Where No X-Man ... - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Karen Bruce
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 1

"Rogue, have you seen Gambit? I need his advice on what to buy Jean for her birthday," Cyclops poked his head around the door of the room, which she shared with her lover, and into a charming, domestic vignette. Rogue was curled up on an easy chair in front of the fire, patchwork quilt over her knees, idly paging through a copy of "Gunowner’s Magazine" and popping chocolates into her mouth at regular intervals. All it needed was a purring cat, a dog called Old Yellow and 2.5 children to be a paint advert, "She said that, if she got another appliance or set of soaps, she’d hurl them into orbit with her telekinesis. I thought . . . well, he’s good with women and would know what would knock her out of her socks. Er, another pair of which I’m not to get her."

Rogue laughed, raising an eyebrow, "I don’t know if Rem’s the person to ask. He got me an electric screwdriver for my birthday, saying that he knew I liked fixing things. The year before he got me an enormous, plush duck, saying he thought it would be perfect for my collection of stuffed toys. Superstrength and all, Scott, I could barely carry the thing."

"Still, I’d like his advice," he made a comical face, "I suggested to Jean that some vests for winter might be practical and she threatened to hang me with them. So, do you have any idea where he is?"

"I’m afraid not," she shrugged, "He said he was going out and he’d be back in time to cook dinner for us."

"You aren’t at all curious about where he is?"

"I trust Remy," she said, enunciating each word, "Our relationship would be pretty bad if I didn’t. So, no, I’m not at all curious about where he is . . . ."

Lucy St James knew the Seven of Nine costume had been a bad idea from the moment that she set foot in the convention hall. Her girlfriends had convinced her that it would be a good way of boosting sales of her merchandise - Vulcan ears, scale-models of the Starship Enterprise, Kirk Toupees - and it had been. Unfortunately, it had also been a good way of boosting the libidos of every fanboy in the place. So far, she had been propositioned by a ‘Vulcan’ who had sworn that he was in Pon Farr; a Ferengi who had asked her to massage his ears for him; and three ‘Harry Kims’ who had indicated that they would be prepared to copulate with her right there and then, instilling in her a lifelong hatred of that episode. Fortunately, she thought, there was a brief lull in business as everyone had stampeded to the stage where the announcer said Ms . . . Jeri . . . Lynn . . . Ryan would be prepared to sign autographs and chat with fans.

She scratched her hand irritably - the glue which which she had attached her Borg implants was beginning to give her a rash - and scanned the room for her two friends who were more sensibly dressed as Captain Janeway and Delenn (Caryn always had to come to ‘Trek conventions as a Babylon 5 character to make a point about the superiority of JMS’s Vision, of course!) She did not see them, but her eyes settled happily on a seriously cute guy walking in her direction. He cast a pall over Tom Paris, Doctor Bashir and Jean-Luc Picard, who had long been starring members in her fangirl fantasies. He was slimly tall, his tight shirt and tighter jeans doing nothing to disguise the fact that he was muscled like a gymnast or a swimmer. His tush was what her girlfriends would call ‘muffiny’, while his almost aristocratic face could have easily graced the cover of J-17. He had a firm jaw that belied the fine delicacy of his cheekbones. His auburn hair was cut with a casual scruffiness that she knew must have cost a fortune to acheive. He was also clearly in the wrong hall. They were casting male models for the new face of a cologne in the adjoining room and she had been directing a steady stream of gorgeous, if illiterate, men in that direction the entire day.

She smiled at him when he came to the table, "If you’re wanting to try out for the "Bub!" commercials, you should be in the next room."

"Bub?" his lips quirked in an easy, lopsided smile, his accent was like melted chocolate, "Sounds Canadian."

Laughing, "It combines the smell of Canadian pine-forests with . . . something like moose musk. I’d take a gas mask if they’re spraying it, though."

"Actually," he bent over her trays of merchandise, "I’m here for the convention. I was looking for some Vulcan ears before I went to see Jeri . . . Lynn . . .Ryan. Oooh. Wait. Are those Klingon foreheads? Can I take them both? I’ll be like that girl in Peter Alan David’s Star Trek: New Frontier."

As Lucy rang up his purchases, she wondered morosely why the cute ones were never in Pon Farr.