Rogue stacked the folders on her desk as she prepared that last details for the Pop Culture class she was co-teaching, and traced her fingertips over the desk with a deep sense of satisfaction. She’s studied the ‘60's in depth and particularly enjoyed the late-decade revolution in politics, lifestyle, music and arts. She recalled Logan’s request to join her class in case something would spark his memory. Checking the clock, she noted there was still a half-hour before students would start gathering, so she headed to the electronics lab again.
Mike and Logan were still working over the bug-sweeper, both holding wires and other unidentifiable components in place as Mike soldered and simultaneously learned some new swear words from his now-apparent mentor. The two feral males were getting along famously. Rogue regarded the two heads of wild, spiky hair: Mike’s stony-gray and Logan’s near-black, as they huddled over their project.
“You two coming up for air any time soon?”
One of them said something that sounded like ‘nuh-huh.’
“Logan, that class you wanted starts in about twenty minutes.”
That brought one head up, “Class?”
“Pop Culture? You requested to audit that one.”
“Oh, shit. Yeah. Gonna have to take a pass on the first one - this takes priority.”
“I figured as much, but I just wanted to remind you.”
He grinned at her, “Thanks, babe. I’ll see ya after class, sometime later tonight. Gotta make a parts run.” One hand tapped the sheet of paper they’d been scribbling on before they both refocused on the innards of the sweeping device. Rogue just grinned and slipped out the door.
“How old are you, kid?” Logan cast a sidelong glance at Mike.
“Sixteen,” Mike answered as he unplugged the soldering gun.
“That’s old enough. Let’s hit it.”
Within five minutes they were in Logan’s truck and rolling toward town. Ten minutes after leaving the electronics store, they were walking in the front door of O’Houley’s.
“Uh, Logan? Don’t I have to be twenty-one to be in here?” Mike goggled at the little dark neighborhood bar.
“Nah. You just gotta be twenty-one to drink alcohol in here. You like root beer?”
“Shit, yeah.”
The bartender slid two bottles in front of them, one root beer and one Molson. Both ferals drank deeply and sighed with satisfaction.
“So why aren’t the people in here freaking out at me?”
Logan looked Mike directly in his black-orb eyes, “This place is mutant-friendly, kid. Nobody makes a scene in here, or they get tossed out on their ear. If they got ears, that is.”
Mike sniggered, “I’ve never seen a mutant without ears. Have you?”
“Nah, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. You ever been in a bar before?”
“Nope. Hey, look! They’ve got a dart board.”
“Go for it.”
Logan was on his second beer when Mike called his name.
“Look here,” Mike was pointing toward some pictures from a party held there months ago. “Is that you?”
Logan peered at some snapshots thumb-tacked along a cork board. His distinctive hair showed in silhouette against the glow of a neon sign where he’d sat at the bar one night. A group of people held a party at the tables behind him. “Yeah. I remember that night. It was too noisy for me, and I split after a while. Bunch of amateur drunks trying too hard to have fun.”
“Isn’t that Miss Hanson?” Mike noted Logan’s eyebrows quirk up as he peered closer at one of the snapshots. A blonde-haired young woman was serving drinks from a tray.
“Sure looks like her. Huh...” Returning to the bar, Logan talked briefly with the bartender while Mike shot pool.
“Her name was Cheryl or Shelly or Sherry or something like that,” the bartender searched his memory. “Nothin’ much about her that stuck in my mind except that she was a pretty young thing, but didn’t hit it off much with the customers. Long on looks, short on personality, a little too snooty. She worked here a few weeks, maybe two months at most, then quit.”
“Does the name Shelly Hanson ring a bell?”
“Yep, that’s it. No, wait - I think it was Hanley. Lemme check,” pulling a ledger from a drawer in the back bar, he thumbed across a few pages. “Yep, Shelly Hanley. You know her?”
“Looks familiar, but the name’s different. Thanks, bub,” Logan threw some money on the bar and motioned for Mike.
They were halfway to the truck when Mike asked, “Was it her?”
“Yeah. She was working here under a different name, but it’s her. Weird.”
“Sure is weird. Will you teach me to drive?”
“Sure, kid.”
*
Two hours later, the bug-sweeper was working and both Mike and Logan were taking turns checking every room of the mansion. Later, Logan planned to take the sweeper to the Underground levels where Mike wasn’t allowed to go. So far, everything was clear.
“Thanks, kid - you’ve done a hell of a good job.”
“Cool, and you’re welcome. I gotta get to my last class now or Miss Munroe will skin me alive.”
“Nah, she knows you were on the job with me. Later, kid.”
“Later, Logan.”
As soon as Mike was out of sight, Logan grabbed the sweeper and covered the entire Underground with nothing out of place. He found Storm in her office.
“The whole place is clean. Mike and I covered it shingles to sump pump, and there are no listening devices here.”
“That complicates things. So, we still don’t know where the leak is,” Storm tapped a pen against the desk top in thought.
“I may have found the leak, but you won’t like it.”
“Where?”
“That new teacher you hired, Shelly. She was working in my watering hole a few months ago under an assumed name. I didn’t know her then. She could have been watching me for a while.”
“But that would mean one of our graduates had joined the Brotherhood.”
“And one of the Brotherhood wants to join the X-Men. So what else is new?” Logan snapped at Storm as she noted him rubbing his fingers over his scarred knuckles.
“Does it still hurt?”
“Yeah. I got stuff to do,” he lurched from the chair and stomped out.
Storm sighed and caressed her fingers over her forehead. She would have to do some snooping into Shelly’s whereabouts between graduation and her return to the mansion as a teacher. Recalling Shelly’s mutation, she became even more suspicious. The audio-cellular hearing made her a perfect in-house spy, but they needed more proof.
Grabbing her phone, she called Jubilee’s cell. They needed to talk, and off of the mansion’s grounds. When Jubilee answered, Storm brightened her voice.
“Let’s go grab a cup of coffee up the road. I am in sore need of some caffeine.”
“Uh, sure - meet you in the garage in five?”
“Make it fifteen, and it’s a date.”
Storm ran upstairs and chatted with Mystique for a few moments, making sure the woman was still secured in the quiet, remote room, and doing well. With promises to assure her more freedom by nightfall, she whisked away to meet Jubilee and get the background search rolling. If anyone could garner information on another person, it was Jubilation Lee. She could talk the legs off an auctioneer and finagle Kitty into doing a profile on the recent activities of Shelly Hanson. The anonymity of a coffee shop would give them the privacy that they might be lacking at the mansion.
*
Evening closed in and Logan sat in the cafeteria, a cup of coffee and a plate of untouched food in front of him. Nothing smelled or tasted good, and he blamed the loss of his mutations. Shoving the food aside, he downed the coffee with a grimace and left the table. Rogue approached with a big smile on her face, breaking his concentration away from his moody funk. But before she could speak to him, Bobby and Storm raced past toward the entrance to the Underground, and Rogue and Logan fell in step behind them.
“What’s going on?” Logan pinned Storm with his gaze as they descended to the level of the ‘Bird’s hangar.
“There was a call. One of the professor’s contacts has located a lab holding mutants. They’re in the process of relocating several of them to a new building, so it’s a perfect time to interfere with their plans.”
“I’ll suit up.”
“No, you won’t. You’re still on leave.”
“You need me to take down a lab!”
“No! Don’t argue with me, Logan. You’ll go back on the team when you’ve been released and re-trained, and not until then.”
Storm and Bobby were jerking on their leathers as Jubilee, Kitty and Piotr ran into the room and followed suit. Rogue stood in confusion for a few moments, then asked, “Should I suit up?”
“NO!” Storm and Logan both yelled the word at her in perfect unison, before whirling to glare at each other again. Storm continued hurriedly, “This is a rough mission, and we don’t have room for learning to compensate for the changes in the team right now. We’ll work it out, but not on this run.” She ripped the zipper closed and jammed her hands into her gloves before jerking her head toward the ‘Bird as the remaining team members ran for the hatch.
Logan turned and stormed toward the entrance, swearing a blue streak and slamming every object in his path against the nearest wall. Rogue stood rooted, never as torn in her life as she was at that moment; to serve the team in any way possible, or to go after Logan, or to make herself disappear until she was needed or wanted. Bobby approached her and grabbed her in a strong hug before mounting the hatch to the ‘Bird.
“Don’t worry - we’ll be back in one piece.”
“Better not make yourself out to be a liar,” she whispered at him with a shaky smile and let him kiss her on the cheek. She didn’t see Logan turn right then and note from an oblique angle the kiss before Bobby turned and boarded the jet. When she did turn and run from the hangar as the jet roared to life, lifting through the opening to the aboveground, Logan was gone.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Mike and Logan become buddies, Shelly starts looking suspicious, and the ‘Bird takes to the air, leaving two behind.