Leslie stared at herself in the mirror, running her hand again through her short locks. Two days. Two days since they'd left the mansion, and already she looked different.
It had been Stacy's idea, and, Leslie had to admit, a damn good one. They'd arrived in New York by bus, Stacy leading her through the seedier sides of the city (and there were a lot of them) to an apartment she claimed belonged to a friend. Leslie hadn't questioned her.
Immediately Stacy had demanded her I.D., then left with it, returning later with tanner, hair dye, and scissors.
"Oh, no. No way. Not the hair."
"Les, if you don't want them to find you, you're going to have to do better than that."
Sighing, she'd acquiesced, wincing as she saw the hair fall. Stacy had snapped a photo, leaving again. This time she returned with a new ID. Still Anna Jacobs, but with a new photo to match her new look. Leslie really didn't want to know how she'd managed that.
She wrenched her gaze from the mirror…only to have it fall on the phone. Dammit. The other thing she wanted to avoid…One call. What harm could one call do, to let them know she was alright?
Stop it. Now. You will not do this to yourself. This is the right thing to do now. Later. You can call him—them—later.
She groaned. "Can't even lie to yourself, can ya?" Sighing, she through herself on her bed in the room they shared. Stacy was out, erm, "working," so she could get some sleep until she returned. Rule number one: none of Stacy's "business meetings" took place in the apartment.
Closing her eyes, Leslie slipped off to sleep, hoping tonight no to be plagued by dreams…
Bobby was being fed grapes by Emma Frost. Who was in full Hellfire attire. Just when he thought life couldn't get any better, Emma morphed into Moira McTaggert, who began chasing him with giant needles for drinking the last of her coffee.
"Man, you need therapy. I mean it."
Bobby blinked as Moira disappeared, then turned to see Leslie smirking as she leaned against a tree.
"Leslie! You're back! What the hell were you thinking, Kurt's gone nuts, and I think he's considering calling up Mystique to get help finding yo—"
Leslie cut him off. "Bobby. Reality check: has Frost ever offered to feed you ANYTHING besides your own brain?"
He thought about it. "Erm…no?"
"And is Moira even alive?"
"At the moment, I don't think so, but with this group you can never tell."
"True," Leslie conceded, "but the point is: you're dreaming. I'm not back at the mansion."
"Oh." Damn. He knew when Remy and Logan had waltzed through—and he did mean WALTZED—that something was wrong… "Why'd ya leave?"
Leslie sat down on the grass, plucking idly at it. "Lots of reasons. Had to get away from it all. Going to kill the Pontiff. That sort of thing."
"Oh." He sat down next to her. "You're gonna kill him?"
"Yup."
"Hit him once for me?"
She grinned, leaning against him. "Sure."
"Good." They sat there for a bit before Leslie spoke again.
"So he's not taking it well?"
Bobby rolled his eyes. "That's an understatement. He hit Hank—did you have to drug him, by the way?—then teleported into the woods, where he hid for half the day before Logan found him."
"Hank'll be fine. At least according to the papers in the med lab he will be…Is he really going to call Mystique?"
He shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe it would give them something to bond over."
"I suppose…wasn't she dead?"
"She got better."
"Oh."
They sat there for a minute before Leslie seemed to waver before stabilizing again.
"What's wrong?"
Leslie sighed. "You're waking up. Time for me to go, I guess…"
"Hey, let me know how you're doing from time to time?"
She smiled. "Course. Don't tell anyone about this?"
"Course."
"Good…" and then, just before she faded completely, she added, "and let me know how Logan takes the soda in the beer cans…"
He stared in horror as reality dripped away. "Shit! I'm gonna get blamed for that, aren't I?"
And he thought he heard her laugh.
Bobby awoke to a face that would give the U.S. Marines nightmares. A face that, had Dante seen it, would have made the Divine Comedy four books long, with one whole book devoted to the terrors it instilled alone. A face that not even a drugged-up blind mother could love.
He awoke to see a drunk Kurt.
Not that Kurt was ugly, mind you. In fact, despite his physical oddities, his features were quite handsome. But a DRUNK Kurt got a manic look in his eye that was said to have made Logan go out and buy a teddy bear. When asked, Logan would plead the fifth Amendment, despite not being American.
Not to mention the fact that Kurt had an extremely high tolerance for alcohol, and therefore had to drink unseemly quantities to get even a bit tipsy.
Bobby swallowed hard. "Um…hi?"
Kurt wrapped a hand around his neck. "Vhat did she say?!"
"Can't…breathe…"
He loosened his grip. "Vhat did Leslie say?"
Play dumb, Bobby decided. It's always worked before. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Kurt sent him a withering glance. "Leslie. I know she vas in your mind. Vhat did she vant? Vhere is she?"
Damn! Didn't see that one, didja, Les? "Kurt, she just said hi. Really. And gave me a heads up on a Logan prank so I have time to move to Canada and become a lumber jack. (A/N: Shameless plug for Panther's Series of Unfortunate Saturdays, in the Evo section.)
Kurt released him suddenly, causing Bobby to flop back onto the mattress. Groaning, he placed his head in his hands. "Mein Gott...did she say vhen she'd be back?"
"No," Bobby said cautiously, sitting up. "Kurt, man, it'll be okay…God, you were never this upset when Amanda left…"
"Nein," Kurt answered dully. "But…Leslie is locking off the link. And I vas used to it…and now it feels like a part of me is just gone…"
Bobby awkwardly patted his friend's shoulder. Leslie, you better kill that guy soon…
Leslie awoke when Stacy banged the door open, whistling off tune. "Good night?" she asked dryly.
"The best kind, sweets," Stacy replied, stripping as she made her way to the bathroom. It had shocked Leslie when she'd done it the night before, but she expected it now.
"Glad to hear it."
Stacy reemerged a few minutes later, short hair still damp from her quick shower. "Unfortunately, we gotta leave the city tomorrow."
"Why?!"
She shrugged. "Cop caught me, and I didn't have a chance to touch him. So we're leaving before he changes his mind about arresting me."
Leslie groaned into her pillow. She asked, though in a rather muffled way, "Where are we going?"
"Damned if I know. Chicago?"
"Why not. I'll pack."
Doing so, Leslie couldn't help but wonder what was ahead of them. Jail? Running forever? Revenge?
She had no idea…
The End
A/N: That's it. Really. There isn't anymore. I'm done. The story is ended…oh, alright, I'll write a sequel. Title? Jeez, you're demanding! Fine:
Life Isn't Fair, But It Beats the Alternative. Wordy, eh?