Generation X 16 -- Crossroads
Part I:  The Happiest Place on Earth
by Andy and Lee
November 12, 1996

Disclaimer:  You know the drill.  This isn't our folks, it's Marvel's, 
but hey, they wouldn't show them this way, so we had to, for the 
characters' own sakes!  This is a product of X-Writers, and it's non 
profit.  It's also something we've worked on and put our ideas (however 
dubious they may be) into, so don't reprint it or anything without 
letting us and X-Writers know, 'k?

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Chapter One:  Sleepless in New York

Emma reached her New York penthouse apartment sometime in the late 
night hours.  The drive from Massachuesettes, while uneventful, was 
frustrating.  Not only had the truck almost run out of gas, leaving her 
stranded in the middle of nowhere important, she hadn't realized, until 
then, that she had nothing with her.  No identification.  No money.  No 
credit cards.  Not even her favorite Winter-Frost lipstick.

It was a simple matter to telepathically force the gas attendant to 
refill the truck for her, and then to make him forget that he had even 
seen a lone woman driving in the outfit she still wore.  While it had its 
good points -- namely, causing impressionable, young mutants to be 
distracted while she got inside their heads -- wearing the bustier and 
thigh high boots in public was not something she should be doing if she 
wanted to keep a low profile.

At least the guards at the door recognized her when she arrived at Frost 
Enterprises.  Status reports, impromptu meetings, and debriefings quickly 
occurred soon after, and it was late before she was allowed the peace and 
solitude -- both physically and mentally -- of her empty penthouse 
sitting atop the Frost Building.

Peeling her gloves from her hands, she tossed them recklessly on the 
coffeetable.  She paused at the back of the couch to steady herself while 
she took off one thigh high, stilletto heeled boot at a time.  The 
process continued itself until she reached her bedroom, by which point 
she was as unencumbered as possible.

Everything was exactly where she had left it, and someone had come in, 
once a week, to dust and keep it as immaculate as possible while she was 
away.  Her four poster bed was pristine with its white as snow silk 
sheets and matching comforter.  The ivory carpet was recently shampoed 
and vacuumed, as well, and without needing to check anything else, she 
knew the rest of the bedroom would be perfect as well.

Some would call her obsessive compulsive;  like those who felt the need 
to constantly wash their hands, she needed her bedroom to be spotless.  
It had been some years since she had last performed a surprise 
white-glove inspection, but then, everyone knew their boss' quirk, and 
extra care was taken to make sure that she would never need to worry 
about this, her last bastion of safety, being invaded by any errant speck 
of dust or color.

Without thought, she turned down the comforter and the silk sheets and 
slipped into her bed.  The lights were off, but with the curtains pulled 
back, the full moon bathed the room in a soft, silvery glow.  Smiling to 
herself, she shut her eyes and breathed deeply, releasing it slowly in a 
quiet sigh.

After what felt like forever -- but was no more than a half of an hour -- 
she reopened her eyes and looked over at the cream colored, digital clock 
on her nightstand.  It read '2:05'.  She desperately craved to rest after 
the hectic, stress filled events of the previous night, but sleep lay 
beyond her grasp.  Counting backwards from a hundred, she closed her eyes 
once more.

The clock now read '2:36'.  She still could not sleep.  The number 
reciting had done nothing for her, and now a sick feeling started at the 
base of her stomach and quickly worked its way up to her head.  Shifting 
position, she burrowed further into the mass of tangled bed sheets and 
tried once more.

'3:11'.  Nothing helped.  Counting sheep was fruitless, as were the 
mental exercises she used to enter the trance state.  After the later, 
she had almost begun to fall asleep, but at the last moment, she jerked 
into wakefulness again.  Throwing back her covers, she quickly reached 
for her robe and belted it tightly.  The only thought in her mind was not 
an actual thought by this point -- all she knew was that she must sleep.  
She had to.  This couldn't be happening.

Her steps slowed as she reached the floor to ceiling windows which looked 
out over the wide expanse of the city below her.  A million twinkling 
lights, of all colors, a million sounds, of all intensities, a million 
minds, of all thoughts -- all of it lay on the other side of the shield 
of glass.  Shaking her head, she knew that it couldn't be the thoughts 
disturbing her.  The shield around her bedroom was too powerful.  It had 
to be something else.

Moving to the other side of the room, she turned on the reading lamp on 
her desk.  Picking up a book of poetry, she settled into her chair and 
began to read.

Two hours later, she was still reading.  Looking up at the clock again, 
she realized only five minutes had gone by since the last time she had 
checked.  With a sigh of pent up anger -- at herself, at the situation, 
at anything convienent and within sight -- she flung the book away from 
her and steepled her hands before her.

Insomnia.  It hadn't happened to her for many years, now, not since the 
nightmares had stopped.  They had been distrubing at best, and at 
worst, they were filled with a terror so overwhelming that it prevented 
her from any coherent thought or desire for sleep.  She remembered those 
nightmares with a small shiver, as if the years that lay between them was 
not enough to keep her safe from their grasp.

That, though, was not what was happening tonight.  There had been no 
nightmares, not even the smaller, more mundane variety, and she was no 
longer afraid of sleeping.  Standing up once more, she began to pace the 
room, walking from one corner to another.  She made the circuit many 
times before finally sitting back down at her desk.

Thoughts filled her mind, unbidden, that she might never be able to sleep 
another night again, that the payment for all her crimes were finally and 
irrevocable catching up to her.  For a moment she allowed herself to 
pursue that line of thought, not being in the habit to disallowed a 
theory simply because it did not suit her own wishes.  She was many 
things, but she could never be accussed of seeing only what she wanted to 
see and not what was actually there.

More ideas floated into and out of her mind.  All were systematically 
examined, considered, and then rejected for implausibility.  An attack by 
a powerful mutant?  Impossible, she would have felt the stranger's 
manipulations of her own body.  Her guilty conscience?  No, what she did 
to the gentlemen who had held her against her will was no more and no 
less than what she would do to anyone who would stand in her way.  A 
masochistic, self-induced illness?  After running through her mental 
exercises and perfectly composing herself, she had to rule that out as 
well.  Nothing happened to her body or her mind without her knowing about 
it, and if it was self-induced, she would have discovered that and taken 
steps to correct it.

What then?  Glancing at the clock once more, she saw that it was seven 
o'clock.  Sean would be up by this point.  Looking at her telephone, she 
debated several minutes before proceeding to pick it up.  Though she was 
not in the mood to deal with any one or thing, she decided that reporting 
in to him would be in order.

The phone rang three times before a male voice answered it on the other 
end.  "'ello?"  he asked, the sound of sleep in his voice making her 
jealous.

"Hello, Sean.  It's me.  I trust I haven't waken you?"  She smiled grimly 
to herself, knowing she had and taking a perverse pleasure in forcing 
another to endure her sleeplessness.

"Emma?!"  Sean was startled, and his Irish accent, always thicker when he 
was still groggy with sleep, liberally coated his words.  "Where are ye, 
woman?  Are ye alright?  When -- "

"I'm fine, Sean,"  she said, feeling guilty for the obvious worry in his 
voice.  She didn't know he would be quite so concerned for her.  "I 
escaped yesterday.  I've been staying at my penthouse in the city."

Silence.  Then, hesitantly, he asked,  "An' ye've just chosen now to call 
home with yuir whereabouts?"  He sounded confused.  The sound of running 
water came through the telephone for a moment and was follow by a quick 
splash.  "We've been searchin' everywhere for ye."  It almost sounded 
like an accusation.

She accepted it gracefully and began to realize that she should have 
called him as soon as she had escaped.  Before, she had said to herself 
that she simply didn't want him to be able to stop her, and for that, she 
needed more distance between her and the school.  Now, she wasn't quite 
sure why she hadn't called.  The voice on the other end was waiting for a 
reply, though, so she was forced to put that curious thought aside for 
the moment.

"You're right, of course,"  she said, smoothly.  "It's just that I've 
been busy all day what with one piece of work and another.  This was the 
first opportunity I had to get away."

"Hmmm... "  It was clear he doubted her.  "An' what's the real reason?"  
Now she was certain he doubted her.

Amusement colored her voice when she responded.  "Actually, I am going to 
be tracking down these people and their bosses and all others who are 
affiliated with them and crush them so far into the mud that they will 
never see the light of day again."

This, strangely enough, was accepted at face value.  "Are ye bloody daft, 
woman?"  he said.  "Ye've got the children here to watch out for, an' 
yuir hell bent on some personal vendetta?"

Shaking her head, she chuckled under her breath.  Though most of their 
conversations tended to move along predictably and often ended in a fight 
of some sort, she still enjoyed them.  He was sharp, no doubt, but more 
importantly, he knew her as well as anyone could and never underestimated 
her.

"Actually, Sean, I was being fecicious.  I am going to track them down, 
but it will be for the sole reason of watching out for the children.  The 
team who arrived at the school had a two fold goal.  One was to capture 
our student Mondo.  The other was to capture myself.  Each goal had its 
own leader, and the two were at such odds that I believe they stemmed 
from similar, but different factions."  She deliberatly failed to mention 
that she knew this was true, having taken apart their minds from the 
inside out to find this information.  "Unfortunatly, both are lower level 
personnel.  In order to fully stop this from occuring again, I have to 
first find the people ultimately responsible and then insure that they 
leave us completely along from this point forth."

Though she could not actually see him, she pictured his facial expression 
in her mind.  She knew exactly how he would look -- his brows furrowed, a 
thoughtful expression on his face, his mouth pressed into a tight line.  
He would deliberate before answering, of course, and whatever he did 
reply with would be formed of the most carefully chosen words.

"Ye've got a point."  She almost felt her jaw drop and was glad that there 
was no one around to watch her slip.  A soft chuckling sounded as if he 
knew exactly what she was thinking.  "Ye do have a point, an' I'll be the 
first to admit it."  Arching an eyebrow, forgetting that he could not see 
her, she waited for him to go on.  "We've gathered the infiltrators 
together an' have them held in a containment cell, but the information 
we've got points to higher masters as well.  Someone has to stop this 
threat from repeating, an' both the X-Men an' the other teams are... 
busy, so the duty falls to us."  She nodded her agreement.  "But,"  he 
said with a sigh,  "We cannae afford to let the children stay at the 
school while we try and deal with this menace personally.  An' we cannae 
let it be.  So it stands to reason that one of us must handle this.  That 
being true, I think ye should be the one to do accomplish it."

She let out a soft sigh as the potential argument she had forseen faded 
slowly into the background.  "I am so glad you agreed."

"Well, ye know me fondness for me own skin,"  he joked.  "But seriously, 
ye seem to have the situation under control, an' yuir already in New 
York, an' I'm sure ye've got contacts among the important people.  If 
anyone can find out who has their eyes on us an' do somethin' to stop it, 
I know it's ye."

Stunned by his acceptance and support, and his belief that she could do 
the job to the point where he would not worry about it, she could not 
reply.  The silence lengthened.

Sensing something, he broke the silence himself and said,  "Let me fill ye 
in on what we've learned.  Maybe that will help ye on yuir way."

Nodding, she found her voice and said,  "Of course."  She listened 
intently to his detailed report, and even went so far as to add the 
information she had learned.  They discussed strategies and the courses 
she could follow for well over an hour.

The only awkward moment came when he asked,  "Ye found this information 
in their heads, did ye not?"

With a brief catch in her voice, which she hoped went unnoticed, she 
said,  "Yes."

"An' I'm sure I don't want to know just how ye did it?"

"Yes."

"Alright, then I'll just drop the matter."

Smiling to herself, she repeated, teasingly,  "Yes."

He chuckled, again.

When they finally finished their meeting, he said with genuine feeling,  
"I hope ye keep yuirself safe, Emma.  We'll be waitin' here for ye."  No 
offer of help, because he didn't think she would need it.  No 
admonishments not to play unfairly, because he knew she only did what had 
to be done.  No pep talk, because they both knew she would not be 
squimish or back out.

"Thank you, Sean.  I'll keep you posted as often as I can."  The smile on 
her face was broad and unfettered, a rarity that she only gave into 
because she was in the privacy of her own room.

"Good.  Ye see that ye do that.  I'll do the same here,"  he said.

"Good,"  she said.

Another silence, the first in a long while, filled the air.  Finally, 
Sean cleared his throat and said,  "Well, I'll see ye soon then."

Emma paused, then said,  "Of course.  Good bye, Sean."

"Bye, Emma."

She hung up the phone, thoughtfully.  Moving to her bed, she slipped back 
between the sheets.  Before she could arrange her tumble, chaotic thoughts, 
sleep blessedly arrived and carried her into gentle slumber.

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Chapter Two:  Troubled Thoughts

Sean hadn't been able to sleep after he hung up the phone with Emma.  He 
was worried, but not, to his surprise, about her.  Instead, the whole 
idea of how badly things were going lately crept to the front of his mind 
and wouldn't let him go, no matter how many lists of supplies he placed 
before himself.  Standing, he moved over to the mirror at the other end 
of his small office.  He looked into it for a long moment, thinking he 
could perhaps see something that wasn't there before if he looked hard 
enough.

Self-analyzation was something he didn't do too often.  Not that he was 
self-delusional... in fact, it was because of the exact opposite.  He was 
far too honest with himself -- even 'brutually' honest, so to speak -- to 
allow himself a moment of wishful thinking.

But, staring at the mirror, he looked into his own eyes and thought that 
he wasn't quite sure he liked what he saw there.  Of course, it was 
better than what he'd seen in those years long past.  Then, he couldn't 
even look at himself, fearing, irrationally, that he would see the eyes 
of the men he'd killed looking back at him with accusation.  Always 
accusation.  But, he reminded himself, that was before.

Now, he saw someone who was leaning too far from the spirit of Xavier's 
Dream.  The Dream wasn't something he thought about often, prefering, 
instead, to just live it and not over philosophize, like others did so 
often and well.  That brought a smile to his face.  Scott Summers, true 
Son of the Dream.  That's how he would always remember Xavier's favorite 
student.

His thoughts wandered from association to association until he finally 
came back to his original thought.  Drifting from the Dream.  There was a 
sort of hollow ring to it.  "Nae good,"  he said, to himself, and then he 
was surprised to realize he'd said it out loud.  "Alright, Sean,"  he 
continued, straightening his shoulders,  "If it's a talkin' to ye want, 
then 'tis one ye'll get."

Words were easier to say than actions were to do, though.  Turning to the 
window in his office, he made his way over and looked out over the 
fertile, green grounds.  It was shaping up to be a beautiful day.  He 
still had to pass on the information to the rest of the group, and then 
he had a field trip to plan.  Amazing that they -- he and Emma, that 
they, not another they -- could still be thinking of something so... 
well, yes, frivolous.

It was her influence, he realized.  Not that he thought it was the 
telepathy anymore.  Through one event and another, he had come to stop 
thinking of her as the enemy, or even as the enemy-turned-hesitant-ally, 
or... well, there were many steps before he felt entirely comfortable 
around her, but the truism at this point was that, yes, he did trust her 
now.  Not just with his life, but the lives of the children.  For him, 
that act spoke volumes.

While he didn't always agree with her methods, he had to admit that when 
she wanted something done, she did it, and well.  The shortest distance 
between point A and point B was a straight line, and she was not afraid to 
cut straight to the point.  That was where his problem came in.  Xavier's 
Dream demanded its followers not think of situations in such a simplistic 
manner.  It demanded careful consideration, hesitation to do more damage 
-- to anyone, not just to the team -- and even then there was a sort of 
non-interference policy.  Strange, but he'd always noticed it was there.  
Maybe... Maybe the Dream wasn't quite the same anymore?  Maybe it wasn't 
Emma's influence;  he could instead be realizing that the Dream was a 
dream for a past generation, and not this one... not Generation X.

The thought disturbed him, and turning back to his desk, he began to 
glance through piles of lists, forcing his mind away from the dangerous, 
almost traitorous thought.

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Chapter Three:  Waiting

Breakfast was subdued.

Jubilee looked from face to face and tried for another mood ligtener.  
"So, Ev... "  She picked him out as the most likely recipient.  "Why'd 
the vampire get kicked out of art class?"

Giving her a stern look, Everett covertly shook his head, mouthing,  'Not 
now, Lee.'  He returned to his bowl of Cocoa Puffs and spooned them up 
with exaggerated care.  The milk splashed against the sides as an 
uncooperative puff fell back in, and Everett quickly placed the rest of 
them in his mouth.

Everyone seemed to be moving with careful consideration.  Even Monet kept 
to herself, not bothering to respond to the provocations by the young 
girl at the end of the table.

"Hand me the sugar, por favor, chico,"  Angelo, the Hispanic gangsta 
wannabe in his backwards baseball cap and baggy jeans and hockey jersey, 
said, motioning to Jono.

Without a word -- not that he would have said an actual word, anyways -- 
Jono takes the sugar dispenser and hands it over to Angelo's outstretched 
hand.  The hand was just a little more outstretched than human anatomy 
claimed was acceptable, but compared to the boy missing his chest and 
lower half of his face, it seemed normal.

The social interaction between the students themselves, and the students 
and older members of the rapidly thrown together team, was strained, and 
more so because of the unusual vow of silence which had taken the 
breakfast table hostage.  Bobby, struggling to find something to say, 
found himself shoveling food quickly into his mouth in order to avoid 
shoving his foot in there instead.  To say the atmosphere was tense with 
anticipation and dread was an understatement that even he didn't need to 
point out.  Unbeknownst to most of them, these students had come to 
depend on Frost's presence and abilities.  Not that they were her 
friends, or vice versa, Bobby knew;  it was more that she had a sort of 
calm, serene quality to her, and the students knew that her 
self-confidence was in them as well, and in the fact that, together, they 
could overcome the odds.  But now, one of their teammates was missing, 
and they couldn't find her, and worst still, it was the very woman who 
inspired them to greater lengths.

"May I please have the plate of biscuits,"  Paige said in a near whisper, 
which Bobby didn't catch the first time around.  She looked at him with 
something akin to impatience and repeated the question, a little louder 
and a little less polite.

Bobby startled and glanced at the younger version of a former team's 
current team member.  Paige Guthrie, Sam's little sister, looked much 
like her older brother -- blond hair, blue eyes, the tilt of the head, 
how she held herself.  The only thing very different was the lack of 
naivette in her eyes and the absense of the southern twang in her voice.  
He idly wondered how long it took her to get rid of it;  he had to admit 
it made her sound more intelligent.

Passing the plate to Paige, Bobby smiled confidently in return.  He had 
lost it for awhile, but his devil-may-care personality was starting to 
come back.  Not that it was entirely a good or bad thing.  Remembering 
how Scott used to take offense to it and Hank used to go along with it, 
he smiled.  It was an act.  That's all.  But it was an act that served 
him well, that made the fear and anxiety disappear for a little while, at 
least, so he subconsciously turned to it like a child returning to the 
safety of a familiar place.

"Thanks,"  Paige said, almost smiling in response to Bobby.  The boy 
sitting next to her arched an eyebrow subtly, his eyes darting over at 
the voices next to him.  The black bandages surrounding his face and 
chest gave him a sinister, outlaw look.  Bobby met his glance for a 
moment before turning back to young girl and widening his smile.

"No problem.  It's all in a day's work, ma'am."  He tipped an imaginary, 
wide-brimmed hat and felt justified when she let out a small laugh.

"Hey, Bobby,"  came a voice from across the table.  Leaning forward, 
holding her fork up with one hand, Cordelia spoke as quietly as the 
others.  Her eyes had dark rings around them, not as obvious against her 
naturally tan skin, but still a sign that she hadn't been sleeping as she 
should be. 

"What's up?"  he responded, trying, like Jubilee, to be the mood 
lightener of the group.

Tucking a lock of her shoulder length black hair behind her left ear, she 
looked towards the exit before turning back to the older man in front of 
her.  She trusted him like she didn't trust the others, mostly because he 
didn't have that sense of bravado around him.  Guys who pretended they 
knew exactly what they were doing and that they had it all under control 
were all too common, and they inspired nothing but disgust and wariness 
in her.  But the ones who weren't afraid of themselves or others, the 
ones who were open and took everything in stride, those were the ones she 
looked up to.  'Like Mondo,'  her mind told her, making her smile just a 
little more.

Bobby noticed the smile and mistakenly accepted it as something other 
than what it was.  He cleared his throat, the noise causing a few to look 
up from their careful inspection of the breakfast plates, and all he 
could do was smile back weakly at them.  Cordelia glanced at him 
curiously, wondering what was going on in his mind.  Finally, she asked,  
"Should... maybe there's something new?  Maybe someone should go and... 
um... see if Mr. Cassidy needs anything?"

Mondo, sensing something Not Right with his friend, leaned over and 
patted her hand in almost a patronizing manner.  Not patronizing as in 
looking down on, but as in paternal.  It was comforting.  Cordelia smiled 
at Mondo, a deeper one than before, then turned back to see what Bobby 
would say, half afraid that he would say they had to wait longer.  They 
had been doing too much waiting as it was, and she was so sick of just 
sitting here.

"He's fine, just busy right now, and the best thing we can do is let him 
be while he tries to come up with a plan to bring Ms. Frost back to us,"  
Bobby replied, confidently, almost as if he was reading it off of a 
scrolling cue counter just out of Cordelia's line of sight.  She nodded, 
and he nodded in return, thinking of what else he could say to put her 
and the others at ease.

With Ms. Frost gone and Sean locked away in his study, Bobby was 
technically the 'next in command'.  Those words scared him.  Not that he 
didn't know how to 'take command', just that he didn't like the 
responsibilities, the fact that there were others relying on him.  He 
didn't mind relying on himself -- that way, if he screwed up, like he 
usually did, he'd only hurt himself.  That was fine by him, something 
he'd grown accustomed to over the years.  Others, though... well, he 
didn't want to hurt anyone, and he especially didn't want them hurt 
because of something he failed to do, some order he failed to give, some 
'command decision' he messed up on.  Even when he was wandering around 
with Rogue and trying to keep her from going too far over the edge, she 
was still the leader, still the one calling the shots and getting them 
out of their little escapades.  Cynically, he thought that maybe his 
desire to make sure that nothing happened to the others -- his friends -- 
was because he couldn't afford to lose any more friends.  It wasn't like 
he made them quickly or anything, and it'd be damn lonely without them.  
Like before.

Pushing his chair back, he ignored the curious looks of the others and 
made his way to the window.  Half open, a breeze drifted into the dining 
room and stirred the lacey, cotton drapes.  But today, his normal ability 
to put off actually doing anything in favor of just staring out the 
window failed him.  He had to do something, accomplish something.  
Squaring his shoulders, he turned to the door and walked out, leaving 
them with nothing but his back to whisper behind as he made his way to 
Sean's office.

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Chapter Four:  Discussion

Bobby waited outside of Sean's office for a little under a minute before 
he hear the headmaster's voice call out,  "Come in."

Opening the door, he stepped into Sean's office.  The bright, airy 
feeling that usually reminded him of the office was gone.  Glancing at 
the window, he noticed that the shades were pulled low, and then he 
noticed that none of the lamps were on, either.  With the dark carpet and 
the wood paneling on the walls, the effect was dark and gloomy and not at 
all conducive to the chat he wanted to have. 

"Did I disturb you?"  Bobby asked, hesitantly, afraid he really had 
disturbed his older colleague.

"Nae at all, Bobby.  Have a seat,"  Sean said from his own seat behind 
the desk.  Shuffling the papers he had spread across his desk, he put 
them back into the folder and tucked it into a random drawer.  He hadn't 
really been reading the file, but, subconsciously, he didn't want it to 
appear that he hadn't been doing nothing except staring at the opposite 
wall.  If he were asked the name of the file he had just put away, he 
wouldn't have been able to.  With Bobby hear, though, he could finally 
focus on something other than his own thoughts.

What Bobby came to talk about, though, would make it rather difficult.  
It seemed that the two men had been thinking along the same wavelengths.  
Maybe it was a result of their similar training, their time with the 
X-Men, or maybe it was only because it made sense to wonder, at this 
time, what it was all about.  Whatever 'it' was.

"Sean, I was thinking... You know what's been hapening outside, right?  
And with Emma gone now, it seems to be getting more serious.  Are... "  
His voice faded away as he saw the look on Sean's face.

"No, no, Emma is fine.  She called me a... "  he glanced at the clock,  
"... couple hours ago an' said she was just fine."

"Oh."  Bobby paused.  He was confused.  If Sean knew, why hadn't he said 
anything?

Sean noticed the pause.  It was hard not to as it stretched beyond a 
moment.  "What is it?"  he prompted.

He had paused so long anyhow, he decided to pause awhile longer so that 
he could straighten his thoughts.  "Well... If you knew, why haven't you 
told anyone yet?"

Nodding, Sean understood his young friend's position.  "I know.  I 
should.  But Emma won't be comin' back for a wee bit, an' I need a... 
moment to think,"  he said, not willing to admit any more.

Bobby nodded and took a seat in the chair across from Sean's desk.  
"Yeah, I think I know what you mean,"  he said, brushing his hand through 
his unkempt hair.  He glanced out of the corner of his eyes to see Sean 
staring off again.  Clearing his throat, he asked,  "Well, where is she?  
And why did she leave without the rest of us?"

"That's for... "  He was about to say that was for them to know, but he 
reconsidered.  Bobby was certainly a great help, lately, and he knew all 
about the other man's training with the X-Men.  Surely he was ready to be 
let into the fold, as it were.  Spreading his hands on the table, he 
leaned forward.  "That's only for us to know, ye understand?  We'll think 
o' something to say to the children."  As quickly as he could, he laid 
out the situation, explaining the Emma thought it was wise to find the 
originators of this problem.

To his credit, Bobby accepted it all in stride.  There were still 
concerns, though.  "But are you sure she can handle that?  I mean, what 
if something happens?"

"What do ye mean?"

"Well, won't she need backup?"

Grinning broadly, Sean shook his head.  "That woman has been survivin' on 
her own for as long as... well, as long as I have.  She can handle 
herself in this, an' in fact, she has to.  Ye see, this could happen 
again.  So someone has to be here to organize the others.  But unless 
something's done about the source, it's going to continue happening.  An' 
this isnae to say that, if she needs help, she won't call or we won't 
answer.  But the best we can do now is to continue as if everything is 
alright an' deal with the future as it comes."  Spreading his hands, he 
shrugged his shoulders.  "Unless, o' course, ye can see another 
alternative?" 

"No.  No, I can't.  I guess you're right.  This just isn't the way... "  
Bobby laughed, loud and suddenly.  "Listen to me.  I'm about to turn into 
Jubilee, here.  Okay.  You're right.  This isn't the X-Men, and we don't 
do it their way.  Y'know, from what I've been gathering about what's 
going on outside, maybe it's a good thing that we don't play the game 
their way."  He frowned, a dark cloud passing over his features.  
"Doesn't mean I have to like it, though,"  he added in a small voice.

Sean sighed and stood up, moving around to desk to place a hand on his 
friend's shoulder.  "I know, lad.  It's not easy for any o' us.  But 
someone's got to carry on the Dream, an' if anyone can, it'll be two 
crafty old foxes like Emma an' I."

Trying to downplay his own feelings, Bobby stood and joined Sean as the 
older man walked for the door.  "Hey, what about me?"

Flashing a grin worthy of any crafty old fox, Sean said,  "You're here to 
keep us both from getting too far out o' line."

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Chapter Five:  The Field Trip

Bobby and Sean walked into the sitting room together, and there they 
found all of the School's residents gathered.  They were sitting at 
various points of the room, broken up into little groups.  The talk was 
hushed, and the voices didn't travel far beyond the ears of its intended.

It was hard to tell what they were discussing, but both men could form a 
fairly accurate guess.  Clearing his throat, Sean smiled at the others, 
putting on his best 'daft' expression.  He found that while the students 
tended to not take him as seriously with that look, they were far more 
trusting and relaxed.  The last thing he wanted to do at this point was 
alarm them.

"Hello, everyone,"  he said, pleasantly.  Bobby, standing next to his 
left, gave him a curious look, as if wondering what, exactly, his method 
of approach would be.  Almost as one, they moved further into the room, 
Bobby taking a seat set next to the entrance, and Sean standing closer to 
the center of the room.

"Hi,"  Mondo said, loudly, waving his broad hand.  His ever present smile 
wasn't strained, and he honestly seemed to be taking it all in stride.  
Bobby envied that of him, and little did he know that almost all of the 
others did, as well.

Sean couldn't help but respond, and his smile grew larger.  "Hello, 
Mondo,"  he said.  Trying to create a mood, he even gave the new Samoan 
student a little wave.

Obviously, that made Mondo happy, and he showed it by smiling even more.  
It seemed as if this room was quickly becoming a smiling zone.

"So, what's up, teach?"  Jubilee asked, diving for the point.  This 
smiling business was beginning to bug her.  Sure, when she tried to 
lighten the mood, everyone told her to shut up, but Mr. Cool-As-Ice over 
there waved, and suddenly it was like a bright and sunny day.

"Well, we've just heard from Emma.  It seems that she's escaped her 
pursuers an' dealt with them, so we needn't fear any repercussions on 
that account,"  Sean said, smoothly.

The reactions from around the room was a mixture of surprise, pleasure, 
and, in a select few, cynical wariness.  Angelo, leader of the cynical, 
wary people, asked,  "Dealt with?  What's that mean, exactly, senor?"

Sean gave Angelo a stern look.  "Ye know exactly what it means, Angelo,"  
he said in a quiet, deadly serious voice.  Moving his glance around the 
rest of the room, he added,  "Don't any o' ye think that this thing is 
over.  It's just over for *now*."

"So!  That just means that we'd better take our breaks where and when we 
can get 'em,"  Bobby said, breaking the mood that was about to settle 
over the group.  "Which in turn means that the field trip is still on."

"ALLRIGHT!"  The room errupted in excited chattering.  Everything was 
fine, the trip was still on, and best yet...

"Um, so, where *are* we going?"  asked a relatively clueless Cordelia.

"We're going to Disneyworld!"  came the enthusiastic reply.

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