,
focusing on him, tuning out Kleinstocks' short cold laughter, the
movement of others. I debate it for a moment as I look into those
strangely calm and resigned eyes. "Yes."


He nods shortly and subtly his posture changes, his back a little
straighter, his eyes a little harder. He's ready.


Am I?


What am I doing here? What? As we wait, the GRA loyalists are taking
up the key positions. The Coup is a success. By morning all of the
island will be in our hands. By tomorrow the units 'loaned' as
Peacekeepers for the Madagascar intervention will arrive. There is
nothing substantial to connect us to the Neophyte strikes. Nothing to
warrant an intervention by NATO or the UN or the Eastern Alliance. We won. We've already won.


So what am I doing here? He's not a bad man. He was a bad politician.
He never saw us coming. He was a collaborator. He was a figurehead and
a puppet and a symbol for all I hate.


He did his best. He tried to build a coalition government. He tried to
stop our slide into a third World backwater.


Why do I stand here holding a gun and his life in my hands?


Why does he deserve death?


I ignore the uncertain murmur starting behind me, my eyes still glued
to his. They squint suddenly and waver and for a split second I see
the same question enter them as he looks at me.


And then suddenly I know the answer.


"You were his son."



***********


Epilogue


12 years later...


God it hurts... Damn. And my own fault too. Lousy security. Sliding into predictable patterns... I really thought after Madripoor no one would dare. Well - I'm sure Katu will make them pay for this.


I'm screwed though... God, it hurts.



Jubilation Lee leaned over Paige Guthrie's shoulder and looked
dispassionately into the eyes of the woman she had hunted for the last
decade. A slender string of multicolored flame ran down her arm and
started licking the jacket of the Butcher of Boston.


"Time to die, Cargill. The X-Men live."


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