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Boy's Night Out
by
Gax



The Don't-Sue-Me-Bit: All of it belongs to Marvel, with the exception of Cody, who roots around my mind looking for cigarettes and chili cheese dogs, and her friends at the Cat's Meow, who are also mine. The song lyrics are lovingly pilfered from The Highwaymen, "What It Is" copyright them, circa 1993. (The album is called The Road Goes on Forever, and you should get it, because it's really good.)

Background: Outside of any continuity. I just wanted to use Cyclops, Jean, Storm, Prof. X, Storm, Nightcrawler, and of course, Wolverine.

Note: This is the first piece of fanfic I've ever shared with the 'net. Feedback and criticism is begged for, flames will be blithely disregarded. Please refrain from throwing rotten fruit.




Another Friday night at Professor Xavier's School for the Gifted. Everything anyone could possibly want at their fingertips. Pool. Sauna. Holographic training room. The finest liquor cabinet in the Western Hemisphere.

The X-Men were positively itching with boredom.

Four of them sat on folding chairs around a card table in the garage, which was rapidly filling with cigar smoke and the smell of evaporating bourbon (Logan had refused to play poker unless they all chomped on stogies and drank decent booze.). It had been a fairly uneventful night. No one was substantially ahead. Piotr Rasputin looked at the cards in his massive hands. He was the only one who seemed to be losing, and by the look of his current hand, his luck was not changing. Scott Summers had worn his least reflective dark glasses, and kept his cards close to his chest. Kurt Wagner perched on his chair like a bird, occasionally tapping ash from his cigar with the spade tip of his blue, prehensile tale. No one had tried any breathtaking bluffs, or shown any truly amazing hands. The loudest sound at the table was the occasional sigh, or a mumbled "Fold."

Logan, his mutton chops bristling, threw down his cards in disgust. "My god, even poker's gotten boring!"

"Well," Scott's voice dripped with exasperation. "What do you suggest we do?"

"We could play chess." Piotr suggested, liking the idea of a game he could win.

Kurt threw in his hand and yawned, the tip of his tail politely covering his mouth as he cracked his knuckles. "Perhaps we could all see a movie?"

"You are the biggest bunch of girls I've ever seen." Logan marveled. A devious spark stole into his eyes. "Tell you what. We play one more hand and the winner picks where we go." He cocked an eyebrow. "And no backing out. We all have to go, no matter where it is."

His friends glanced at each other. Logan definitely had something up his sleeve, and his idea of fun usually involved something violent and/or borderline illegal. Then again, anything was better than this. They were in.

The spark had jumped from Logan's eyes, spreading in a brushfire grin across his mouth. "Okay gentlemen, short and sweet. Twenty-One." He laid out the cards with the aplomb of a Vegas dealer. Piotr hit and busted. Kurt stayed at nineteen. Scott hit and managed twenty. Logan stayed, turning his cards slowly. Queen of Hearts, Ace of Spades. "Dealer has Twenty One." His toothsome smile would have made the devil himself break out in goosebumps.

* * * *


With Logan at the wheel (a designated driver whose body metabolized alcoholaand any other poisonalike it was water), the four of them sped south. Kurt activated his image inducer, shimmering from a handsome, blue-skinned, yellow-eyed imp to a handsome, blond Teutonic young man. Scott had donned more casual sunglasses to keep his eyebeams in check. Piotr looked like a Russian James Dean in blue jeans and a white tee-shirt, his dark hair slicked neatly back. Logan hadn't bothered to change, wearing his standard issue jeans and plaid flannel shirt.

After crossing the George Washington Bridge, the passengers began to get a little edgy. Kurt shot a nervous glance at Scott. Piotr smiled and fidgeted, looking for all his bulk like a high-school football player going to his first kegger.

Scott leaned forward. "Where are you taking us?"

"It's a surprise." Logan replied around his unlit stogie. "You find out when we get there."

Beneath his holographic projection, Kurt's tail twitched apprehensively.

* * * *


They pulled up to a roadhouse somewhere in north Jersey. Splayed in gaudy pink and red neon across the roof were the words "The Cat's Meow." When the sign blinked, the e and the c blanked out, so that, at intervals it read "Th at's Meow." A heavy bass beat vibrated the car.

"Okay gentlemen." Here we are." Logan pocketed the car keys and headed for the front door, leaving them to follow.

The doorman looked like the kind of guy who cracked skulls in his spare time. He stood almost as tall as Piotr, was at least as wide as Logan, and had a spider web tattooed over most of his shaved head. "Twenty bucks apiece, fellas."

Smiling widely around the stogie clenched in his teeth, Logan handed him a c-note. "Keep the change."

The doorman nearly cracked a smile as he moved the rope to let them pass. "Enjoy the show."

"Show?" Scott got the sense that they weren't here for a summer stock production of Cats.

The door opened on bright lights, billowing smoke, and the smell of booze and sweat. Logan's sensitive nose twitched. Not all that sweat was male. The room was dim around the edges, most of the light coming from an upraised runway in the middle. Their eyes adjusted just in time to catch a small, but exceptionally well-endowed m red haired woman rip off her brassiere, leaving her god-given charms covered in nothing more than a g-string, pasties, and six-inch black stiletto heels.

"Gott in Himmel!" Kurt's hands shot up to cover his eyes.

Piotr grinned goofily. Scott's jaw dropped.

"No way are we staying." Scott said flatly. Piotr's grin evaporated.

Logan pushed through the crowd to the bar, leaving his friends to come after him. Kurt refused to remove his hands from his eyes and had to dragged by the other two. By the time they caught up to him, he'd downed a shot of whiskey and was working on a bottle of Moosehead. Smiling broadly, he shouted over the noise, "So, what do ya think?"

"You have got to be kidding." Scott's glare was evident even through his dark, mirrored glasses. "This is disgusting. We are not staying here."

Piotr remained silent, his head bobbing in time with the bosom of the fire-haired dancer. Kurt mumbled something through his fingers.

Even with his heightened hearing Logan found it difficult to make out. "What?"

"I said it's exploitive to women!" Kurt wailed.

Logan waived him away. "Oh, for chrissake drop the Andrea Dworkin rap, will ya, elf? These girls make money hand over fist. They got a choice."

The number ended to a storm of catcalls, clapping, and hoots. Men began to make their way to the bar, freeing up prime seats by the stage. "C'mon. Let's get a table."

"We are not staying." Said Scott, as though it was the final word on the subject.

Without turning around, Logan jingled the keys in his hand. "Yeah, you are. I'm your ride home, remember?"

"Is it safe to look yet?" Kurt piped.

Piotr chuckled. "Yes, it's safe. No naked women."

Logan pulled up a chair and propped his feet on the edge of the stage. Scott walking up, locked, loaded, and ready to hassle, was met with Logan's hand. "Save it. I won. You all threw in." He punctuated it with a puff of blue-gray cigar smoke before continuing. "I'll even go easy on ya. We'll only stay for one number. But I can't remember the time I saw a woman taker her clothes off, and I'm not leavin' 'til I do."

Piotr looked sheepishly down at Scott. "We did agree..."

"Fine. One number." Scott sat down in a huff.

"That's the spirit." Logan signaled the waitress for a round of beers. Piotr smiled and grabbed a seat.

Kurt eased into his chair as though it was made of white-hot metal instead of wood. "I will stay, but I won't watch."

"We'll see." said Logan. "Just make sure ya got singles."

The houselights dimmed. The stagelights came up slowly. Whiskey-soaked country guitar thumped out of the speakers, begging for a fight. An oily voice oozed out of the sound system. "Gentlemen, direct from her sizzling Southwest tour...Coyote Blue!"

The dancer strode out onto the walkway with a swagger that was equal parts John Wayne and Marilyn Monroe. She was in full cowboy get-up, her face hidden in the shadow of the brim of a black Stetson. Even over the blare of the music, the sound of her palms slapping against her leather chaps carried like the crack of a bullwhip in an airplane hangar. Her pelvis began to rotate as though was directly connected to the axis of the earth.

A rusty male voice started singing.

I been obnoxious

I been unconscious

I been all kinda things that are hard to spell


She sauntered over to Piotr, resting a rattlesnake boot on his sturdy shoulder as she undid her chaps, leaving him slack-jawed and gawking as they slid to the stage like an abandoned skin. With a kick both acrobatic and revealing, she stepped over him to Scott, shimmering before his shielded eyes like a heat mirage--but the brim of her hat pointed toward Logan.

I been unruly

Speakin' truly


Then inclining her head back toward Scott, she fingered the front of her exceptionally tight gingham shirt.

I been so cool I couldn't hardly even stand myself


Arching her back, she tore the shirt open, sending a spray of buttons flying into the crowd. Men ducked, clapped, and shouted themselves hoarse.

I been a monster

Without a sponsor

I been Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde


With a flick of her wrist, her top landed on Logan's face at the same time she kicked his feet off the edge of the stage. His nose caught an overpowering scent, a cross between honeysuckle in bloom and coyotes in heat, and his body reacted to it in ways shunned by polite society. Pulling it off, he shook his head to clear it, looking over to see Scott and Piotr, whistling and waving money in the air. Kurt just stared at her like a deer caught in highbeams.

I been a goner

I been a loner

And when my mixture was right

Well, I'm a nice buncha guys


This cowgirl wiggled in ways that Scott was sure were illegal in at least thirty-eight states. His jeans had gotten tighter, and he was having trouble getting to his wallet. Piotr was practically clambering onto the stage to stick a twenty dollar bill into her g-string, blessing America with all his atheist heart.

The lady worked the room like a pro, shimmying into tips until it looked like her ass had sprouted green tailfeathers. Stripped down to her snakeskin boots, matching bra, and g-string, she did a slow backward handspring and landed on her feet in front of Kurt, reaching down to trace her index finger slowly down his quivering chest.

I been mysterious

I been delirious

I been so weird it woulda killed a normal man


Rising slowly to her feet, she played her fingers over every lithe curve of her figure, pausing at the clasp of her bra, letting the room hold its breath. With Kurt's poor mesmerized eyes still glued to her, she sprung the catch and ripped it open. The sight of her exposed breasts knocked him backward in his chair. His buddies were too distracted to help him up. She let the strap trail down her arm, blowing him a kiss before she dropped it on his prone body.

She landed in a predatory crouch in front of Logan. There were muscles rippling on her abdomen that, even in the breadth of his considerable experience, he had never imagined existed on a woman. Perspiration was just beginning to bead on her tawny skin, and there was a something about the way she held herself that said plainly "I can take you." The smell of her washed over him again and his nostrils flared trying to take it in.

I been lost at sea

I been lost in space

And when I fall in love I fall all over the place


He didn't doubt it for a second. The woman had him damn near growling. As he worked a fifty-dollar bill into her overcrowded g-string, she laid her hand over his, her fingers pausing to stroke the spaces between his knuckles. Then, she was back on her feet again, shaking it for crowd, leaving him dazed in her wake.

As song began to wind down, she walked slowly to the center of the stage, her hips swaying like a docked trawler caught in a groundswell. She pulled off the Stetson, letting dark hair fall in torrent of molten chocolate down her back. They almost caught a glimpse of her face as she flung her hat into the crowd. It landed squarely on Logan's head.

The stagelights went down to thundering applause, piercing whistles, and raw-throated yelling. When the houselights came up, three of them stood staring at an empty stage.

"Now that," said Logan. "Was a true artiste."

"Mein kopf." Kurt moaned from the floor. Piotr and Logan hefted him to an upright position. He mopped his brow with the back of his hand, unaware that a snakeskin brassiere was dangling from his fingers.

"Quite a hanky you got there, elf." Logan grinned. "All that padding. Looks absorbent."

"Was?" Kurt's eyes widened as he realized what he was holding. Cheeks blazing purple with embarassment, he stuffed it hastily into his pocket.

Scott, Piotr, and Logan burst out laughing.

* * * * *


"Coyote Blue" ducked backstage, goosebumps breaking across her skin as she stepped into the air-conditioned dressing area. In the well-lit room, she leaned more toward handsome than pretty. Her dark amber eyes had a lupine curve, her lips were just short of full, and her nose was slightly crooked.

Cookie Champagne (also known as Joann Benoit) tossed her a towel. "You're gonna need a bigger g-string for all that cash you keep rakin' in." Cookie smirked, tossing red curls over her shoulder. She was a pretty little thing with a pair of c-cups that dismissed gravity like it was an impertinent butler. "I don't know how you do it, Cody."

"It sure ain't her face." Quipped Luce Morales (nee Maria Theresa Rodriguez), a sultry Latin number filing her nails on the couch. All olive skin and brown eyes, with the hips of an Aztec love goddess, she had been the closest thing to a star attraction this dump had until this puta came along.

Cody toweled off, peeling crumpled, sweat-soaked money from her derriere before grabbing her bathrobe. "As always, you're half right. But they don't come here to see my face, anyway. I just show them what they want," There was a wicked little glint in her eyes. "Then I take it away. What men want most is what they can't have." She paused at the shower door. "That's your trouble, Luce. You're just too giving."

"Half-breed, redskin bitch." Luce muttered. "And she stinks, too. Smells like a pack of dogs."

* * * * *


Dressed in a loose, worn denim shirt and 501's that had seen better days, Cody threw her jacket over her shoulder and headed for the bar. Just a quick drink, then back to her crappy motel room for some shut-eye.

Frank, the bartender/owner, was a pudgy little red-faced man with more hair peeking through the vee-neck of his shirt than he had on his head. With a wink and a smile, he set her up with a shot of tequilaathe good stuff. "Nice work tonight, sweets. I don't go in for that cowboy music myself, but you mosta these guys not knowin' whether to wind their ass or scratch their watch. They're drinkin' like there's no tomorrow." She smiled and he headed back down to the other end of the bar, doing his best to keep the troops watered.

She felt a voice before she heard it, borne on a warm gust of cheap bourbon. "Quite a little number you did up there, darlin'. You do any...free-lancing?"

Cody sighed. Things had been going too well. A hot little rush streaked through her veins, told her things were about to go sour. Coyote was tapping her on the shoulder, and when the call comes, you go. "Look, asshole, I don't do lapdances and I don't do blowjobs. If you want to pay someone to spread her legs, why don't you go home to your wife?" Her preternatural nose wrinkled at the smell of him: A cheap suit, a nowhere job, and the reek of suburban guilt.

"This guy givin' you a hard time?" Another voice. Rough as a gravel road, with a Canadian cadence. Great. Some jackass wants to play white knight. She looked over to see the guy who'd had his feet on the stage. He was on the short side, but built like a brick shithouse, with a set of mutton chops that were way out of control. His hair looked like it had been styled with motor oil and a wind tunnel. "Back off Dudley Do-Right. I can look out for myself."

Kurt heard a buzzing sound and felt a tremor at his side. The image inducer was making strange sounds and blinking erratically. "Scott! We have to leave."

"What?" His friend asked absently.

"The inducer. I must have fallen on it. I think it's shorting out."

Piotr looked around. "Where is Logan?"

* * * *


Logan's face was caught somewhere between a frown and a scowl. Her irritation had changed her scent. It has gotten sharper, and not a little vicious. It made his hackles rise and he was suddenly itching for a fight. "Look," he growled, taking the stogie out of his mouth. "I was just tryin' to help."

Cody got off her barstool, bumping into her wannabe john and standing an inch or two taller than her would-be rescuer. Her blood was up, and better judgment had ducked out of the room like a rookie thief leaving the scene of the crime. Somewhere, she knew, Coyote was rubbing his paws together and smiling. "I don't need you your help."

"Yeah, shorty, she doesn't need your help." The man behind her made to slip his arms around her waist.

Her elbow came back, hard and fast, hitting him square in the nose. Logan heard a familiar crack, then the guy was gushing red all over his tie. The man stumbled backwards, colliding with a nearby fratboy and causing the kid to spill beer all over one of his buddies. Shoving commenced.

Scott tapped Logan on the shoulder and nearly got clocked himself. "We gotta go." He leaned closer and whispered. "Kurt's inducer is giving out."

Cody looked him over and sneered. "Some gentleman you are, Boy Scout. Ready to skip out before helping a woman in trouble."

"What? Are you in trouble?"

Logan stomped out his cigar. "You just said you didn't need any help!"

"Yeah, but for all he knows, I do." She thumbed at Scott. "And he's ready to bail instead of lending a hand."

Scott shook his head, thoroughly baffled. "Look, just give me the keys and meet us in the parking lot when you're done sorting this out."

He fished them out of his pocket and handed them over. He wasn't through with this woman yet. Something about her wasn't right, and he wasn't leaving until he found out what it was.

A fight had broken out. Someone careened into Kurt, sending both of them crashing into the bar. Piotr went over, picked a fratboy up by his belt, and hefted him off of his comrade, only to get punched in the stomach by the guy's buddy for his trouble. It didn't hurt, but it did make him angry. With an arm the size of a tree trunk, Piotr swept him aside like a ragdoll.

Scott ran to his side. He didn't like the way this was going. If this crowd caught on that they were mutants, this was going to get very ugly very fast.

Logan was still arguing with the stripper. "What is you problem, sister? A guy just can't win with youa"

Cody arched one dark eyebrow. "I'm not your sister. And if you hadn't come over here, trying to prove your manhood---"

"Hey, I don't need to prove anythinga" Logan stopped mid-sentence to catch a fist coming toward his head. A hard twist flung his assailant to the ground, and he continued. "And you threw the first punch."

"I was defending myself." A big, burly son of a bitch was coming up fast behind her, looking like his intentions were something less honorable than hitting her over the head and dragging her off to a cave. Before Logan could warn her, a meaty hand shot out to grab the back of her neck. She sidestepped the guy, let him sail on past her, and gave him a swift kick in the ass that sent him to the floorboards on his chin. All in less time than it took to blink.

Logan looked her up and down. "You ain't exactly normal, are you?"

She folded her arms. "Oh, and you are?"

Both of them ducked just in time to avoid getting hit by a flying barstool. Cody surveyed the room. It was degenerating into a complete free-for-all, with chairs, punches, and men being thrown in all directions. Chaos was spreading like wildfire, and she couldn't help but giggle.

"Logan!"

He spun around to see three fraternity brothers hanging off of Piotr. Scott was rolling on the floorboards with a redneck who outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds. Kurt was clinging like a monkey to the back of a trucker, one hand over the man's eyes and the other trying to wrench the broken bottle out of his large, hairy fist.

Cody sped forward. Her knee went up hard in the trucker's groin, and he dropped the bottle, clutched his privates, and fell forward like a tree trunk. Kurt jumped off his back and landed beside her. "Many thanks, Fraulein." He flashed his most dazzling smile, executed a dapper bow, and kissed her hand. "I am Kurt Wagner."

"Call me Cody." She purred. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, "Love the tail."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "You can see it?"

She was about to reply when someone charged up, caught her in the stomach with his shoulder and lifted her bodily off the ground. Before she knew what was happening, she was being carried upside-down across the bar in a fireman's hold by a very large very sweaty biker, his arm clamped tight across the back of her knees.

This, she thought, is what I get for being distracted by a pretty face.

"Hey, boys!" She heard him call out to his friends. "Look what I got here!"

Logan reached up and peeled a college boy off of his friend's back. The kid was dumb enough to take a swing, clumsy enough to miss, and hit the ground in an unconscious pile after getting clipped in the jaw. Piotr grabbed the other two by the scruff of their necks and smacked them against one another before dropping them unceremoniously to the floor.

Scott had dispatched the redneck and was on his feet. "We need to go. Now."

* * * *


Kurt leapt into the air, executed a flawless and dramatic somersault, and landed in front of her abductor. Stabbing a finger toward the man's carpeted chest, he exclaimed. "You will unhand the woman, sir!"

As a rule, she found men charging to her rescue a big turn-off. In her experience, it was more about their egos than her safety. But this guy was such a charmer, jumping into the fray like Errol Flynn in some black-and-white swashbuckler movie, she couldn't help but crack a smile. She didn't know if she was blushing, or if it was just the blood flooding to her head from hanging upside-down.

The biker slapped her on the rump with one hand and shoved Kurt back with the other. "Who the hell are you, her bodyguard?"

She peered around his considerable love handles to see three of his friends crossing the room towards them. Catching Kurt's eye, she pointed behind him, then held up three fingers. He gave her a quick nod. This was going to be fun.

"I am a gentleman," said Kurt. "Which is more than I can say for you."

When his buddies were at Kurt's back, she gave him a nod. As they reached for him, he ducked down and took the first two out at the legs. She kicked the third one in the head, simultaneously grabbing the waistband of her kidnapper's shorts and yanking them up to the middle of his back. Adding insult to injury, Kurt sprang to his feet and punched him in the face. Cody slid down the biker's chest as he toppled backward, and fell into Kurt's waiting arms.

She looked up at him and grinned. "Not bad."

He set her on her feet and winked. "Not bad yourself."

Before they could further congratulate themselves, one of the bikers had gotten to his feet and tackled Kurt. They tumbled onto the stage in a tangle, and Cody heard a nasty crunch as Kurt hit the ground on his back. He planted his feet in the biker's stomach and pitched him across the room. She jumped onto the runway and offered him a hand up.

"What the hell is that?" Someone shouted.

Everything stopped. All eyes were on Kurt, his blue skin, yellow eyes, and prehensile tail plainly visible as Cody helped him to his feet.

"Mutant! Get him!"

Kurt kissed her hand again. "Many thanks, Fraulein, but I'm afraid I must be going." He leapt over, grabbed Scott, and with a "bamf!" they disappeared in a puff of brimstone.

She blinked. "Neat trick."

Her eyes caught a flash of red at the back of the room. It was Cookie. A bunch of guys were closing in on her like a pack of hyenas on a wounded gazelle. "C'mon, baby, show us what you got." They pushed her into each other, slipping their hands up her dress, pinching and groping and passing her around, laughing as she struggled to get free. She was crying.

Cody snapped. An inhuman sound ripped from her throat, the cry of a mad dog with its hackles up. Then she was a gone, vaulting over the stage, and rushing to her friend. Logan cursed. She might be fast, but they were too pumped up and there were too many of them. There was no way she could take them all, not without some serious hurt. She was so fixed on moving forward that she didn't see the biker coming up behind her, holding a broken chair leg like a club.

He turned to his friend. "Fastball special. Over there."

Smiling broadly, Piotr picked Logan up and threw him across the room. He hit the biker in flying tackle, knocking the wind of out him, and both of them tumbled to the ground.

They never saw it coming.

Cody walked up to the first one she saw, a tall blond in a cheap suit, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and yanked him forcibly back. "You think this is funny, huh?" she growled, then slammed his head into a glass tabletop, spiderweb cracks breaking across the surface. "Not so funny now, is it?"

The guy beside him turned around just in time to get straight-armed in the throat and fall back, clutching his neck and choking for air. His buddies gaped at her, their eyes wide with shock. "C'mon, boys." Her mouth curved into a vicious smile. "Where's your sense of humor?"

Two of them rushed her just as Logan finished with the biker. One of them threw a sloppy punch, and she caught him by the neck, turning him toward his friend so he could take the blow that was meant for her. As the guy watched his buddy crumple, she grabbed the back of his head and shoved him down as she drove her knee into his face.

She looked up. One left. There was fear in his eyes and he had his arm around her friend's throat. "Back off."

Logan took a step forward. The guy tightened his hold, making the girl squeak. Her face was turning dark red. "I said back off!"

A grim smile broke across Cody's face. "I don't think so."

She lunged forward in a blur and Logan heard a loud crack. The next thing he saw, her hand was clasped around the guy's throat. She was pounding his head into the wall, her lips pulled back in a snarl, baring a set of canine teeth that looked longer and sharper than they had a moment before.

The little red-haired woman stumbled forward, and Logan caught her before she fell. "You okay?" She coughed, rubbing her throat, and tried to nod.

The man was using both hands to try to break Cody's grip, but she wasn't showing any signs of letting up. His head hit the wall again. Crack. "C'mon, tough guy." Crack. Logan saw his eyes roll back and his face grow purple. "Show me what you got." Crack. The guy was gasping for air, his body starting to go slack.

Logan could see the human part of her receding, the animal taking over. He knew the felling all-too-well. She wasn't just going to kill this guy; she was going to make a bloody mess of him. And while he himself thought the world was better off without another sleazebag, he didn't want to see her throw away her life over it.

Her friend seemed to realize it, too. "I'm okay." Cookie sputtered. "Cody, I'm okay. Let him go."

Cody let him drop to the floor.

It was about that time Logan heard the sirens.

* * * * *


The Wattagansett jail was a small and dingy place that had never seen much use. Cody, in fact had the dubious honor of being the first woman ever incarcerated there. It gave her a small sense of pride. In the absence of a separate section for female prisoners, she had a cell to herself across from the one containing Logan, Piotr, a trucker, a redneck, two bikers, and three frat brothers of Sigma Alpha Kai. No one had challenged Piotr for the only bunk, leaving everyone but Logan curled up on the floor, trying to sleep it offawhatever it was that had provoked one of the most vicious bar brawls in the history of the state of New Jersey.

Logan considered popping his claws and shearing through the bars, but thought better of it. There was no way to get both himself and Piotr out of there without a major confrontation with the local cops. They'd just have to wait for Chuck to come bail them out. He was pretty sure the Professor wasn't going to be thrilled about having to drive to Jersey at three in the morning to get them out of jail.

Still and all though, it had been a night to remember.

Cody lay on her bunk, wishing she'd been smart enough to hide a cigarette somewhere on her person. She was beginning to jones, and now seemed a good time to send Coyote a smoke signal. Instead, she stared at the ceiling, wondering what He had in mind for her this time. The Old Dog had infused her with more than his usual dose of chaos, but had yet to point her internal compass in any particular direction. No use worrying about it. She knew from experience that he' d reveal himself when and only when he was good and ready. What she was worried about was that these bumpkin cops might run a check on her background, which wouldn't hold up to any kind of scrutiny. The only thing she really had going for her right now was that anyone who'd want to press charges against her was probably still unconscious.

"Who are you?"

She rolled onto her side, resting her cheek on her palm. It was the short guy from the bar. The one whose attitude was three sizes too big for his body. The one with the secret in his hands. "Who wants to know?"

He frowned and smirked at the same time. "Logan."

"That's it? Just 'Logan'?"

"Just Logan." The tone of his voice said plainly that he was not a man to be messed with, which only served to increase her desire to push his buttons.

She got up and walked over to the bars. "Cody Latrans."

"You're a mutant." he said.

"No, I'm not." Her tone was neither adamant, nor fearful; just matter-of-fact. "I'm something else."

"What kinda something else?"

"The kinda something else that thinks it's rude to ask so many personal questions."

"You're callin' me rude?" he snorted. "I'm not the one who started the barfight."

"True, but you weren't exactly a peacemaker, either." Her scent had shifted again with her mood. An olfactory warning signal. He found himself getting edgy for no good reason. "Your blue friend was much more polite. And better-looking."

"You're no Miss America, either, sweetheart. I can see why you wore that hat." He regretted the last part, but it was too late to take it back.

Instead of looking hurt, her lips curled into a feral grin. "Miss America or not, you couldn't pry your eyes off me earlier tonight."

Maybe shearing through the bars wasn't such a bad idea. Right now, he' give damn near anything to be as far away from her as possible. Even over the stench of stale beer, bloody noses, and male sweat, she still made his nose twitch. "What's with that smell, anyway? Do you just turn it on and off? It's like being buried under a pack of wolves in mating season."

"That's rich, coming from a man who smells like a wolverine that's been rolling in motor oil." She shot back.

They were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. The sheriff, looking tired and put-upon, unlocked the door to the men's cell. "Logan, Rasputin, You're free to go."

Logan roused his comrade. "C'mon, buddy. We're sprung." Piotr rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched his monumental arms.

On the way out, Logan cast a glance over his shoulder at Cody. "See ya 'round." He grunted.

She flashed him that feral grin. "Not if I see you first."

The sheriff unlocked the door to her cell. "Latrans, you've got a visitor."

Coyote showing up to bail her out? How out of character. She shrugged and followed.

* * * * *


Cody was escorted to the sheriff's office, told to take a seat, and left alone. She took the opportunity to rifle around his desk, pocketing a pack of gum, a book of matches, and a letter opener, confident that her sensitive ears would alert her to anyone coming. Jimmying open a locked drawer with a paper clip, she also found some Polaroids of the sheriff and a woman she was pretty sure wasn't his wife, doing some very interesting things to each other in a seedy motel room. Those were definitely keepers.

"You must be Ms. Latrans." said a voice behind her.

She steeled herself to run, but made no overt movement other than to look over her shoulder. In the doorway was a man in a wheelchair. He was bald as a cue ball and definitely on the other side of middle age, but the power in him was unmistakable. Putting down the paperweight she'd been considering, she turned to face him. "And you are..?"

He smiled, looking more than a little tired. "Professor Charles Xavier."

Cody sat on the edge of the desk, crossing her legs at the ankles, and doing her best to look nonchalant. Her heart was beating like a war drum. "What can I do for you, Professor?" she asked casually, cleaning her fingernails with the letter opener.

He rolled closer to her, but kept a respectful distance. "My associates tell me you have some unique abilities. I would very much like to study them."

She held up her hand. "Let's back up a little." She didn't like the idea that someone had been keeping tabs on her, or worse, that they'd managed to do it without her knowing. A little digging into her past could result in bad trouble. A chill crept up her back. "Who, exactly are your associates, and what did they tell you?"

"The men you helped during the altercation in the bar tonight." He said. "They said you moved with remarkable speed."

He was using a lot of big words to tell her very little. But underneath the verbal padding, her gut instinct said he was genuine. "I'm quick enough." she replied warily. "But that's not why you're here, is it?"

Xavier smiled. "Not entirely. Each of those men has had extensive physical and mental training. All of them are extremely disciplined. They have far too much self-control to become involved in a drunken brawl." He regarded her thoughtfully. "A brawl for which you were the catalyst.

"And I want to know why."

"Why I started the fight," she asked. "Or why they jumped in?"

The flash of anger in his eyes gave her pause, and she was more relieved than she cared to admit when she heard him chuckle. "You really do enjoy being contrary, don't you?"

He had her. She smiled. "So what's the deal here, Professor. What do you want?"

"As I said, I want to study your abilities, find out what you can do." He said. "Perhaps even help you hone your talents. In exchange, I will get you out of here."

"Why?"

"Why do I wish to study you, or why do I wish to help you?"

No flies on the old man. It was her turn to laugh. "Both."

Xavier regarded her curiously, his hands folded in his lap. "The only way to find that out is to accept my offer."

* * * * *


Cody threw the few things she owned into the cab of her pick-up truck, a 1975 blue and Bondo Ford Eyesore, and checked out of the Shut-Eye Motor Inn. Logan watched her lope across the parking lot, his sensitive ears straining to catch even the faintest sound of her boots on the gravel. There wasn't any. A tremor skittered up his nerves and she shook his head. "Who thought this was a good idea?" he asked irritably.

Scott yawned. "The Professor."

"There are plenty of mutants in the world he could study. I'll bet most of 'em aren't such a pain in the ass." He grumbled.

His teammate managed a chuckle. "You have only yourself to blame. If you hadn't dragged us to that strip club, we never would've met her."

"It wasn't me who started the fight." Said Logan defensively.

"For once."

"Cram it, Summers."

"So, what's the plan?" She was suddenly standing right beside them, firing up a cigarette. Only years of training kept them both from jumping out of their skins. "Somebody got directions for me?

"It'll be much faster if the Professor just gives them to you telepathicallya" Scott started.

Cody blew smoke out her nose. "He can try." She said doubtfully.

Logan rolled his eyes, thinking This woman idles at difficult. At full rev, she must be impossible.

She had just told the world's most powerful telepath that he might not be up to the task of getting into her mind. He couldn't decide whether she was stupid or crazy, but she sure had stones. He didn't like that he admired that.

The passenger window rolled down. "Ms. Latrans, if you're uncomfortable with the idea, I can assure you, reading your thoughts or attempting to control you without your permission fall well outside my ethical boundaries."

"It's not that. I just don't think you'll be able to find your way around in here." She tapped her temple. "I'm not wired the same way as most people. But you're welcome to try."

Xavier smiled tiredly. "I'm sure I can manage."

"Suit yourself." She shrugged and pitched her cigarette. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Xavier asked her to relax, a look of calm concentration falling over his features. She shook the tension out of her shoulders and closed her eyes.

What should have taken little more than a second, didn't. She wasn't fighting itathere was nothing about her scent or the way she held herself that said she was tense or angryabut the Professor was frowning, looking like he was bringing all his focus to bear. A look of confusion crossed his face, then Logan could swear he saw color in the older man's cheeks. Xavier's eyes opened suddenly. He cleared his throat. "Yes...I see now what you meant.

"Logan will ride with you. You can follow our car there."

"What?" Logan protested. "Why me?"

Xavier sighed. "Because Scott is driving my car and Piotr is asleep." He replied irritably.

Scott surpressed a snigger.

The picture of indignance, Logan got into the truck beside Cody, shutting the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

"Easy! This baby's a classic." He watched her pump the choke and play with the pedals trying to get the engine to catch.

"A relic's more like it." He grumbled.

The truck rumbled to life. "Buckle up."

They pulled onto the road behind Xavier's polished sedan. Logan chomped uneasily on his stogie. He had nothing but questions. How come the Professor couldn't get into her mind? Why did just being around her set him off so much? And what the hell was that smell about?

He sniffed her surreptitiously. There was still a warm canine note to her, like a dog curled up beside the fireplace. A little apprehension mixed in as well. Not outright fear, but she was definitely on her guard. And something beneath, almost undetectable, even to him. He sniffed again, turning the scent over in his mind. Sadness.

She lit up another cigarette.

"You never answered my question back there." He said. "What's with the smell?"

Cody reached under the seat and pulled out a state-of-the-art car stereo, slapped it into place on the beaten dashboard, and popped in a CD. Patsy Cline poured from the speakers like warm bourbon. "You ask a lot of questions."

"After what I've seen of you tonight, I think I got a right to some answers."

Her heard her laugh, a low chuckle. "You got all the rights you can defend." She said. "And that ain't one of 'em. Besides, why should I share my secrets with a total stranger? You're not exactly forthcoming with the personal information yourself."

Her talent for twisting things around irked him no end. It irked him even more that she wasn't wrong.

"So," she continued, taking a last drag off her smoke before pitching the butt out the window. "How about, for every question you ask me, I get to ask one of you, and no bullshit. Both of us have to answer truthfully."

"Right. How do I know you won't lie?"

"Because I give you my word." She said gravely.

He considered a moment. "How do I know your word is worth anything?"

"You've never known me to break it, have you?"

"I've known you for three hours."

"Still, that's the deal. Take it or leave it."

Logan sighed. "Okay. Deal. So what's with the smell?"

"Well, let me explain it this way. You know how dogs can smell fear, or tomcats can tell when a female's in heat?"

"Yeah." He grunted. "Pheromones. Chemical signals in the air."

"That's pretty much it. Most people don't even register it as a smell." She glanced over at him. "You must have quite the schnoz."

He ignored the last crack. "Do you turn it on and off, or is it just there all the time?"

She smirked. "That's another question. My turn. What's inside your hands?"

Logan's eye's widened. "How did youa"

"Ah, ah, ah." She chided. "That's another question. Give me an answer."

"Claws. Solid adamantium. Razor sharp." He sounded to her like a gearhead bragging about his pistons.

"Show me."

"Maybe later." It was nice finally having a bargaining chip. Everything with her seemed to be trade-and-barter. "First, tell me if you can turn the pheromone thing on and off."

"It's like breathing." He was more clever than she gave him credit for. He had caught on to the game. "I can consciously control it, at times, but mostly it's just on. So, how'd you come by them? Were you born that way, or what?"

"Or what." A frown creased his broad forehead. "They were implanted." He almost told her the rest of it, that his entire skeleton was laced with the same metal, rendering him well-nigh indestructible. Nah. He had a feeling surprises could come in handy with her. "How did you know they were there?"

"It's kind of a gift I have. I can see what people are trying to hide."

"What do you mean? Reading minds, or seeing through disguises, or what?"

She smiled. "You're out of questions, remember? And besides, I have to save something to tell the Professor."

Logan folded his arms and leaned back in the rickety seat. He closed his eyes, but did not sleep. She refused to say anymore, and the only sound for miles was tires on asphalt and Patsy Cline.



CHAPTERS:   1   2   3   4   5   6   7




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