Rogue held them up for him to see. "Jean has the rest. We need to find a place to stash them."

"Let me check out the bas.e.m.e.nt," he said. The cruiser turned left at the end of the street, but Logan thought it would be back.

He found the bas.e.m.e.nt door by the living room and felt his way down into darkness. Cobwebs brushed his face. A lightbulb chain banged against his forehead, but Logan did not turn on the light. He could not be sure that the bas.e.m.e.nt was fully enclosed; he did not see any light coming in from outside, but the risk was not worth it. He used his feet and hands to feel around the damp room and finally found some boxes beneath the stairs. There were clothes inside. Logan picked up the box and, stumbling, made his way back to the kitchen.

Quickly, silently, the X-Men packed their hospital clothing at the bottom of the box. The clothes inside smelled like the bas.e.m.e.nt and seemed particularly old. Logan hoped that would be enough to keep the family from digging too deep into the box. One day, maybe, someone would find these uniforms. Hopefully by then they would have their bodies back.

When Logan returned from the bas.e.m.e.nt, he found everyone seated in the living room but Scott. Logan went into the kitchen and found him leaning against the counter. He stared at the phone hanging on the wall. Logan said, "Not here. The number will show up on their bill."

"I know, but the longer I wait, the worse I feel. Like I'm not going to get another chance."

"You'll get one, Cyke. I want to contact them as much as you, but it's going to have to be a pay phonea"and not one in this neighborhood. We'll have to go farther out." That, or risk being picked up by the police.

Scott shook his head. "Someone went to a lot of trouble, Logan. I don't know where our bodies are, but if we're not in them, I don't want to know who is."

"The people we're inhabiting, I'd guess."

"But why put mentally unstable individuals inside us?"

Logan had an immediate answer to that question, but it was too disturbing to speak out loud. Instead he said, "It might make them easier to control."

"By Maguire?"

"I don't know as much about this guy as you do, but sure. Why not?"

"I don't know what a mental health specialist would have against us."

"h.e.l.l, man. Even our mailman doesn't like us. It could be any reason."

"Thanks for your help."

Logan snorted. "You know where this guy lives? We should go to his house and see if he's there. Even if he's not, I bet he'll have stuff around that can tell us what he's up to."

"We broke into his office at the hospital. Kurt stole his address. He lives in a neighborhood called Old Victoria."

"Ritzy," Logan said. "The man must have money."

"You familiar enough to get us there?"

Logan wanted to laugh. "Cyke, I'm familiar enough with the Seattle area to run some of these streets blindfolded."

"How's that?"

He shrugged, not particularly inclined to spill his guts about some of the work he'd done for Nick Fury. The jobs had been long and drawn out, requiring a native's understanding of the city.

And Logan was always good at going native.

Scott and Logan rummaged through the cupboards and found boxes of cookies, pretzels, and Ritz crackers. Careful with crumbsa"and mindful they should not finish everythinga"they sat in the dark living room and munched on snacks. Several times the police car drove slowly past, but the cop never stopped. After several hours of taking turns sleeping and watching, Logan said, "He hasn't been back for two hours. I think it may be safe to move."

"Let's wait one more hour." Scott studied Jean, who lay curled beside him in a heavy sleep. Rogue and Kurt had their eyes closed, too. Logan was not entirely sure how deep into la-la land they were, but any bit of rest would help them when they started moving.

Logan slept for a time, with images of wolves and straitjackets and a long sharp fence filling his heada"and then stayed awake while Scott stole several minutes of his own rest. The cop never returned.

"It's time," he finally said, shaking Scott awake. "We stay here any longer and we'll be walking with the rising sun." An exaggeration; it wasn't even two in the morning, but time would move fast once they left the house.

They used the bathrooms one last time, and then left the house through the back door. Logan led them down the backstreet until they came to the main road. He did not see many parked vehicles; none of them looked like a police cruiser. Logan did not have the time or patience to check for unmarked vehicles.

They cut across backstreets and took shortcuts across lawns, always watching, always listening. Only once did they hear a car and they hid out behind a detached garage. It was nothing more than a little Jetta, but it made Logan more cautious as they emerged from the shadows.

When they reached the parka"a multiacre spread of sandboxes, soccer fields, and gra.s.sy picnic moundsa" Logan made them wait inside the tree line as he studied the open field for movement. Everything was still except for the light brush of wind across his face, lulling leaves into a soft music.

"I'll go alone," Scott said. "It's safer that way."

Logan did not disagree. Jean also said nothing. They watched him leave the cover of shadow into a lighter dark, a small figure walking quickly across the gra.s.s to a spot in the center of a field. Scott stood there for several minutes, staring at nothing.

"c.r.a.p," Logan said.

"I'm not surprised," Jean said. "We'll just have to be more resourceful."

"It's one of the things I do best, darlin'."

"I know," she said, and her smile was small and wry.

Scott did not say anything when he returned from the field. He examined his hands and then their feces, looking each of them in the eyes. He saved Jean for last, and if Logan had been at all sentimental, he would have felt a twinge of sympathy for the sorrow and apology in that man's gaze.

"No one knows us," Scott said, quiet. "We don't have our powers, we're wanted by the police, and we're dead broke."

"Right," Logan said. "Survival time."

8.

THEY WALKED QUICKLY, KEEPING TO ALLEYS AND SIDE streets as they crossed from residential neighborhoods into industrial parks. Night in the dead zone between Tacoma and Seattle was quiet, filled only with the occasional rumble of a car engine or the shout of some drunk making friends with a bottle.

"It's a good ten miles between here and downtown Seattle," Logan said. It was difficult for Jean to listen to him when he sounded like a woman. Or maybe a better word was "eerie." If she did not look at him, if she pretended hard enough, she could almost convince herself that Logan was still a man and that his voice, with its same gruff growl, was the product of some terrible helium accident.

With Scott it was different. She could not yet pretend with him.

"That will take us all night," Kurt said. Rogue walked close beside him; Jean thought it was in case his leg gave out. He was trying not to limp, but she remembered that blow to his knee, his high cry.

"Yeah," Logan said, and Jean knew there would be no discussion about whether Kurt could handle the distance.

They had to keep moving; first, to locate Jonas Maguire, and if that proved unfruitful, then somehow to find a way home, and fast.

Scott brushed up against her side. She glanced down at hima"and oh, that was strange, being taller than her husbanda"and said, "Hey."

"Hey," Scott said softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay," she said, sensing his discomfort. Her voice sounded loud in the quiet of night, and she slowed her pace, creating some distance between themselves and the others. "How about you?"

He smiled, grim, and ran his fingers through his hair. A familiar gesture, one that made her heart jump, her stomach twist. She reached out and touched his face. Just a slip of her fingers against his cheek. Her hand was large and dark against his pale skin, but it was becoming her hand, her body, and though startling, she could breathe now when she looked at herself. She could accept her new form, even if she desperately wanted her old one back.

Scott's breath caught. Jean said, "Close your eyes," and he did. She brushed her fingers against his lips, running them across his throat, and he swallowed hard.

"It's still me," she whispered, aware they were falling even farther behind the others. She did not care. She had to make sure he understood, that whatever else happened, he could live with the changes between them. She hoped it was not permanent, but if it was . . . oh, G.o.d, if...

Scott opened his eyes. Brown eyes, rich dark eyes. Not his eyes, though. Jean wished they were. He grabbed her hand, held it against his face, and said, "I know."

Do you, really? Jean wondered, aching for her powers, that sweet comfort of knowing his thoughts. A burden, too, but now that she was without the ability, she knew better than to take it for granted. She was appalled, too, at how vulnerable she felt without her gifts. Surely, she was stronger than this. She had to be.

A smile flickered across Scott's mouth. Jean said, "What?"

He shrugged, and tucked her much larger arm against his side. "It's ... funny. There's no way in the world anyone could mistake you for my wifea""

"Oh, really," Jean drawled.

"a"but there is something of you in this man you're wearing. I can see it. I can see it so clearly when you look at me."

Jean smiled, and this time it was genuine: a first, since waking up in her new body. Scott gazed up at her and quietly said, "There. There it is. My Jean."

She did not know how much she needed to hear diose words; she took a deep breath, savoring the unexpected looseness in her chest, her gut, and held on to the look in his eyes, trying to memorize the moment so it would always stay fresh inside her heart.

"Scott," she said. "What if I stay like this? What if we're both ... stuck?"

He did not look away. "Do you know who I am, Jean?"

She smiled. "Is that a trick question?"

Scott stopped walking. He reached up and touched her cheek, brushing his thumb over her lips. Jean wanted to close her eyes, to pretend he wore a different face, but that would be a disservice, and Scott's eyes were open. He was not pretending.

He drew close, and this time it was Scott who fit into her body, Scott who was small and lithe and feminine, and his small hand touched the back of her neck. They both hesitated, staring at each other: those strange faces housing familiar hearts.

"You don't have to," Jean finally said, when the silence stretched too long.

"I know," he said, "but I want to. You're still my wife, Jean."

He stood on his toes, and Jean bent down and closed her eyes. He kissed her, soft, on the lips. His mouth felt odd, but the pa.s.sion was still there, and after a moment she gave herself over to the comfort of being touched by the person she loved.

It did not last. She heard footsteps, a low sigh.

"We don't have time for this," Logan muttered.

"Shut up," Scott said. "We're having a moment here."

"You can take a whole year for all I care, but not until we're someplace safe. Come on, Cyke. Don't make me be the voice of reason in this outfit. We're already screwed up enough."

"He's got a point," Jean said. "Cyke."

Scott gave her a dirty look. Logan, showing a remarkable degree of restraint, said nothing at all. He turned and walked back to Kurt and Rogue, who waited quietly beneath a scraggly tree, one of many that lined the broken sidewalk; no doubt part of an old project meant to greenify a section of the city that was, even at night, extraordinarily dour. Kurt leaned against the narrow tree trunk, rubbing his leg. He stopped when the others got close.

"How are you doing?" Scott asked him.

Kurt straightened, throwing Rogue a wry smile. "We were just discussing that, mein freund. I will be fine."

"Right," Rogue muttered. "His knee is popping every time he straightens his leg."

Scott frowned. "You've made it this far. Can you keep going?"

"I must," Kurt said, and then waved his hands in the air. "Ach, don't look so concerned. I am not crippled. It could be worse."

Could be, and probably would be, after this night. They had no money, no transportation other than what their feet could provide them. Jean said nothing, though. She did not imagine hitchhiking was an option, not in this part of town and not at night.

"Screw it," Logan muttered, and stalked off down the street "Logan?" Jean said. She ran after him. "Logan, what are you doing?"

"What I should have done earlier," he said. "But I was trying to be decent. Forget that."

He stopped beside an old Chevy van parked at the side of the street and began looking at the ground, which was littered with debris.

"Go get the others, Jeannie," he said, picking up a rock.

No need. Everyone was already close behind, looking puzzled but not terribly surprised by Logan's outburst.

"Logan," Scott said slowly, looking at the rock in his hand. Logan flashed them a quick grin and then in one smooth motion smashed the rock through the drivers- side window of the van. The gla.s.s shattered.

"So much for being subtle." Scott watched the street around them, jean listened, but heard no one stirring inside the nearby buildings. She doubted that would last.

"Don't get your panties in a twist." Logan reached through the broken window to unlock the door. He climbed in and leaned over to open the pa.s.senger side. "Everyone, move it."

"You know," Scott said, remaining still, "hot-wiring cars only works in the movies."

"Then you must be really bad at it." Logan grabbed a large piece of broken gla.s.s and used it to pry off the old plastic dash beside the wheel. Jean grabbed Scott's arm and steered him to the other side of the van, where Rogue and Kurt were already buckling into the large backseat. Scott grabbed the front; Jean joined the others, sliding the door shut behind her. The interior smelled like beer and cigarettes.

Logan found two wires and stripped them with a sharp edge of gla.s.s. Scott rummaged through the glove compartment. Jean, too, cast around the back of the van, looking for anything useful. All she found were some worn Playboys and a pair of very dirty underwear. Jean nudged the soiled boxers with her foot. Rogue shook her head.

She heard popping sounds accompanied by colorful language. The van's engine roared to life and Logan shifted gears, pulling away from the curb. He blew on his fingers.

"I feel so guilty," Kurt said. "What if stealing this car ruins some man's life?" He glanced out the back window. Jean looked, too. The street was dark and empty.

"Say some prayers for him," Logan replied. The wind rushing through the broken window whipped blond hair across his chubby face. He brushed it away impatiently. A hard-nosed little brat, Jean thought fondly. Logan looked like the kind of girl who could nurse a kitten back to health and then rip the face off a trucker, all in one breath. Which was entirely accurate, considering what Jean knew of the man inside that woman's body.

"Where does jonas Maguire live?" Jean asked.

"Old Victoria Hill," Scott said.