Disclaimer: The nine kids belong to me. The nine Marvel characters don't. Either way, I'm not making any money off this.

Generation: Black Air 8
Growing Up 1/1
JBMcDragon

Constance eyed herself in the mirror. Critically, she pulled her baggy T-shirt away from her body, then released it. It settled back down against her in folds that didn't quite hide the swelling of her chest. Glaring at her reflection, she pulled her shirt out again and once more let it fall.

It still didn't hide the swelling. She would have liked to believe that it was from playing with Pistol the afternoon before, but it had been swelling before that. A sneaking suspicion that the swelling was the B word had been crawling up her spine all morning, snaking its way into her brain.

She wasn't sure what she was going to do if they were the B word. She pulled the collar of her shirt away from her neck and peered down. Yup. The swelling was still there. Not very big, but enough that she was starting to notice. Constance wondered if they got bigger, would she have to stop playing with Lynx, Chant and Azul and start acting like Kitty, Amanda and Domino? Or, worse, like one of the female guards? She knew a little bit about them. Trace and Pistol and Vault talked about female guards sometimes, and when she was little she'd had a few watch over her. Mostly, though, guards were men.

Constance glared at her chest and tried to will the swelling gone.

She jumped when there was a knock at the door, then clutched her shirt with both hands and glared. "Come in."

Domino entered the room, looking rather bored. "The boys are about to leave for town. You want to go say 'bye?"

Constance shook her head and said nothing.

"You okay? You look a little frazzled."

Constance thought about it for a long time. She liked Domino better than any of the other women, which wasn't saying much. At least Domino was bolder, acted a bit more like what Constance was used to. Kitty was so . . . soft, and Amanda was too bossy, without the power to back it up. Domino wasn't exactly hard, but she wasn't as mushy as Kitty was. "Can I ask you a question?" Constance said at last. She had to ask someone, and while Pistol would probably know she didn't want to talk to him about this.

"Sure."

Constance opened her mouth, then closed it and shifted from foot to foot. No, she didn't trust Domino enough to give away anything that might be used later as a weapon. This most certainly was a weapon. Women were vulnerable creatures, and greatly desirable from what Pistol, Trace and Vault said. She wasn't going to give Domino that power. "Nevermind," Constance muttered. "I have to go talk to Trace."

Trace would know what to do. Trace was smart. He wasn't nearly as threatening as Pistol, and he didn't get as flustered as Vault. Trace knew a lot of things, and wasn't afraid to talk about any of them.

Constance brushed by Domino and marched to Trace's room, ignoring Domino's call.

Trace, however, wasn't in his room, and Constance suddenly remembered what Domino had said about the boys leaving. She ran to the upstairs hall window that looked out on the front and saw Trace, Pistol and Logan all climbing into the Jeep. She threw the window open and screamed with all her might. "Trace! Wait!"

The boy looked up at her, shading his eyes with one hand. "What?"

"I need to talk to you! Alone!"

Trace turned and said something to Pistol, then Logan, then walked back into the house, disappearing from Constance's view.

"Are you sure I can't help?" Domino asked again.

Constance gave her a withering look, then turned her attention to the stairs. A moment later Trace came plodding up them. He looked at her expectantly.

"Alone," Constance repeated, and looked pointedly at Domino.

Trace smiled ruefully and motioned toward his bedroom. "This had better be fast, kid. I'm supposed to leave."

Constance nodded once and closed the door behind her. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face Trace, who looked infuriatingly bemused. "How do you know when a girl starts getting . . . um . . . I mean, when do girls turn into women?" Better to start simple.

Trace tipped his head slightly, trying to understand the question. His blue eyes were clear, thinking swiftly. You could almost see the thoughts clicking in his head. "When they're about your age. They start getting curves and they start their period--when they can have kids."

Constance nodded. She was pretty sure she couldn't have kids yet, but did the swelling of her chest mean 'curves'? "Curves like . . . " she trailed off and looked at Trace hopefully.

"Like breasts and hips," he said, and he was smiling that horribly bemused smile.

"Do they just wake up and have breasts?" Constance asked. She hoped so, because that way her chest was just swollen, and the B word wasn't involved.

"No. Their breasts grow on them. Constance, are you getting breasts?"

Constance could feel the blush and cursed herself for it. "I think maybe . . ." she muttered, clenching her hands into fists in her shirt. "I can't tell."

"Let go of your shirt and let me see," Trace said, and he sounded gentle all of a sudden. Like he was trying not to hurt her feelings.

Constance released her shirt and let it fall normally around her body.

Trace nodded once. "That's no big deal," he said easily, and smiled his most soothing smile. Constance had seen him use it on Pistol whenever Pistol got really mad at something. "You need a bra, that's underclothes for women, and any of the women here can help you get one."

"Can't you get me one?" Constance asked. She hated the thought of any of the women here knowing about this.

Trace grinned and chucked her lightly under her chin. She hated that. "No. I don't know how or where. There are different sizes and stuff--just like in underwear. Men don't wear bras, so I don't know much about it."

Constance sighed heavily, but was no longer so embarrassed. The hardest part was over with; now she knew the B word was growing on her chest. Soon she would be all lumpy looking.

"Come on," Trace said, and put his hand on her shoulder to lead her out of the room.

Domino was standing at the window, shouting down to Logan who was hollering back up.

Trace left Constance outside his door and walked to the older, female version of himself. "Dom?" he asked quietly. "Do you know how and where to get bras?"

Domino's head snapped around, and her purple eyes flashed to Constance questioningly. Trace nodded slightly. "We have to go to town," Domino said, sounding happy. "Thank God, I've been dying to get out of this place!" She walked down the hall with long, purposeful strides. "Constance, you and me will go to town with the boys and take care of this, okay?" she said, grinning.

Constance nodded miserably. Domino started down the stairs, and Trace led Constance down after.

***

Everything was new and different and strange, unknown and therefore a danger. Every muscle in his body was pulled taut, ready for anything, ready to react in some way.

The topless Jeep drove on, winding over dirt paths--they couldn't even be called roads--then across a black, smooth street. Trees rose on either side, hemming them in, providing shelter for enemies. Then the trees were gone, too, and they were on an open road, racing faster and faster. Smells whipped by, and Pistol had no time to identify them before they were gone. Grass blurred into one plane of green, a blanket over a bed of dirt.

The road turned, went up and back down. In the back of the Jeep Pistol saw that Constance looked ill. He started to ask if she was all right, but then saw . . . he wasn't sure what they were. He leaned half out over the door to get a better look as they approached the animals. Brown and white and black, all grazing on the grass. One raised its head as they whipped by, and Pistol saw horns curving out from a large forehead. It looked like an ugly, horned horse.

But then they were gone, and the sickly sweet odor was all that lingered. Didn't smell like a horse.

Things raced past. Domino and Logan talked to each other, but Pistol didn't pay attention. His stomach twisted into a knot as they raced further toward the unknown. He didn't even know what to expect. No research had been done. He had to keep Trace and Constance safe, but he didn't know what they might need protection from. It was a dangerous equation, and he was weaponless.

They drove on.

***

Everything was new and different and strange, never before seen, an adventure. Every muscle in his body was pulled taut, ready for anything, wanting to try it all at once but not knowing how to do so.

Trace jumped from the Jeep before the engine was off, then stopped and looked around. His blue eyes feasted on the scene before him.

Buildings. Lots of buildings, all in wood. Across the street there was a building that had a neon sign, though part of the middle had gone out. Cars, ones that didn't look anything like the Jeep, were parked along the street. People walked on strips of white cement that ran between the buildings and the cars. A dog--much smaller than the neighbor's dog, but slightly bigger, if skinnier, than the puppy--yapped. It jumped on the end of a rope, trying to attack Trace, even though he was across the street.

On the other end of the pink rope a woman tugged, reprimanding the dog. A boy rode by on a strange thing. Perhaps it was a car, only with two wheels. But there didn't seem to be an engine, and the boy's feet went round and round in circles. The faster his feet went, the faster the half-car went.

The boy swerved to avoid missing the yapping dog, and almost hit it anyway. He shouted an apology and kept riding.

Trace stepped forward, wanting to go see this half-car and how it worked, but a hand on his shoulder jerked him back.

A car raced by, the driver yelling at Trace something he couldn't make out. It sounded angry.

"Careful, boy," Logan growled in his ear. "You walk in the street without looking and you're going to get killed."

Trace glanced around for snipers, but didn't see any. He took Logan's word for it, though, noticing that no other humans were in the street, either. Hurriedly, staying as close to the Jeep as he could, he walked around it and to the white cement strip.

"Hey, Dom," Trace called, trotting to where she stood. "What's this called?" He'd seen it before, the one time he and Pistol had gone out. They had been sent to kill someone, but Logan had ruined it. Later, Logan had found them in Black Air and gotten everyone out.

"What's what called, Trace?" Domino asked, sliding sunglasses over her violet eyes.

Trace tapped his foot on the ground. "This."

Domino glanced down. "Looks like gum."

"Oh," Trace said, and stared in wonder at the white cement. "Gum."

"Well don't step in it," Domino laughed, pulling him away.

Trace frowned. Of course he was going to step in it. Well, on it at least. Then he noticed the pink spot that had been near his foot. "No, not that," he said in irritation. "This!" He bent and touched the cement with two fingers, looking up at Domino.

"Oh. A sidewalk."

She sounded shocked, as if he should have known that. Trace didn't really care. "Sidewalk," he repeated. He'd heard the word.

"Logan, I'm taking Constance into Sears," Domino said after a moment, tilting her head at the building behind them. "Meet you back in . . .?"

"Half an hour," Logan supplied. "I should be done at the bank by then."

Domino nodded.

"We're going with Constance," Pistol said, taking Trace's elbow and pulling him after.

"Okay. You boys be good and don't give Dom any trouble," Logan growled. He watched them with narrowed eyes until they disappeared around the corner and out of sight.

There were more buildings. And a giant pool of black street with white lines, cars parked all over the place. "What's that called, Dom?"

She glanced back, then followed his gaze. A smile flickered across her alabaster features. "A parking lot."

Parking lot. Trace nodded and filed the word away for later use.

Ahead, a large white building loomed, blocking any and all exits. Trace's head tilted farther and farther back as he looked up at the giant red letters. "This is . . . Sears?" he asked.

Domino smiled. "Yup. It's as close as this town gets to anything modern."

Trace nodded as if he knew what she was talking about, and followed the others through the double doors.

***

Pistol walked between racks of bras--how many different kinds could there be?!--following Domino and Constance. Trace was behind him, looking interestedly from one thing to the next. He couldn't seem to see enough.

Pistol looked back and eyed his best friend. Trace hadn't been anything like this when they'd been out once before. During their one and only mission, Trace had been completely business-like. He hadn't bothered asking what anything was called; as long as he knew how to use it, he didn't care. Now he was like a little kid.

Pistol smiled slightly and ran his fingertips along the hangers. Trace was practically blooming; interested in what was going on, no longer thinking only of when he could get his next needle, or how to keep from being beaten.

In the other corner of the lingerie department--Pistol had learned the name when Trace had asked--two men about their age were slouched against the wall, looking utterly mortified. Idly, seeing they were no threat, Pistol wondered what they were so embarrassed about.

He glanced forward when Domino grabbed something from the rack and headed for a doorway in a corner of the large room. Pistol followed, Trace right after him. They walked into the tiny room that had one long mirror with Domino and Constance, and Domino twisted around instantly and shoved both of them out.

Pistol looked at Trace, who shrugged, and they both turned and walked back into the main room.

"What do you suppose this is for?" Trace asked, picking up a lace belt-like thing with straps hanging down the front and back.

Pistol took and turned it, looking at it from each angle. He couldn't think of what it might possibly do.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?"

Pistol glanced over the lace-thing at the woman who stood before them. She was small, and wrinkled-looking. "No."

She glared at Pistol. It wasn't a very scary glare, but he could tell she thought it was quite fierce. He wondered idly what he'd done to irritate her. Absently, he put the lace-thing back down and wandered toward were Trace now was, looking at rows and rows of nylons. These, Pistol knew.

"Look," Trace said, handing him a package. "Why would you need so many of these? I mean, I'd understand different colors, but why so many?"

Pistol looked at the package, then picked up another package and compared them. "These have 'Toe-gripping action," he said, pointing out the words to Trace. "These ones don't."

"What's the difference?"

Pistol shrugged. "I have no idea."

The package was taken abruptly out of his hand by the same washed-out looking woman. She glared at him through her spectacles.

Pistol rolled his eyes at Trace and walked a bit farther.

"Those look really uncomfortable," Trace commented, pointing at a row of thong-panties.

Pistol nodded. Behind him, he could both hear and smell the woman following.

"These are interesting," Trace said, and picked up a red, lacy loop of cloth. It was stretchy, and Trace pulled it as far as it would go before letting it pop back to its normal size. "What do you think they're for?"

Pistol picked one up--a green one--and turned it in his hands. "Headbands for girls?"

"Belts. Stylish."

"Hair-holders."

"Like rubber bands, only for show. Put them on your bags to keep them closed."

"Put them around jars to make them pretty--like in Amanda's room."

The woman took both Pistol's and Trace's elastic things away, then glared at them. "You boys are incredibly rude and disrespectful. Unless you're going to buy something, I suggest you leave."

Pistol and Trace exchanged glances.

"But--" Trace started, with an abortive wave toward the dressing rooms.

"Leave."

Pistol sighed and took Trace's elbow, ushering him out of the underwear department.

***

Domino signed an alias at the bottom of the paper with very little flourish, then handed it across to the cashier. The woman at the register, an elderly lady, checked Domino's driver's license, wrote down more than a few numbers, and put the check away. She bagged the three bras and handed them to Constance with a smile, then gave Domino the receipt.

"Dom?" Constance asked, black hair bobbing in its ponytail as the girl looked around. "Where are Trace and Pistol?"

Domino glanced around then, surprised to realize that the two boys blushing in the corner weren't her two boys. Violet eyes flashed around swiftly, but they were nowhere in sight. Domino was about to start searching when a young boy ran up to the two teen males and panted, "Come quick! There's this mutie kid doing flips and shit in the 'Outdoors' section!"

Constance glanced up at Domino questioningly. Instead of answering, Domino slung her black leather backpack over her shoulder and started off at a fast clip after the trio of boys.

The first thing she saw, as they entered the 'Outdoors' department, was a crowd. Above the heads of the crowd rose a figure, long and alabaster and well-muscled, spinning through the air before disappearing below the people's heads. A moment later he reappeared again, twisted, and dropped back down. Domino frowned uncertainly until she saw the display behind him: trampolines.

"Stay here," Domino growled to Constance, then forged through the crowd, planting elbows and heels where needed. She managed to shove her way to the front, then stood, blocked by a tall man, arms crossed over his burly chest. Then recognition registered in his yellow, slit-pupil eyes, and he shifted a bit so she could see.

"We saw the tramp," Pistol said, his voice as gruff as usual. "We remembered it from when we were learning flips."

Trace bounced on the trampoline, bending the black material until it almost touched the tile floor before it bounced back up, hurling him into the air. He twisted, body straight, spinning around and around dizzily until finally his feet touched the black once more, and he bent his knees, letting it go down before throwing him back into the air like a monster rejecting bait.

His shirt lay on the floor, next to his shoes. His black hair was flying all over, half-hiding his grin, his chest heaving like a bellows and his entire body beaded with sweat.

"Watch this, Dom!"

Domino cringed as he flew back up into the air, twisted, spun, whirled, didn't land on his feet, but instead on his knees--that was on purpose, Domino told herself--was flung back into the air, twisted and spun and came down solidly on both feet, only to be tossed back up. Even beneath his jeans Domino could see his leg muscles bunching with each jump.

"Trace, get down," Domino growled. Behind her, the growing crowd murmured. She heard 'mutant' several times, and 'wow' more than once. There were a few swear words, and many gasps. Someone in the back said, "Whoa! Awesome!"

"Do we have to--" flip, land, bounce, fly "--go home--" twist, jump, launch "--right now?" spin, slip, spin again, jump. The loss of momentum was minimal.

"Yes." Domino added punch to the word, wanting him off the trampoline as soon as possible. She was shocked that, as skittish as the boys were, they didn't seem to have a problem with drawing such a big crowd.

Pistol moved to one side, murmured something to the people standing there, and suddenly everyone was moving back, shoving each other, eyes riveted on Trace.

Trace jumped lightly, not flying nearly so high as he had been--and spun right off the side of the trampoline. Domino stifled her yelp as he landed on the hard tile, feet apart, knees bending almost to floor to absorb the shock as his arms came straight forward, balancing him. Trace stood and grinned up at her, then made a face and rubbed the bottom of each foot.

***

"What crawled up her ass and died?" Trace groused, buttoning his blue shirt as he walked through Sears. Domino had ordered the boys and Constance back to the Jeep, to wait, while she spoke with some people standing there.

"Gosh, could it be because you just let everyone and their dog know we're here?" Constance said facetiously. "How stupid was that, guys?" she snapped, then walked ahead of them stiffly.

Pistol shrugged. "We were safe. I don't know what they're bitching about. It's not as if anyone here is going to recognize us, it let us know what crowds are like in certain circumstances, and we figured out how group dynamics could be manipulated. It was good."

Trace nodded in agreement. A sound plan. And fun, too.

"Could I interest you in cologne, sir?" a young woman asked, walking toward the two men with a smile. Before either one could respond, the woman spritzed something wet and misty at them.

Trace's eyes widened as he kept walking, away from the cloud of odor. Then he realized the cloud was following him. "God, you stink!" he laughed, looking at Pistol. Pistol looked stricken.

"Geezuz, this smells bad," he said, trying in vain to brush it off.

Trace cringed. "Especially to you. Maybe it'll fade."

"Maybe I can wash it off," Pistol muttered, and sneezed. Then coughed. Trace started to laugh as Pistol sneezed again. "Poison," Pistol muttered as he sniffed, then made a face. "Oh, man. This stuff smells awful."

Trace laughed and opened the door, holding it for Pistol before walking through himself. They walked back across the parking lot, around the corner, and toward the Jeep. Constance was already sitting inside, ignoring the group of teens around the auto.

"I can't smell it so much out here," Trace noted, eyeing Pistol's sleeve where the worst of the 'cologne' was concentrated.

"I can," Pistol muttered forlornly.

"Hey," Trace murmured, "what's with the boys?"

Pistol was aware instantly. He followed Trace's gaze, toward the Jeep with Constance and the crowd of teens, both male and female. Ears that could hear better than most animals picked up the words Trace couldn't. Lewd, some of them, and a few of them directed at Constance. Obviously not a true threat; Pistol was sure Constance could kill any of those boys if she wanted. But lewd nonetheless.

"You kids have a problem here?" Pistol said quietly as he strode up, baring his teeth just a little.

One of the boys, an older one, sneered. "Yeah. We were just asking this little girl something and she was real rude."

Pistol looked pointedly at Constance.

She continued looking straight ahead. "I told them their dicks were probably the size of paper clips."

Pistol looked back at the boys.

"All we did was ask her if this was her car, and what was in her bag."

Pistol looked back at Constance. This time, she looked at him. "That's true," she said calmly. "But I didn't like them. And they didn't get the hint."

"Hint?!" the boy who had spoken before yelped. "She didn't say a fucking thing!"

"Sounds to me like she wants to be left alone," Pistol said quietly.

Trace knew the tone was deceptive.

"What the fuck is wrong with you guys?" another boy said, offended.

"We're assholes. Go away," Pistol snarled. This time he bared his fangs fully and let his claws extend, holding them at his sides.

Muttering, the group of teens drew away. Trace smiled and shrugged slightly at one girl who turned and looked back, and she smiled oddly. It wasn't a smile he'd ever seen before, but he returned it because it seemed the thing to do.

"Hey, kids," Logan said from down the street. He walked up the sidewalk with a long loping stride, and set two grocery bags in the back. "Where's Dom?"

"Here," Domino called from the other direction. "I had to talk to the Sears manager. He wasn't happy." She glared at Trace, and he absently wondered why. Then, to Logan, "I'll tell you when we get back."

Logan nodded once. "Everyone done, then?"

Pistol nodded and climbed in the backseat as Constance scurried into the front. Domino and Trace climbed in together, sandwiching Trace in the middle while Logan got into the driver's seat. The engine started, the scent of exhaust almost drowning out the cologne Pistol could still smell.

"What'd you get, Constance?" Trace asked, leaning forward.

"A couple'a bras. Wanna see?"

The Jeep started moving, and Domino sat forward. "No, kiddo. That's okay."

"Sure," Trace answered diffidently.

Constance smiled and pulled them out, turning in her seat until she could hold one up for inspection.

"Constance, put that back," Domino said, trying to sound stern and failing miserably. "You don't flaunt things like bras."

"Why not? Trace and Pistol have seen them before, haven't you guys?"

Both young men confirmed her statement. "Bigger than those ones, though," Pistol clarified. Trace nodded.

"My chest will get bigger, and then I'll have bigger bras too," Constance said, stuffing the garment back in her bag. "I got two more. A black one and another white one."

Domino caught Logan's laughing gaze in the rearview mirror, and she chuckled. So much for Constance's insecurity.

***

"Azul!" The shout could be heard throughout the house, as was intended. Pistol walked into the kitchen without waiting for Azul to respond, and smiled to see the boy walking in from the other door.

"Here you go," Azul said, smiling and handing the coyote over. "He was very good."

Pistol nodded and took the animal, cradling it in his arms while it licked his face happily, tail wagging.

Azul's eyes widened as Domino entered, and he ducked behind Pistol, watching the woman closely.

"Know what I saw on TV?" Azul whispered, apparently unaware that he was whispering loud enough for everyone to hear. Trace, Domino and Logan had joined Azul and Pistol in the kitchen. Constance had disappeared upstairs, and Kitty was walking in from the den.

"What?" Pistol asked obligingly.

"A show with these two men, and they were arguing. One said that mutants were bad, and the other one said they weren't. But then Kitty changed the channel," Azul shot Kitty a disdainful look, "so I didn't get to see who won."

"I heard a girl talking about mutants, today," Pistol said, sitting.

"Really?" from Azul.

"When?" from Trace.

"When we were by the car, after chasing off a group of kids," Pistol answered both people at once. "This girl said that mutants were cool, and someone else said that they were bad, and then the second girl said that she'd heard if you kissed a mutant you became a mutant."

Logan snorted.

"Wow," Azul said, eyes wide as he contemplated that. "I'm glad I'm not a mutant."

Pistol nodded. "Yup."

"Wait a minute," Kitty said, looking surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I thought what they meant was pretty self-stating," Trace interjected dryly.

"Well, it was, but . . . you're both--"

Logan stepped forward and gave a half-shake of his head, motioning for Kitty to be quiet. "Mutants are people; humans," he said, settling himself on the edge of the table. "Are you sure you haven't heard of them?"

Pistol shook his head. Trace yawned and ran a lock of hair through his fingers, paying little attention to Logan. Azul climbed up onto the table and mimicked Logan's posture as closely as he could.

"Mutants, muties, 'genetically challenged,' GC's?"

Pistol glanced up suddenly and nodded. "Muties are mutants?"

Logan nodded slowly.

"So a mutant is a person with powers."

"Ah, man," Azul whined, and jumped off the table. "You mean I am a mutant?"

"'Fraid so," Logan answered on a chuckle.

"Fuck that shit!"

Kitty's eyes widened. "Azul! Where did you hear that?"

Large yellow eyes blinked uncertainly. "From the guards. Why?"

"Those are very bad words," Kitty replied seriously, "and you shouldn't say them."

Azul turned and looked at Pistol. "Can I say them?"

"Better not," Pistol replied.

Logan's eyes narrowed at the exchange, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table. There was something he was missing, but he didn't know what.

"Hey, 'Stole," Trace said on a yawn. "Wanna go over the blueprints? The reunion's coming up soon. I want to set up some sort of security, and we still need to decide on a set of rooms."

Pistol nodded, a strained look crossing his face. "Is it possible to go a day or two early, Logan?" he asked, standing.

Logan nodded. "I believe so. Why?"

"To scope out the mansion before there are a lot of people," Trace answered, walking toward the door. "It's easier that way."

Pistol nodded and both men disappeared upstairs.

*****************************

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