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Jazz got detention. Already in his usual after-school seat, Danny Fenton rubbed blue eyes, and looked again. Yep; definitely his older sister in the doorway. Jazz got detention?
Wilting further under Lancer's disappointed glare, the sixteen-year-old slunk in and found a corner desk. Huddled into her chair, shoulders hunched, red head bowing over her notebook as she started working through a rough outline of a history essay.
Whoa. I haven't seen Jazz that down, since... well, never.
"Eyes front, Mr. Fenton." Lancer gave him a look of general disapproval, tinged with something that had not only approached suspicion, but had gotten suspicion's number, a date to a four-star restaurant, and an invitation to meet the parents. "I'm assuming this is only a momentary blip in your sister's otherwise stellar high school career, inspired - or should I say, contaminated - by your heretofore unmatched clumsiness in science. I'd hate to find out otherwise." The vice-principal's green eyes were hooded in a troubled frown. "Though how anyone could accidentally get a vial of sucrose solution to explode...."
That was Jazz? Danny shot his sister a startled look; jerked his eyes back to his own scribbled notes as Lancer growled. He'd heard the blast; who hadn't? Though outside of him, Sam, and Tucker, he'd doubt anyone in the school had heard the rumble and automatically identified it as blast, small, localized, Chemistry, probably the sinks near the windows.
We've been at this ghost-hunting gig waaaay too long....
But his ghost sense hadn't gone off, and when Sam and Tucker had covered for him and he'd slipped invisibly over there to check it out anyway, there hadn't been anything to find besides scared upperclassmen and shattered, melted glass.
Which was weird all by itself. He wasn't the best science student out there, not by a long shot, but he'd grown up with two actively experimenting ghost-hunters, most of whose inventions demonstrated at least one potentially life- or sanity-threatening aspect before all the bugs were worked out. He knew what kind of temperatures it took to melt glass.
And the blast didn't sound right for that. I think. More of a "boomf" where it should have been a "whumph"... oh, I have really been at this too long.
Well, driving himself crazy trying to figure it out wasn't helping. It was Friday. In less than an hour, detention would be over, the school would be empty, and the three of them could poke around the science lab for any more clues. In the meantime... math wasn't going to do itself. Whose idea was it to put letters in with the numbers, anyway?
Pens and pencils scratched. Students coughed. A few notes were tossed - one intercepted by Lancer's swift grab, much to the displeasure of the responsible student, who was now looking at detention Monday, too.
And... something was wrong. The room wasn't quiet - Lancer was almost snoring, it couldn't be quiet - but part of it was too quiet.
Jazz isn't writing anymore.
Danny risked a glance back.
What the-?
Jazz was frozen in her seat, blue-green eyes wide, color draining from her face as if someone had pulled the plug. Her fingers were clenched white-knuckled on her pencil, a plain old ordinary No. 2... that just happened to have sparks crawling over it, like miniature bits of lightning.
And the sparks were getting brighter.
"Drop it!"
Months of yelling in the middle of ghost fights paid off; Jazz moved without thinking, dropping the sparking pencil even as it started to glow red and ominous. Danny lunged down and touched the floor by his own desk, concentrating; a faint green track of energy snaked away from his fingers, arcing toward Jazz-
Tile ghosted intangible, and the sparking pencil fell through.
Whoom.
"Greek Fire and Scorpion Bombs!" Lancer shot up from behind his desk, automatically looking toward the one student who drew trouble like iron filings to a magnet.
Danny blinked back at him. Who, me?
"Everyone, stay in your seats! I'll get to the bottom of this." Shooting one last glare across the room in general, Lancer slammed out the door.
Danny waited for the other students' buzz to give him cover, then slipped out of his chair and grabbed the real source of the problem. "You okay?"
Jazz's hands felt cold - a real shock, given he was the one with the permanent case of chilly fingers. And tingly.
She stared at their hands, forced her gaze up to his. Went even paler. "I- I think I-"
"Ten more minutes, and we're out of here." Danny gave her a determined smile. "We'll handle it, Jazz. I promise."
What just happened?
Not happening not happening this is not happening-
"Jazz?" Sam's voice, somewhere out in the headache-sparkly world. "You don't look so good...."
"Just keep her moving. We need to get her to some open space."
Danny's voice. Danny's familiar cool hands, guiding her out and away from school, toward sunlight and green. Jazz flinched.
"Yo, the lab's that way-" Tucker started.
"Bad idea," Danny said grimly. "I dipped down through the floor when people were piling out of school. This blast was bigger than the last one. If that happens in the basement...."
Right, explosions plus half-built Fenton inventions equals bad idea, Jazz thought numbly. Danny trained down there with ecto-blasts, sure - but he was using ghost energy. And if there was one thing Fenton equipment was built to handle, it was ghosts. Even half-ghosts.
Which she definitely wasn't.
I'm normal, I haven't been anywhere near the Portal - well, except for going through it in the Speeder once or twice - and this is not happening-
"Jazz? Just so you know, I really hate to do this-"
Coolness, wafting through her like a skirl of snowflakes. The world went fuzzy, as if she were half a breath from falling asleep on her feet... but that was okay. Her head had finally stopped hurting.
"Oh, ow."
Or... maybe it hadn't. That was her voice. But it wasn't her.
"Jazz? Easy. Deep breaths. Well, I can do the deep breaths, but... try and relax, okay? I'm just checking you out. In case you're overshadowed, or there's another ghost bug, or Desiree... you get the idea."
Terrific. Her own little brother was overshadowing her. Bad enough to have grown up the only sane member of a family of ghost-hunters, now she had a ghost inside her. Well, half-ghost. Teenage boy half-ghost, at that, who was probably taking advantage of the chance to check out a girl in ways no girl had ever been checked out before-
"Eww, Jazz! That's gross! You're my sister!"
Sorry. Just... really bad headache....
"Besides, it's not like there's that much here different from Paulina."
WHAT?!?
"Tucker was overshadowing her, long story - look, I'm more worried about what's in your head than in your clothes, okay? There's something weird in here... how long have you had this headache?"
Jazz tried counting to ten. He was her little brother, after all. And he meant well. Besides, she couldn't throttle him until after he got out of her body. I don't know. I think it started a few days after Spectra's bugs... just comes and goes. Aspirin was handling it....
"Was. As in, isn't now. Jazz, why didn't you say something?"
Since when do you go to a doctor?
"That's different! We had a hard enough time convincing the school nurse my temperature was always this low. If I went near anything like a hospital after tangling with Skulker again... one weed-whacker accident, they'd buy. Half a dozen? And when the bruises vanish overnight?"
He had a point. Darn it. I was handling it!
"Jazz, I'm your brother. We're your friends. You don't have to handle everything." Dimly, she felt her head shake, shedding irritation like water. "Hang on just another minute. I think I found... something...."
The world blurred back into focus as her hands and knees hit the grass of Amity Park's park; Jazz blinked, watching a white-haired halfa hover in midair, cobweb threads of something glowing green against white and black hazmat before fizzling away in the sunlight.
"Eww." Taking a quick vidclip, Tucker cringed. "What was that?"
"My guess? Bug leftovers." Sam gave Jazz a hand up. "Levitation was bad, but I'm thinking mist-form was worse."
"Ugh," Jazz managed, swaying a little. Wow. Headache gone.
Well, mostly. The world still seemed inclined to pulse a little. Kind of itchy. Especially in her hands.
Itchy, and stinging sharp. Like static. Sparks.
No - I'm hanging onto Sam-!
Chill tingled over her in a wave.
Sam's spiked bracelet dropped to the ground, empty. A wisp of smoke drifted up.
Letting out one slow breath of relief, Danny re-solidified all three of them. "Okay... Sam, Tucker? Get back."
"Don't need to tell me twice." Tucker headed behind a bench yards away, stopping only long enough to grab Jazz's books and drag them with him.
Sam hesitated, not quite touching her friend's glowing shoulder. "Danny-"
"One person's a lot easier to turn intangible than three, Sam. When I was inside Jazz, there was something-" The halfa tensed, green eyes narrowing. "Yeah. Yeah, just maybe."
"Just maybe what?" Jazz burst out. "I'm right here! And- and...." I'm not going to cry, I'm not!
"Jazz. Listen." White-gloved hands spread in front of him, Danny gave her a determined gaze; the same she'd seen him use just before sucking Technus into a Fenton Thermos. "Patrol usually means I don't have to worry about this, but... it feels like you've got too much energy. You've got to let some of it out."
"Let it out?" Jazz glared at her floating little brother, arms crossed. And then uncrossed; she didn't trust her hands. If I can't touch anything - oh, this can't be happening! "Are you crazy? The pencil - the lab - Sam-!"
"They're over there. I'm over here. And I can turn both of us ghostly before anything goes so much as zap." Danny floated down to the ground and gave her a stern look. "C'mon, Jazz. Trust me on this one, okay? I know what it feels like when too much ectoplasm's driving me nuts. When I've got to fly, or start falling through things. I don't know what you've got, it doesn't feel like ghost energy... but it's got to get moving."
"B-but... I..." Jazz stuttered.
His voice dropped, easy and soothing. "Just put your hands on the ground, and trust me."
No, I've got to stay in control, I've got to- I'm normal-
"Jazz?" Glowing green eyes were pleading. "Please?"
...Okay.
Feeling silly, Jazz knelt, flattening her palms on the grass.
White-gloved hands covered hers. "Reach inside. Feel that itch you can't scratch. The one that wants to be a headache. Feel it?"
Silliest thing I ever heard in my- Something in head and arms and spine quivered. Jazz froze. What was that?
"Yeah, you got it." Danny grinned at her. "Now think about balling it all up, like fluffy string. And push-"
Silver rushed down her fingers.
Two bodies thumped onto grass, taking cover.
Jazz stopped breathing, watching the ground beneath her hands glow red-hot, smoke rising-
And... fading?
And why was she so tired....
"Whoa. Um, Jazz? Vertical's good... never mind."
Nice ground. Solid ground. Warm.
"Phase her in through the roof and hope your parents don't notice?" Tucker said hopefully.
"The day Jazz gets a detention?" Sam snorted. "We'll be lucky if they don't have the ghost shield up already."
"Point." He tapped on his PDA. "So... school wore her out?"
"And we carry upstairs and put her to bed like a thoughtful little brother and his friends, with no parental involvement whatsoever," Sam agreed.
Danny ran chill fingers over her forehead. "You really think they'll buy that?"
"They did with you after the Lunch Lady."
"But I've got a paper to work on," Jazz mumbled.
Danny laughed. "It's Friday, Jazz. We've got the rest of the weekend to worry about that." Cool hands pressed on hers. "And this."
"'M supposed to be normal...."
"Take it from me, Jazz. Normal? Way overrated." Sam patted her shoulder. "Hey, if we can figure out half-ghost powers, we can figure out this."
"And who knows?" Tucker said optimistically. "Maybe we'll wake up tomorrow and this will all be over."
From the comforting squeeze of Danny's fingers, he didn't believe it either.
:You can't be serious.:
Leaning back in the driver's seat, one eye on the parking lot and the other on Cyclops and Jean as the kids loaded the Professor's wheelchair into the back of their gray rental minivan, Logan tried not to make his mental snort too obvious. Charles, this town holds civil defense drills. Your little computer search on odd things in Amity Park shows insurance rates are up, construction rates are up, and a few months back the whole town flat-out disappeared for most of a day. You don't have to believe it's ghosts. Hell, I don't believe it's ghosts. But something's up.
Belted in, Professor Charles Xavier sighed, one finger tapping on the arm of his seat. :On that we agree. And Jean and Scott are some of our most capable students when it comes to... potentially disastrous situations. But why Rogue?:
Kid doesn't get out enough. Logan let the corner of his lips curl up, just a little, watching the brown-and-white-haired young mutant clamber into one of the rear seats, gloved fingers flexing on the chair arms. Jean and Scott had spent the flight down here in witty banter and stray complaints about flight time; the Institute's private Cessna couldn't touch Blackbird speeds. Rogue had stayed gloomy and quiet, face pressed close to her window as possible, devouring the countryside with her eyes. And she's not half bad in a scrap herself.
:We're not looking for a fight, Wolverine.:
Doesn't mean it won't come looking for us. "So." Logan looked at the older teens. "Plane set?"
"Ran the checklist twice," Jean nodded, absently brushing back red hair as she got into her own seat, smiling as Scott followed her. "It'll be great to have someone else our age in the Institute."
"Now, Jean, she hasn't said yes yet," Xavier pointed out mildly.
"Why would she say no?" Red lenses hid Cyclops's eyes, but not his sardonic shrug. "She's looking at Stanford, Harvard, those kinds of places... they're not looking for students from Amity Park."
"Cynical much?" Jean laughed.
"Just realistic," Cyclops stated, buckling in. "Come on. You know you wouldn't have as good a chance at medical school coming out of your hometown high school as you do from Bayville."
"Unfortunate, but true." Xavier regarded the uncharacteristically quiet Goth in green. "Rogue? Any thoughts on our prospective student?"
"Kind of feel sorry for the girl," Rogue admitted. "From what you found, sounds like her life's been going bad to worse, lately."
"Surprised it took this long, with a kid brother like that," Cyclops muttered under his breath.
Starting the minivan, Logan gave him a look.
"Well, I mean... come on. Detentions from here to next year, destruction of school property, fake fire alarms... black out the name and you're reading a Brotherhood record."
Point. Not that he'd admit it. You're a good kid, Scott. But sometimes, you need to look a little deeper. "Way I recall, Kurt's record didn't look that good, either."
"And we all had reasonable doubts then, Logan," Xavier said bluntly. "But this young man certainly did not grow up as a Gypsy, with their... unique... approach to laws and property."
Translation: if you're an outsider and I can grab it, you deserved to lose it, Logan thought wryly, pulling into the flow of traffic heading for Amity Park.
"Honestly, you should both lighten up," Jean scolded them with a toss of her head. "Reading minds doesn't always tell you what teens feel, Professor. I've felt a lot of my classmates; it's hard, having a smart older sister. Especially if you're a guy. He might not be a bad kid. That whole slew of black marks could just be acting out against everybody holding him up to her standards."
"Or it could be a completely reasonable reaction to total insanity," Scott said some time later, as they all stared up at the giant UFO-shaped thing on top of what had at some point been a fairly ordinary brownstone. "Is that a radio tower?"
"And three satellite dishes?" Jean added, stunned. "And a... what are those two... weird looking... they can't be lasers, not on a house...."
"I like the flag," Rogue said impishly.
Xavier blinked. Twice. Gave Logan an inscrutable look. "Is there any chance we've come to the wrong address?"
Hiding a grin, Logan pointed up toward the neon sign spelling out Fenton Works. "You said they were inventors." And last I heard, people don't end up in Genius Magazine for being normal.
"Yes.... "
"Not handicapped-friendly," Jean observed, heading for the wheelchair in the back as she cast a measuring eye over the wide gray stone steps leading up to the front door. "Mind if I give everybody a subtle hand, Professor?"
Know I wouldn't mind, Logan thought. Charles and his wheelchair weren't heavy, but for someone his height, carrying them up did get awkward. A little telekinetic help would go a long way.
"Subtle, certainly." Xavier unbuckled himself and glanced at Cyclops. "Scott, if you would? I couldn't give our hosts an exact time of arrival, but they did say they'd be waiting."
"Sure." The tall teen trotted up the steps and rang the bell. "Hi," he said as the door opened; a waft of adult male and fudge reached Logan on the wind. "I'm Scott- gaak!"
Whoosh, thunk, thud!
"Maddie! I got one!" The large orange figure in the doorway dashed back inside. "Right at our own door, the nerve of you spooks...."
"Spooks?" Scott sputtered, somewhere inside - and dangling upside-down, if Logan's ears weren't fooling him. "Get me down from here!"
"Scott?" Rogue called out, one hand reaching to pull off a glove. Cast a disbelieving look at Jean, who looked torn between concern for her boyfriend and an overwhelming case of the giggles.
Logan raised an eyebrow, but didn't move. Scott didn't smell hurt. Annoyed, definitely startled, but not hurt.
"I'm - ow - okay," Cyclops got out. "Sort of... I don't believe this...."
"He looks a little ordinary to be a ghost, honey." An older redhead in a blue jumpsuit stepped out the door, smiling as she saw them. "Why, you must be Professor Xavier!" She skipped down to the sidewalk, offering a gloved hand to shake. "Maddie Fenton, we spoke on the phone... oh dear, I forgot about the stairs...."
"Quite all right, Mrs. Fenton. We'll manage-" Xavier started graciously.
Digging into her jumpsuit pocket, Maddie pulled out a remote, and hit a few buttons.
With a muffled thump and clank, a ramp unfolded out of the top step.
"There." Remote back in her pocket, Maddie shook Xavier's hand. Raised an eyebrow at the mass look of disbelief. "Tucker had a broken leg a while back, and given we do deal with some malevolent spirits now and then, so someone could end up hospitalized... it really wasn't that much trouble to figure out."
"I see," Xavier said, slightly dazed. "Er, my student?"
"Oh, he's just tangled in the Fenton Fisher," Maddie waved it off. "The Fenton Finder said there was a spirit close to the house, and we have had them knock before, so Jack just assumed... we'll have him out in no time."
"Fenton Finder?" Jean and Rogue said at the same time.
"Ectoplasmic detector. Works off of GPS," Maddie said matter-of-factly. "It still has a few bugs, though... would you like some cookies? I have a batch that should be coming out of the oven - well, now." She dashed back inside.
"Not what you expected?" Logan said under his breath.
"You have no idea," Xavier said, eyes wide. "They actually believe...."
"In ghosts?" Logan grinned.
"In something, yes." The telepath shook his head. "Well. Let's go talk to the parents."
And three, two, one- Checking one last time for watching eyes, Danny let the three of them fade back into visibility on the edge of the school parking lot. "Oh man, I'm going to pay for that later."
"Later might be better," Sam said grimly. The Goth cast a wary violet glance back toward the school, where ears used to listening for ghostly stealth could still hear Dash Baxter tearing up the lockers looking for his favorite target. "Who knows? Maybe Testlaff will grab him to go over that play the Ravens fumbled last game. Or something."
Tucker adjusted his red beret. "You sure you didn't have anything to do with it? Not that I could blame you. I mean, broken water pipes, the girl's locker room, instant wet t-shirt contest- ow!"
Sam withdrew her elbow from Tucker's ribs. "It's getting worse, isn't it?"
"They're not just waiting for stuff to go wrong around Jazz anymore," Danny agreed, heading toward the far end of the parking lot and a familiar compact car. "They're starting to set up accidents. You know, I hate lying to my parents - but I didn't want this one to be true!"
"Popular kids framing Jazz for the kinds of things you did, figuring the reputation would stick." Tucker shrugged. "Told you, the best stories stick close to the truth."
"Yeah, I know, but- I've always been a klutz." Danny ran a hand through unruly black hair, barely watching where he was going. "This is Jazz. Everybody likes Jazz. Who would do this?"
"Oh, Danny...."
Paulina. Oh, not now. "No," he said, distracted.
"I was thinking that you and the other losers would- What?" the pretty Hispanic girl bristled, eyes narrowing.
"I've got to help my sister with her science project, and you don't really want to invite me anyway, so why don't I save us both a lot of time? No." Danny looked past Paulina, where Jazz was tossing her backpack into the back of her car, shoulders stiff with tension. "Hey, Jazz!" He waved.
Perfectly made-up eyes narrowed. "Listen, Danny Fenton. You know I get what I want, and what I want is the ghost boy at my party. And since he shows up when you're around...."
Calm. Stay calm, you don't need green eyes right now.... "Did it ever occur to you that he might have something more important to do?" Danny asked. "Like - I don't know - face down more ghosts bent on world domination?"
"If they're not taking over my party, who cares?"
"Definitely not you," Sam muttered behind them.
"Get lost, freak," Paulina sniffed. "Danny's coming. Whether you like it or not."
"Hello? Right here?" Danny pointed out. "And I'm saying, not."
Stunned, Paulina took half a step back; then tilted her head, and glanced back at the school, where red and white jackets were just becoming visible through the exit door glass. "Oh, Dash...."
Remember to open the door, not just phase through it- Danny dove into Jazz's back seat, Tucker and Sam piling in on top of him. "Go! Go go go!"
"Seatbelts-" Jazz started, startled.
"We'll get 'em on go there's no time!"
Jazz put it into reverse and pulled out, switching into drive just in time to peel out of the parking lot ahead of a mob of letter jackets. "What happened?"
"I didn't do anything!" Danny said defensively, buckling up.
"Not entirely true," Sam noted, stunned.
"What? What'd I do?"
"You blew off Paulina," Tucker said, shaking his head. "She was offering us an invite, dude! What were you thinking?"
Jazz slowed down, keeping her eyes on the road. "He what?"
"Why is everybody making such a big deal out of this?" Danny shot his friends a look; they busied themselves with belts and buckles, whistling innocently. "We've got patrol, we've got homework, and we're finally starting to get a handle on what Jazz can do. You guys can go ahead if you want; I kind of need some time to sleep." How can anybody think about parties when we're still sorting out how to keep Jazz from blowing stuff up by accident? She's pretty much got it under control, but... this isn't like me falling through things. If she slips up, it's not just going to be embarrassing. Someone could get hurt. Jazz could get hurt. And if she hurts someone else - this is Jazz. She'd hate herself.
And I won't let that happen.
"I'm going to miss out on a party with Paulina," Tucker whimpered.
"And Dash," Sam pointed out, cheery as a Goth ever got. "Who probably still wants to do something really gruesome with you and a pair of fried underwear. I mean, we all know he'd rather go after Danny, but if Danny's not there...."
Tucker glared. "Sure, Sam. Rain on my moment of perfect self-pity."
"You'd really rather be helping me out than at a party with Paulina?" Jazz asked hesitantly, changing lanes.
"You have to ask?" Danny shook his head, puzzled. "Jazz, you're my sister. You may be annoying, overbearing, and a little conceited - but you're always there when I need you. Even when I think I don't need you. Which is usually when I really do," he admitted, reddening. "And... what are you guys looking at?" he asked, suspicious. "If there's a tape recorder in there, Tucker-"
"Who, me?" the techno-geek grinned, snapping a picture with his PDA. "I'm just seeing how red our Goth princess can get, that's all."
Sam's blushing? Sam is blushing. Why?
But the blush faded even as he looked, as Sam grabbed onto the back of Jazz's headrest to peer through the windshield. And frown. "Do we know anybody with a gray minivan?"
"Survey says, don't think so." Tucker shaded his eyes to look it over. "Huh. Rental. You don't think...."
"Gray. Can't be the Guys in White," Danny shook his head. "And Vlad would be in a limo. Or a Hummer."
"A cool Hummer...." Tucker snapped up from his almost-drool at the mass looks of disbelief. "Hey, just because he's your arch-enemy, doesn't mean he doesn't have good taste in wheels. Reporters talking to your parents again?"
"Maybe." Danny glanced at Jazz as they pulled into the driveway. "Did you write another letter to Genius Magazine?"
"Since I knew about what really happened to you? No way." Pulling her key out of the ignition, Jazz shivered. "I knew you didn't want to get caught, and that's just if our parents found out. Now I keep thinking about what might happen if someone saw me, and...."
"Just breathe, Jazz." His sister had gained some control over what Tucker was calling a kinetic charge... but like his hold on his own powers, it tended to slip when she got upset. "If we use the back door, we should be able to dodge them. Whoever it is. Just stick to the plan."
"Go in, drop off our books, grab the equipment and some snacks, and head for the park," Jazz sighed. "It still doesn't feel right to do this before our homework."
"And you'd explain the smoking holes in your English papers how, exactly?" Tucker said archly.
Blue-green eyes narrowed. "Ooo...."
"Annoying as it is, Tucker has a point," Sam said dryly. "Danny can't do his homework when the pen keeps falling through his hand. If you don't blow off some frustration first - after the sixth pen goes ka-boom, even your parents are going to notice."
"Besides, I got something neat for you to try this time," Danny grinned. Something which had involved the Specter Speeder, the Ghost Zone, and a renewed vow from Skulker to have his pelt for a rug. But it'd be worth it.
Sighing, Jazz got out of the car. "You realize I'm taking a lot on faith, little brother."
Danny followed her out, locking up as Sam and Tucker pulled on their backpacks. "Have I ever let you down?" Except for that time with the CAT... I'll never do that again, Jazz. Never.
"When it mattered?" Jazz gave him an oddly fond look. "No. No, you haven't." She flexed her fingers, looking up at the house. "Well. Here we go-"
"Oh, wait!" Sam dug into her spider backpack, came up with a pair of black fingerless gloves. "Here. Try these."
"Huh?"
"Well... no matter how stressed you are, you never seem to-" Sam tugged gently on her own top. "It's clothes. I thought, if it's focussed in your hands - maybe you can wear these, and focus it just on your fingers. Get a little more control."
"Might work," Danny agreed. Turned to Jazz. "You want to try it?"
Jazz took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." She pulled on the gloves, testing the fit. "Thanks, Sam."
"Pssh," Sam waved it off. "I kind of got the idea from some of this weird info Tucker pulled up on urban legends about mutants- Tucker?"
Danny sniffed the air, listened to a huff of breath over the backyard fence, and retreating footsteps heading through the back door. "Tucker heard the siren call of Mom's snicker-doodles."
"You mean, he's going to get there first?" Jazz yelped, hitting the fence like an Olympic jumper.
Yep, that got her going, Danny thought gleefully, fighting Sam for third place in the rush to the kitchen. Jazz was definitely second, heading for the plate Tucker had almost cleared off with a look of feral determination he'd last seen her turn on a mutated ghost beaver trying to wreck the house.
"Ack!" Tucker dove behind the table.
"Chocolate peanut-butter?" Jazz pounced. "Don't you dare eat them all, Tucker!"
"Ah, ze children of ze dark chocolate," Sam said with a thick Transylvanian accent, sneaking up on the plate in a vampiric pose. Neon-green ecto-sprinkles glimmered against peanut-swirled chocolate; almost normal, if you weren't looking for the faint emerald glow in the shadows. "What sweet music zey make - hey!"
Skating the plate across the table with just the smallest pulse of green energy, Danny grinned at her, and grabbed for cookies. Mmm... warm and rich, with that cool sparkle of spectral energy that before the accident had just been neat, and now made his ghost half feel comfy as a mug of hot cocoa. "All's fair in love and chocolate, Sam!" We really need a good free-for-all-
Something brushed the fringes of his thoughts, subtle as a moth's wing-beat.
Not nearly subtle enough.
Get. Out!
Danny slammed up every mental barrier Clockwork had ever taught them, wrapping his mind in the green fire of the Ghost Zone. Grabbed Sam's hand in a way that wasn't quite overshadowing, any more than the gentle push he'd used on the plate was like the ghost rays that could blast through walls. "Freakshow!"
Sam gasped, and glared; Danny could feel her launching her own defenses. Some of which were nastier than anything he'd pulled off. The realm of Doomed didn't know her as Chaos for nothing.
Jazz clenched her fists, eyes shut; she hadn't been practicing this as much as they had, given ghosts tended not to target her. Hand still half-full of chocolate-peanut-butter crumbs, Tucker frowned... then grinned, in a manner to make computer systems quake in terror.
Out in the front room, someone choked on tea.
"What'd you do?" Jazz whispered.
"Me, Valerie, Huntress, and Ember." Tucker waggled his eyebrows. "X-rated."
"Now is that an eww, or a yikes?" Sam muttered.
"Let's find out." Warily, Danny peeked through the wide opening to the front room. There's the tea....
And the bald guy in the wheelchair wearing it, currently fending off his mom's helpful paper towels, looked very surprised.
Right in my living room. Lots of guests. Oh, great. Danny's eyes narrowed. Pretty redhead, short-sleeved pink blouse and jeans, maybe a year older than Jazz. Jock with weird red sunglasses and short blue t-shirt... bet they came from somewhere colder than here. So what are two popular kids doing with a Goth? The girl in green and spikes couldn't be anything else; white-streaked brown hair might not be the dyed-black Goth standard, but the disaffected scowl was dead-on. If slipping a little, as she eyed her green-sprinkled cookie with a squint of dawning suspicion. And who's the hard case? He might be wearing an almost-friendly look, but the short, black-haired guy in denim and sideburns was perched on one corner of a couch with all the grace of a wolf at a tea party.
Comes down to a head-on fight, he's the dangerous one. But the other guy....
The bald man let his gaze wander over to the kitchen - as if he hadn't been directing far more invisible attention that way just a moment before. "Are those your children, Mrs. Fenton?"
Smooth, too. Daniel stomped on a snarl.
"Plus a few extras," Dad chuckled. "Come on out, kids. There's more cookies out here."
"There are?" Tucker said in an undertone. "Um... does that mean they've-?"
"Looks like, doesn't it?" Danny hid a sudden grin.
"But... don't your parents remember...." Sam got out, eyes wide.
"Don't think they've fed anybody outside the family since that last PTA picnic back in elementary school." A trace of the grin crept out. He couldn't help it. He might not enjoy haunting people the way most ghosts did, and he might work off most of the poltergeist-like cravings for random chaos by handling the latest ghosts wreaking havoc on Amity Park, but every once in a while....
"You mean, the one where the turkey sandwiches-" Jazz paled, but kept her voice to a whisper. "Danny! We've got to-"
"He poked in our heads, Jazz." Danny gave his older sister a serious look. "Do you want this guy hanging around?"
Jazz looked like she'd bitten into a lemon. "Point." She took a deep breath, and pasted on a pleasant smile. "Well. Everybody set?"
"One second." Digging deeper into her backpack, Sam came up with two pairs of Fenton Phones, and clipped one on her ears. Offered the other pair to Jazz, raising an eyebrow when the older girl hesitated.
Good idea, Danny thought, slipping his own out of a pocket as Tucker sighed and put on another pair. They had no reason to think this guy's abilities worked anything like Ember's - but they had no reason to think they didn't, either.
Besides, if they got caught in another of his dad's lectures, there was a certain advantage to having an MP3 player already in your ear.
"After you, milady," Tucker swept Jazz a mock bow.
"Smooth," Sam muttered, following them both.
Danny fell in behind everyone without thinking, subtly watching, listening, feeling for any trace of ghostly interference. If he's a ghost, he must be using something to block my ghost sense. If he's not - look for some kind of artifact. Or spellbook. Or something. It didn't feel like he was trying to take any of us over, but... I want this guy out of my house. Now.
Yeah, right. And Vlad wants the Packers... why is that guy looking at me?
The feral short guy wasn't even trying to hide it; meeting his gaze for one long second, then lifting it away to give all of Team Phantom the same kind of considering look Danny'd seen on more than a few ghosts.
He... just figured out how he'd take us down.
Wry blue eyes met Danny's again, and the man shrugged slightly.
And he let us see it. Danny swallowed dryly. If this goes wrong, I'm dropping everyone through the floor. No way am I letting that guy grab me.
"Kids, this is Professor Xavier, from the Institute for Gifted Youngsters in New York," Mom introduced the bald guy. "Professor, this is my daughter Jasmine, my son Danny, Sam Manson, and Tucker Foley."
"A pleasure," Xavier nodded graciously. "These are a few of my students; Scott Summers-"
"Nice to meet you," the jock nodded.
"Jean Grey-"
Swallowing cookie crumbs, the redhead waved.
"And Rogue."
"Hi," the Goth said grudgingly.
"Nice hair," Tucker said appreciatively. "You going to be in town long? Thanks to Sam here, I know where all the Goth hangouts are-"
"That's what you think." Sam almost smiled at Rogue's stunned blink, then turned a fierce look on the dangerous guy. "And I don't think we got your name...?"
One corner of the man's mouth turned up. "Logan."
"He's one of the other professors, Sam," Dad nodded. Stopped for a second. "What did you say you teach, again?"
"Art," Logan said dryly.
Danny didn't even have to look at his friends to know their eyes held the same yeah, right, running through his head.
And - there was that odd look from Xavier again.
Concentrating, Danny hammered together a thought and pushed it outside green fire. Last I heard, poking into other people's privacy was rude.
"Touché," Xavier murmured.
Danny tried not to gulp. That... actually worked? Oh boy....
The professor folded his hands together, and nodded at Jazz. "As I've told your parents, my institute brings together gifted students from across the country, and occasionally other nations as well. We've noticed your scores - which, by the way, are quite remarkable-"
"Well, of course," Mom smiled. "She is a Fenton."
"-And we would like to offer you a full scholarship to attend our institute, where you could more properly develop such outstanding potential."
Eyes down. Eyes down, you do not need these guys to see anything weird.... Danny could feel his eyes glowing bright green, feel the sudden chill of ectoplasm trying to surge forward and take the place of flesh. Think. You've got to think. He's in our house - like Vlad - he's dangling bait - like Vlad-
And he's got powers. Like Vlad. Meaning he's probably used to getting what he wants.
We are in so much trouble.
"That's, um... interesting," Jazz got out. "And... I really appreciate that you came all this way, and...."
"I think what she's trying to say is, we didn't know you guys were coming," Tucker stepped in to the rescue, PDA in hand. "And since we all thought we had this afternoon free, well-"
"We're helping Jazz on an extra credit project for school," Sam picked up the thread. Glanced at Jazz. "Hyperthermo-whatsis...?"
"Results of hyperthermobaric exposure on inorganic and organic substrates," Jazz managed, shoulders relaxing a little. She patted her younger brother's arm. "And I really need their help if I'm going to pull it all together in time for Mr. Lancer. I'm sure you want to talk to my parents some more anyway; could we just come back in a few hours?"
Logan's face was neutral, watching. Xavier started to frown-
Jean hiccuped.
Pink, Danny thought gleefully, watching the guests dissolve into chaos at the odd vapors escaping the redhead's mouth. And if she's had enough cookies to spark off an ectoplasmic reaction....
Scott urped. Dark green.
"What the-?" Ignoring Jean's not-so-quiet panic and Scott's sudden explosion of stifled curses, Logan shot a dark look Team Phantom's way.
Giving the man his best innocent look, the halfa munched a cookie.
"Oh, my!" Mom blinked, and frowned. "That hasn't happened in years...."
"Probably because the PTA said our family was never, ever allowed to bring food in for anyone else," Jazz sighed. "Not after the turkey sandwich incident, anyway."
"The turkey sandwiches?" Dad looked surprised. "Come on, Jazzy-kins, they can't still be upset about that! Why, that was only a simple mistake with the ecto-cooker-"
"That left Mrs. Milton's poodle with thirteen stitches?" Jazz said wryly.
"Hey, not your Dad's fault that pink puffball didn't realize the sandwiches would bite back," Tucker defended him. "It's not like you couldn't see the teeth." He shuddered. "Man, I couldn't go near toothpicks for months."
Face a little too stunned to be blank, Rogue put down her cookie.
"How many did you have?" Sam said dryly.
Rogue held up one finger.
"You'll be fine." Sam offered her a shadow of a smile. "Tucker and I eat here all the time. We have a pretty high tolerance. Your friends...."
"Hic! Hic-hic-hic-gah!" Pink wafted through the air, curling around green without ever quite mixing.
"Probably take an hour for that to wear off," Sam finished.
"And on that note..." Danny headed upstairs for Jazz's surprise, hearing the rest of his friends dash into the basement for the equipment they were going to use. "We'll be in the park if you need us!"
Tracking scents that mingled cookies, ozone, and a touch of something burnt through Amity Park's sprawling park, Logan smirked. I like that kid's style.
:Why am I not surprised?: Xavier's mental tone snagged on Logan's thoughts like a ragged fingernail. :He deliberately allowed my students to proceed into a dangerous situation-:
We let our kids walk into an unknown situation, Charles. Without checking it out first, when we knew there was something screwy with this town. This time, they got embarrassed. Next time? Maybe they'll know better than to take cookies from strangers. Logan let his lips draw back to show teeth, tasting the air. Motioned Rogue forward; her senses weren't as good as his, so she was waiting tense and quiet several yards back while he scouted ahead. After all, next stranger might be Mystique.
:You think she's been here.:
Her, or Magneto, or somebody high on the manipulative psycho meter, Logan thought bluntly, listening to Rogue try to sneak up on him. Somebody's been after these kids already. Danny hated your guts on sight.
:I noticed.:
Sam and Tucker were right behind him, and Jazz caught on quick, Logan pointed out, as if he couldn't feel Xavier's irritation. Charles, somebody's been after these kids-
:Yes, you said that.:
He was not going to send the telepath nasty images of claws and blood. No matter how tempting it was. As in physically after them, Prof. They've been attacked before. Especially Danny. He took one look over us and was working out exactly how he'd handle us if we pulled anything. And how to take you out of the fight first. And if Xavier hadn't picked up any mental traces of how serious Danny's scent had been when the kid had been working that out, Logan didn't feel inclined to bring it up. Anyone with that kind of combat reflexes definitely had dead on his list of options.
Kid's only fourteen....
And how old were you, first time you had to pick who died? part of his mind pointed out.
He didn't know. And not all of Xavier's mental powers could pull up an answer. He'd been fighting and surviving longer than eighty years; no one knew how much longer. Or who he really was.
I'm Logan. Wolverine. And an X-Man. It's enough.
:They do have rather impressive mental defenses,: Xavier noted.
Logan raised an eyebrow. Trying to sneak or not, it was taking Rogue an awful long time to get up to him. For kids?
:For anyone. If I didn't know better, I'd swear they'd been trained... What? Ah. Rogue's found something you should see.:
Oh yeah? Logan worked his way back to where the young mutant was standing by a park bench.
Or rather, half a park bench.
"Whoa," Logan breathed, taking in the crushed and shattered line marking what had been the bench's halfway point. He bent near the thin trace of black soot, sniffed.
"Looks like Boom-Boom set somethin' off," Rogue muttered, Southern accent thickening with worry.
"Uh-uh. Too controlled," Logan shook his head. "Whatever hit this was sharp, high-impact, and charring. Energy-charged... maybe a bolt, maybe some kind of electrified blade."
Rogue jabbed a gloved thumb around various bare spots in park grass and broken tree branches. "An' it had friends?"
Damn. That's what happens when you focus in too close on tracking; you miss everything else. Logan took a deliberate step back, letting his senses roam over the spots Rogue had picked out. "Good eye." Charles?
:Why do I have the distinct impression I'm not going to like this, Logan?:
If the Fenton kids were anywhere near this when it happened - and I'm betting they were - they've got really good reasons to be paranoid.
Not far away, something went boomf.
"Professor?" Rogue said under her breath. "What'd you say hyperthermobaric means?"
:It means they're subjecting things to high heat and pressure - oh. My.:
Yeah. Logan held up a finger in front of his lips, crouched, and snuck toward the blast.
"Okay." Tucker tapped notes into his PDA, determinedly ignoring the smoke rising from the flattened circle of grass in front of him. "Piece of floor tile, check." He looked to his right, where Sam was seated backwards at a battered picnic table, taking her own notes with a purple pen and a spiral-bound black notebook. "And I think that finishes all the normal-world objects, right?"
"Everything Lancer's going to get numbers on," the Goth nodded. "You two okay?"
Hanging onto his sister's shirt sleeve, Danny gave Sam a grin. "Just going intangible? I could do this all day."
"And sometimes have," the violet-eyed Goth quipped.
"Hey, I haven't lost control like that for months."
"Yet somehow, you still end up walking through the snack machine when lunch is particularly gruesome," Tucker observed.
"Danny," Jazz said darkly.
"What? I always leave change."
:Did they just say-?:
They did. Back in the cover of a few bushes, Logan yanked Rogue down to sit, and leaned forward for a better view. X-gene runs in families, Charles. You know that.
:But Cerebro didn't-: A moment's silence in Logan's head, along with a sense of exasperation. :Of course. Mental defenses. Magneto can shield himself from Cerebro. Obviously, Danny managed to do the same.:
Logan smirked. So how's that school record looking now, Prof?
:Like he has far more to deal with than a father with Asperger's and ADHD....:
Say what?
:I'll explain later.:
Danny's face turned serious as he looked up at Jazz. "Are you okay?"
"A little tired." The redhead flexed her fingers, gave him a thumbs-up. "But I thought we'd tried all this before."
"Exactly," Sam said dryly. "Repetition of results, Jazz. You're the one whose parents are scientists, remember?"
"If the same input of energy gets the same results, then you know how much you're going to blow up," Tucker pointed out. "Or heat up, or just make glow... that is some funky mass-to-energy conversion going on, Jazz."
"You mean freaky," Jazz said under her breath, rubbing her arms as if chilled.
"Jazz, you promised you wouldn't use the 'F' word," Danny said, stepping back to give her a determined glare. "You're different. Okay? We just need to figure out how."
:She's not taking her mutation well, it seems.:
You think? Logan could smell the worn fear wafting off Jazz, the worry and determination from the two normal kids, the fierce, protective determination around her brother....
Mixed with ozone, and an odd scent of burning.
Huh. Kitty goes intangible, and she doesn't smell like that. What else is working here?
"Okay... so we know inorganic stuff goes up like a rocket, and organic stuff seems to have varying results, depending on the intensity of its remaining intrinsic Kirlian aura," Sam said matter-of-factly.
"Its what?" Tucker said blankly.
"How dead it is, and how long it's been that way," Danny translated. "Pick a leaf, and Jazz can make it go up, but it takes a lot of energy. Give her a hunk of wood that's been around a year or so, doesn't take much more than a piece of tile."
"Hello, right here," Jazz grumbled.
"You're the one that's nervous about this," Sam shrugged.
"And you're not?"
"Jazz, hate to point this out, but do you know how many times the local ghosts have tried to blast us?" Tucker said wryly. "Dodging something you let loose by accident? Not so high on the stress meter."
Told you they'd been shot at.
:By ghosts?: Xavier sputtered. :Precisely when did this conversation enter the Twilight Zone?:
You hush.
"So, let's see what happens when you try it on something that's all Kirlian aura." Pulling on an odd metal glove, Sam reached into a silvery Thermos with a green stripe-
Why is that thing glowing inside?
And tossed an orange-brown rock at Jazz.
The redhead caught it as if it were a particularly slippery frog, red strands frazzling out from under her hair ribbon as she concentrated on lump in her hands. "Not all Kirlian aura. A self-contained energy field that emits a Kirlian aura. Get the terminology right- whoa!"
Orange dust was wafting out of her hands, burning away on the wind like black powder.
"Crumble and burn, instead of bang," Tucker observed. "Huh."
"If she's breaking the energy bonds holding things together, that makes sense," Danny pointed out. "All that keeps ghosts in one piece is energy."
Ghost rocks? Rogue mouthed at Logan, one skeptical brow raised.
:I have to agree with Rogue on this one. Even if you allow for the existence of ghosts - which I find highly unlikely - the idea that a piece of stone could leave any sort of metaphysical trace behind-:
"Let's try some paper," Danny went on.
"You bugged Ghost Writer again?" Jazz rolled her eyes as she took the slightly glowing page from Sam.
"Just for some scraps," Sam shrugged. "We told him if he wanted to poke around in the library quietly, we wouldn't bother him."
"He thought it was a good trade. Something about Walker giving him grief about a copy of the latest Discworld book," Tucker added. "Man! What's that guy got against real world items, anyway?"
"Probably that they go through his prison walls like ghosts?" Danny quipped. "Well, that works."
The scribbled-on sheet was charring and smoking in Jazz's grip, bursting into a cool blue flame.
That's it. Logan took a deeper whiff, teasing apart that odd burned scent. That's what's around the kid. He frowned. Ghost fire?
:The defensive image he used was of green flame, but....:
Logan hid a toothy grin.
:Oh, hush. The Fentons had some wandering thoughts about a transdimensional portal in the basement. At the time I considered it mere straying into fantasy - focused minds do indulge in such pursuits. But if they are in fact referring to an alternate dimension, such as Nightcrawler encountered, and these are items from that dimension... we already know that extra-dimensional spaces can harbor hostile, semi-sentient creatures. Given the Fentons were already obsessed with locating and studying ghosts - you tend to see what you think you are looking for.:
"And here we have the acid test. Shade, Sam?" Danny walked over to the picnic table, carefully lifting the cover off a shoebox under the shadow of Sam's black parasol. "They like moonlight okay, but I don't think they like sun any better than Goths do."
:What on Earth is-?:
Probably not from Earth, Charles. Logan took a deep breath, teasing out a faint scent of herbs, and jungle, and that same sparkle of ozone that had lurked around the Fenton's cookies. It looked like a flowerpot full of grass... if grass was veined with pure silver, glowed faintly green, and sported odd black-violet flowers like Gothic clover.
Beside him, Logan scented Rogue's sudden longing.
Well, damn. Charles? Rogue ever asked you for pet flowers?
:They're called houseplants, Wolverine. And... I'll think about it. If it's not harmful.:
"Wow," Jazz breathed. "But Danny, where-"
"Ghost Zone," Danny said quickly.
Too quickly; Jazz's eyes narrowed. "Where?"
"Um...."
"Oh, you didn't!" Jazz rounded on the other two teens. "And you let him go there?"
"Like we could stop him," Tucker muttered.
"We ran backup in the Speeder," Sam said practically. "Jazz, Danny made a good argument. We needed something ghost that was alive. And Skulker's island is one of the few places we know that we know we can find plants. We could get in quick, grab what we needed, and get out. Without hanging around long enough for Walker to catch up with us."
"But Skulker-!"
"What, Jazz?" Danny's voice was too tired to be angry. "What's he going to do? He already wants my pelt at the foot of his bed. How could I possibly make him any madder?"
:He can't possibly mean....:
Oh, he does, Logan thought bleakly. I know that scent, Charles. He's not scared, not anymore. He knows something's trying to kill him. And he doesn't plan to let it.
"Hey." Sam stepped between the two siblings, gave Danny's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. Looked up at Jazz. "We know it was risky. We planned it out in advance, we went armed, and we left you a note in case we didn't get back in a reasonable length of time. But you needed this."
"No-" Jazz shook her head.
"Hate to say it, but yes." Tucker looked up from his notes, dead serious. "Jazz. It's a ghost. But it's alive... sort of. Alive as ghosts get, anyway. You need to know what you can do to it. Before one of the local bad guys grabs you. Or you grab onto a friend." He jabbed a thumb toward dissolving brown dust. "What if you touch Clockwork and that happens? We need to know."
Jazz swallowed. "You're right." Shivered, and reached out for a pale leaf. "Here goes...."
Bits of lightning danced along her fingers, zapped against the glow of the leaf. For a long moment, nothing seemed to happen.
Jazz frowned, forehead wrinkling in concentration. The silvery strikes came faster, brighter.
Almost too slow to see, the leaf wilted, smoking away as if etched by acid.
Hands shaking, Jazz stepped away, snapping off the leaf before the effects could spread to the rest of the plants. "That's... not easy."
"Good," Sam said briskly. "So if it's not easy, you're not going to do it by accident, and you can stop worrying. Right?" Stepping forward, she held out her left arm. "Which means we've only got one test left."
"What? No!"
Danny put his hand on Sam's right shoulder. "Jazz. I'm right here. If anything goes wrong, we won't be solid anymore. Sam will be fine."
Jazz shook her head, white-faced. "You don't know that!"
"We've run this every other way we can," Sam stated, never letting Jazz's gaze escape hers. "We know what should happen. But we won't know until you try." Violet eyes softened. "Jazz, we trust you."
"I don't trust me!"
"I know," Danny said softly. "That's why you have to do this."
:Logan! You can't possibly let-:
Logan grabbed Rogue before she could move, glared at her in lieu of covering her mouth with his hand. Their lives, Charles. Their choice.
:But such a hazardous mutation-:
Which they've been dealing with, Charles. Alone. Logan shook his head. She's scared to death, Prof. If you step in now, before she can face it - it'll bite us all later. Hard.
:...Do as you think best.:
Meaning Xavier probably thought he'd have an easy time picking up the pieces if this did go wrong. Logan's lips peeled back, but he stifled the growl. And watched.
Shaking like a leaf, Jazz gripped Sam's arm. Closed her eyes, and concentrated.
Pale and sweating, the three younger teens watched sparks of silver dance across Sam's bare skin. Strengthen, and join together; a moving net of lightning that flashed-
And faded, and died.
Swaying on her feet, Jazz let go. "Nothing," she managed. "I can't - get through the wall. I can feel her aura, but the sparks can't bite through it-"
"Yes!" Danny cheered.
And Jazz was swarmed by laughing teenagers; hugging, slapping her on the back, and chattering an indistinguishable medley of all right, knew you could do it, never worried for a second-
Letting go of Rogue, Logan stepped silently into view. Cleared his throat. "That," he said bluntly, "has to be one of the bravest things I've seen in my life."
Mass flinch, Logan noted in the next second. Into defensive formation, Danny on point... interesting. "Easy," he held up an empty hand. "Know exactly what you're going through. Exactly." He glanced casually away across the park. "Though I doubt I'd be practicing mutant powers out here, where anybody quiet as I am could sneak up on you...." He let it trail off, a casual question.
"Most people around here won't come near this part of the park anymore," Sam said flatly. "Too many ghost attacks." She scowled at him. "Did you say, mutant powers?"
"And what about you?" Logan shrugged, waving Rogue out of cover. "Not worried about ghost attacks?"
Ka-click.
Logan stared at the kids' sudden assortment of lipstick mini-lasers, one metallic nine-tailed whip, and a trio of very odd-looking silver Thermoses. "We have the technology," Tucker quipped.
Not just the Fentons who believe in inter-dimensional creeps, then. Okay. Something is going on. Wolverine raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be leaving that to the professionals?"
"Hello? We are the professionals," Tucker started.
Jazz winced. "My parents are the professionals, but...."
But they're not exactly playing with the same deck as everybody else, and you know it, Logan finished silently, shooting Rogue a look before she could make a snarky comment. "Can't be everywhere at once, right?"
"Right," Jazz breathed, relieved.
"Mutant powers?" Danny asked pointedly.
"X-gene," Rogue grumped. "Looks like you both got the same lousy roll of DNA dice we did."
Four sets of eyes blinked at her.
Kids. Scared kids. With reason. "Weird piece of DNA that's been showing active up in some people for at least the past eighty years," Logan explained, matter-of-fact. "Everybody gets something different. Me," he tapped his nose, "I can track just about anybody. Rogue knocks people out on contact. And from what I've heard, you go intangible... and Jazz blows things up." He cocked his head. "Never heard of mutants?"
"Sheesh," Rogue rolled her eyes. "What the hell did you think was going on?"
"My parents chase ghosts, put ectoplasmic sprinkles on our cookies, and have an inter-dimensional portal in the basement," Danny shot back. "We've had people possessed, turned into dragons, and one time, the whole town got sucked into the Ghost Zone. What were we supposed to think was going on?"
Rogue took a step back, shocked out of typical Goth disdain. "Dragons?"
"Long story short, never let people put strange jewelry on you," Sam said wryly. "Especially glowing amulets." She frowned. "What kind of contact?"
"Given the all-over clothing, the gloves, the conversion of the normal desire for human touch into hostility that goes beyond even the typical Goth norm... I'd say, skin contact," Jazz concluded, stepping forward. "Which means you probably don't get enough of this, either...."
Rogue never saw it coming.
Jazz squeezed again, gently, then backed off from the hug. "I know, I know. 'Human contact crushing Goth indifference.'" She gave the dazed mutant a bright smile. "But just because you can't get the full-course meal, doesn't mean you can't snag a snack now and then."
The brunette blinked at her, dazed. "I... you... why?"
"Friendly human contact is a basic psychological need," Jazz said seriously. "We can actually get sick if we don't get enough of it. I know what Goths look like, and those rings under your eyes aren't just makeup. Maybe we're not your friends yet, but at least we're not afraid of you."
Rogue glared. "Well, maybe you should be!" Glared harder, at Tucker's stifled snicker. "What?"
"No offense, but compared to a thirty-foot giant ghost cobra in a dark alley? Not rating high on my list of scariest things ever," the techno-geek shrugged.
"More like twenty-five," Sam said judiciously.
"Well, excuse me for not measuring while these fangs were dripping green venom on my sneakers...."