"We've got only two options and two options only," McCoy said, placing the coffee mug before me. The pungent smell of Viennese Cinnamon quickly filled the air, charging my parched salivary glands. "Not interrogating our, ah, 'guests' isn't among them. We either do this the traditional, time-consuming way…or we do it telepathically."

"Ream 'em," Logan said, shoveling a mouthful of scrambled eggs into his maw. "We don't have time t' dick around, folks. Now's not th' time 'r place t' go pussyfootin' around this."

"Ah second th' motion," Paige cut in, pouring herself a judicious glass of orange juice. She'd been avoiding my gaze ever since we'd come back last nite. Can't actually say I blame her one damned bit, to be honest. Sam'd taken an awfully hard hit… "Ev'ry second we sit heah is one moah second less that Savij might have. God knows what th' devil they wanted her fo' but this is one case where traditional methods of interrogation are out of th' question."

Summers, across the table, stiffened. "That's not what Charles would want and I don't think we ought to be making these kinds--"

"Shut up, Summers!" Logan snapped, mid-stab through his sausage. "Yer outta th' loop and, frankly, I don't give a flyin' fuck what Charlie would or would not do. We're not talkin' 'bout an X-Man whose seen and heard it all, we're talkin' 'bout a kid, Scottie. So git off yer high horse and visit us mere mortals when yer not rubbing elbows with th' perfect people, okay?"

"Logan!" Hank shouted, nearly dropping his own coffee cup.

"Stop it!" Paige shouted, just as Scott started revving up, his index finger pointed directly at Logan. "God damn y'all!" she hissed. "This is mah teammate, mah responsibility we're talkin' 'bout heah! Now Ah don't give a flyin' flip 'bout ethics n' all that crapola…Ah just want Savijinia found and brought back home!"

I chewed on the insides of my cheeks, wondering if now was the best time to… Ah, to hell with it. There's no good time for bad news… "Ah," I began, clearing my throat. I suddenly felt all eyes in the room draw towards me. Panic briefly gripped my chest, surging through my system like a raging torrent of molten lava, but I pressed onward. "There's s-s-suh-something you might want t-to know about the folks who k-kuh-kidnapped Savij. More than likely, they were here own puh-people; Srivijayans. I nuh-noted the tilak--the dot on their foreheads--when we buh-buh-brought them in."

Logan nodded. "I saw that myself but I was wonderin' whether or not it might be a ruse t' throw us off; a red herring."

"They could also be from India, or Hindus from Britain or even here," McCoy said, blowing on his coffee. "Any other particular reason why--?"

"Two reasons, actually. The weapons," I interrupted. "T-too sophisticated for New Delhi. That plus there's nuh-not a really good explanation why they'd all wear th-the tilak. India muh-might be majority Hindu but they're a suh-suh-secular state. Srivijaya, however, isn't."

"Why the devil would they want to kidnap their own?" Scott said. "Especially considering her status. She's royalty of a sort, isn't she?"

I shrugged sheepishly, working my mouth. "I'm nuh-nuh-not well-versed in her status t-t-to be perfectly honest."

"There's only one way to find out," Illyana said from behind Paige.

"I'm still--" Scott began but was immediately cut off with a chopping motion from Logan.

"Save it, Summers." He looked up at Hank. "Okay, we ream 'em. Now…who does th' dirty deed? Chuck ain't gonna do it…"

"Magnus is a touch-telepath," Illyana offered.

I licked my lips nervously. "No," I said. "I've guh-got an even b-buh-buh-better idea. Let's use Moshe."

Once more, all eyes turned to me. I refused to let that deter me. "Think about it buh-before you dismiss muh-me out of hand. Moshe'll be able to c-cuh-completely integrate whatever he learns from the prisoners, something a r-r-ruh-regular telepath cannot do. Even if Magnus or Emma wuh-were willing to d-duh-duh-do the scan, we'd have to look at the p-puh-possibility that the prisoners would escape."

"And th' Izi would make sure that wouldn't happen," Logan said, completing my unspoken thought.

"This is monstrous!" Scott protested. "We're talking about a person's mind here, their very personality!"

I chewed on my lower lip in suppressed anger. I'd had enough of this asshole. "Yeah, and?" I said, coldly. "Your p-puh-point is? Because if you're asking m-muh-me to feel sorry for these bastards, you're b-barking up the wrong tree, Scott!"

Henry held up his hands. "Gentlemen!" he all-but-shouted as Summers opened his mouth to respond. "I think there's a method we can use to accomplish both items; reconciling the need for continued anonymity and respecting their basic right to continue their lives without…without undo degradation," he said, though perhaps with a bit less surety than his statement would initially belie. "How?" Illyana said, asking the question that immediately sprung to all our lips.

Hank adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. "As I see it, Moshe's main problem lies in his inability to prevent myelin stripping and synaptic dissolution, correct?"

Paige nodded. "So far as Ah understand it, yes." She glanced at me and I gave a brief, perfunctory tilt of my head. With as much as the Israeli and I hung around each other, the absolute last thing we wanted to talk about was how each other's powers worked…or didn't work, as it were. There were always better things in life than making yourself feel more morose than you already do.

"Fine, then the solution is simple: a slow scan, using Emma and Moshe is close, mind-to-mind contact. Moshe will absorb the memories but not before Emma copies them synapse by synapse, replacing them as the two of them proceed. A daunting and lengthy process, yes, but I can see no recourse if we want to keep them out of the tabula rasa status Moshe is sure to put them in." The room went completely silent as we all digested the enormity of the task he was asking of our compatriots. Then, he glanced over at me. "Well, Dom, do you think he could pull that off?"

I nervously licked my lips. Why were they asking me? I knew hardly anything about the in's and out's of Moshe's powers. Neither of us wanted to even think about them when we were hanging out. For us, it was best to remain silent, locking our secrets in deep over a keg of Labbat's. "I duh-don't know," I said honestly. "I guess most of the puh-pressure would be on Emma to...to reconstruct the memories. The question, more puh-puh-properly put, then, is: can she handle it?"

My eyes glanced around the room, assessing everyone's face. Of them all, only Henry and Scott seemed disturbed, with the latter bordering on sheer disgust. With a flip of my wrist, I drained the last drop from my mug and pushed my plate away, my breakfast untouched. I'd lost whatever appetite I'd had, anyway.

Gently I stood up, well aware of the eyes that followed me. I offered no explanation for what I was about to--what I was expected--to do. No one knew both Moshe and Emma to the degree I did. In fact, in spite of the fact the latter had been aligned with the Institute for nearly five years, the elder generation of 'students' only barely trusted her. Their loss, I suppose. In any case, I knew what was needed. Someone had to talk them both into this scheme. That someone just happened to be me.

I would have rather walked on smouldering coals.

just missing your oh-so-vulnerable head; the surge

Moshe and I clicked. Almost immediately we knew we

Moshe removed his kipa the moment he saw me enter our bedroom, simultaneously closing the book he was reading. I felt momentarily ashamed that I had 'caught' him in an apparently intimate religious moment...but there were other, equally serious considerations that needed to be addressed.

He broke into a wane, tired smile as he composed himself. "Welcome to my parlor, said the spider to the fly!" the Israeli grinned. "So, what brings you here, my friend? Finally decided to check up on me, eh?" There was no bitterness in his jab, but it was a polite reference to my absence. I don't know if I had the guts to tell him I couldn't--until now--face him. Face my shame. The shame of failure.

"I wuh-won't dawdle around about this, Moshe: we nuh-nuh-need your skills. We need your...version of t-t-telepathy."

The Israeli's face froze, his smile permanently affixed across his jawline. "What kind of bullshit is this, Dom?" he asked quietly, with that same kind of hidden venom you'd find Cobra. "You and I both know that there's no application the Institute would allow me to do, considering the permanence of the effects...so what gives, eh?"

"Circumstances," I said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Savij has been kidnapped--" his eyes widened in silence "--and we've a good hunch that it was by her own countrymen. In any case, we have prisoners--"

"For God's sake then, man!" he interrupted. "Use Emma, use Charles! Hell, use Magnus before you come down to me! I'd might as well be signing their death certificate if I'm unleashed!"

I held up a hand, hoping to calm my friend a bit. He looked absolutely terrified. "We will be using Emma," I began. "She, in fuh-fuh-fact, will be your back-up. The idea is that you duh-do your thing in conjunction with Emma, who wuh-will be right behind you, repairing most if not all the damage you'd caused. It'll be a time-consuming p-p-process to say the least...but it's the only way I could cuh-convince them to even work on the Srivijians. Personally," I slight my eyes. "If it were up t-t-t-to me, I'd let you run the show yourself...and to hell with what happens to their minds."

The Israeli paled slightly, his jaw slackening in response to my incredulous statement (well, incredulous to him). "My friend...do you know what you're asking of me? Or, for that matter, Emma? There's no guarantee, however tough a p-head she is, that it's probable or even possible to accomplish that kind of delicate psi-surgury."

My lower lip quivered. "I know. I've already thought of that...and I'm inclined t-t-t-to agree wuh-with you. I simply don't guh-guh-guh-give a damn, Moshe. We need to know what's going on and, more importantly...where sh-she is."

I turned smartly on my heels and headed for the door. "Wait!" Moshe screeched. "Just when the hell do you want Emma and I to do this crazy routine!"

My lips felt cracked and raw and I ran my tongue over them several times before I deigned to answer. "Wuh-what's your medical suh-status, Moshe?"

He ran his fingers through his long, black hair. "A mild concussion and a few nasty abrasions. Why?"

I set my jaw, wishing there was a better way but knowing there wasn't. "Buh-buh-better get dressed, hommie. Yesterday would've been preferable."

I didn't stand around to watch his jaw drop, nor to see the confusion and fear in his eyes. We both knew what the other was thinking at right this moment...and it wasn't pretty at all.

With deliberate speed, I exited his room...and headed towards the ladies' dorm wing.

Though I was asking much from Moshe, he was, in essence, not the pinnacle of the operation. To keep Saint Charles and his zealots off my back, I needed Emma more than even my best friend. If this operation succeeded, it would not only fulfill the Institute's 'precious' humanistic guidelines but it would also, one would hope, raise the profile of Emma amongst the more conservative and fuddy-duddy of the teams. She was as much a player as anyone else, in spite of her past performances.

It was long past time someone recognised that. Who better than me, the resident psycho?

Institute that her efforts almost seem too

eager, too ingratiating, meant too hard to

Emma's room was a sumptuous melange of Victorian and modern; a canopied bed clashed headlong with an ultra-modern workstation that took up a whole corner of the floor. No television broke the pattern of serene antiquity. In fact, if it weren't for the computer, I would swear I'd walked into one of Madame Toussaint's exhibitions.

"I'll be right in, Dominic," came the sound of Emma's voice from inside the bathroom. I squinted, noting the billowing steam pouring out. A bath? Shower? I swallowed nervously.

The seconds passed like hours and I nibbled on my lower lip as my paranoia began to run wild. Just hurry up, lady!

"Well," came a voice from behind me. "That feels much better! What can I do for you, Dominic?"

I closed my eyes and slowly turned...then allowed myself to gaze upon her. I regretted it immediately.

Unconsciously or no, Emma is a very seductive woman. Her choice of clothes, her choice of perfumes, her phraseology...everything. Everytime I saw her I couldn't help but think of Van Halen's 'Hot for Teacher'.

She wore only the briefest of white robes, one that was barely gathered about her waist and tied loosely. It v-necked dangerous down, below her ample breasts and nearly to her navel. My heart immediately tripped. As she manually dried her hair, I stumbled for a way to say what I needed to say and leave as soon as I could. No need to subject myself to further embarrassment...especially since she's my designated head doctor.

"I nuh-nuh-need a fuh-favour, Emma," I said, stumbling over almost every word that came out of my mouth. It would be a miracle if she understood a gist of what I was saying, much less a full translation. The White Queen merely arched her delicate, platinum brows and smiled briefly. Oh God, what the hell was she thinking?! She doesn't think I'm looking for--!

"Go on, dear," she said, in a voice that positively dripped with honey. "I'm listening."

I felt blood rush to my cheeks and, once more, thanked God that I took after my father's side of the reservation. "Uh...well, wuh-we need to interrogate our puh-prisoners. The ones who kidnapped S-Savij. In order to...placate...those reactionary elements of the Institute, wuh-we're going to need your telepathic suh-suh-skills for use in coordination with Moshe."

She blinked once. "You want me to help prevent permanent memory loss, correct?"

I frowned and shrugged my shoulders. "If it were up t-t-t-to me, I'd let Moshe have 'em, hands down. I duh-don't give a flying fuck about the ethics of wiping out these muh-monsters."

A pert smile crossed her lips. "Getting vicious in your old age, Dom?" She turned and walked into her standing closet, undoing her robe along the way. My heart leapt into my mouth.

"Uh," my voice broke, "no, actually. You juh-juh-juh-just don't knuh-know me very w-w-well. I haven't changed an iota." Her robe slide off her shoulders, collapsing in a pile at her tiny feet. She made no effort to cover her nudity...and, to be honest, I don't think I could've turned now if I wanted to. My blood began racing in my temples.

Her buttocks were small and well-rounded and from what I saw of her breasts--when she turned to grab a silver sweater--they, too, seemed perfectly-proportioned. Her tiny nipples stood out in the air. I was sincerely hoping it was because it was a bit cool in here and not something else.

"And how does Charles feel about all of this, hmm?" she asked, pulling the sweater over her--sans bra. "Has anyone sounded him out?"

"Uh, no, "I said, finally shaking myself out of my funk. "Henry's ruh-running the show. He's the head of the school. Right now, he's t-t-t-talking to Magnus, who we're all sure will agree. That's all the approval we need, I th-th-think." I hope.

"I'm in," she said, adjusting her sweater. "I just need a bit of time to prepare and I'll be ready. It sounds like you already have created a fait accompli," she smiled. "It's about time someone shook up this institution. We've been reactive for far, far too long. A little offense is better than a year's full of defense," she winked.

I clenched my jaws in uncomfortability. "I, uh, I've got to guh-go, Emma. I need to find out how Henry's doing," I lied.

She seemed to catch me in the act the moment I thought of it. "Oh. Okay," she said, her demure grin still on her lips. "Well, then I'll see you as soon as we cross paths again. By the way," she interrupted my dart for her door. "How are your arms doing?"

I licked my lips, refusing to turn about. "Uh, fine. I want t-t-t-to take these braces off, Emma. I'd wager the wounds are totally healed buh-by now."

She clucked her tongue. "Something to think about, I guess. Come on by after you're finished and we'll have a look-see, okay?"

I froze. "Uh....yeah. Sure."

My feet made for the door, my mind aflame with doubt and worry. My God, how can anyone deal with that woman?! You never know if one minute she's your psychiatrist and mentor...or the other minute she's trying to seduce you.

I shook my head, bringing myself to a trot down the dorm hallways, heading for the library. There I would be safe. There I would be alone. There I could think without intrusion.

Maybe.