She'd had something simple in mind. A new hairdo or maybe a new costume. Not this. Never this, in fact. This had never entered the realm of her mind. It hadn't even entered the realm that waited outside of the realm of her mind. Or any other realm that might lie before that one.

Ms. Ororo Munroe received the shock of her life -- and the shock of many others, come to think of it, but it was even more shocking for her.

Forgive the redundancy with the word 'shocked'. I felt it warranted. But now, on to our show...

All she could remember was a blinding flare of light. That's it. Oh! And the part about the battle. Yes, she was fairly sure about that part. All things such as these -- and such things that aren't at all like this -- began with a battle. She hadn't been at home when this occurred -- she'd been out. She'd been in uniform. And she had the vague impression she'd been angry. And injured, too.

Well, the injured part she wasn't too vague on. Actually, she was very certain of that fact. And that was in no small amount due to the fact that she'd awakened in the medlab.

"Um...Ororo? Can you hear me?"

She recognized that voice, though not at first. It seemed so far away. She waited until her subconscious saw fit to give her back to consciousness -- but she didn't do so patiently.

"Ororo? Ororo, can you -- "

"Y-yes. I believe I...can..?" Goddess! Was that me?!

The voice that had answered Beast, the resident mutant doctor and overly fuzzy genius, had not been her voice. Instead of a feminine, sonorous tone with more than a hit of regal flavor, she'd heard a male sonorous tone, with more than a hint of regal flavor. Something was decidedly wrong.

She opened her eyes to what seemed to be glaring white pokers of light to her cat-like eyes. Blinking back the assault, she forced herself to focus upon the ceiling.

"How...how do you feel?" Beast asked her.

She reached up to touch her throat, her fingertips brushing her collar. "I feel -- " Again, that voice rang in her ears. Not that it wasn't attractive -- it just bothered her a bit that it spoke whenever she tried to and quite easily and thoroughly blotted out her own. "Who is -- what the -- oh my..."

"Ororo, I would ask you to remain calm."

Remain calm? Didn't doctors only say that when you should, in reality, be panicking?

She turned her head to his, her slightly anxious eyes peering into those embedded in Hank's head. "What..." She cleared her throat. "What..." No luck.

"Take it easy, chere."

That other voice eased her the moment she detected it, but there was something in the undertone of it. Something that was...off.

"Who is that?" she finally had to ask, whether she was being drowned out or not.

Remy moved into her line of vision. "Don't talk jus' yet, chere." He looked as appeasing as his voice sounded.

"Why not -- who is that?" she repeated.

He glanced away from her to Hank. There was no denying that anything was wrong now.

"What is it?" she demanded -- her voice lost to that deep voice -- albeit a sexy voice -- but one that was rapidly becoming annoying.

Remy cleared his throat. "Dere...dere was a, uh -- "

"Remy," Hank interrupted. "I think it would be best if you waited -- "

Gambit shook his shaggy-haired head. "Non. Gotta know de truf', Hank. Y' know dat."

"But she -- "

"Y' know it's de right t'ing -- "

"Will you please refrain from speaking as if I am not here -- and whose voice is it that I continue to hear?!"

At this point, the Wind Rider, former goddess, and most times known to be cool and collected Ororo Munroe was getting flaming riled up.

Hank sighed. "Ororo..." He glanced to Remy. "There...there is something we have to tell you."

"Of that I am already aware. Would you please -- " She'd been reaching a hand to her hair when she paused like that -- and noticed something wrong. Blue eyes went wide as they'd never done before. For a long moment she was utterly speechless, shocked into wordlessness. But soon, she found her voice -- or a voice, at any rate... "By the Bright Lady!" she exclaimed, all but shrieking. She sat up like a bolt, looking from one hand to the other to see if it had spread.

And it had.

"What -- what -- how -- I do not -- Henry, what has happened to me?!"

Hank looked pitiful. It was really a sad sight, really. Remy's look had to have been the one that took the cake, however. Regularly so handsome, seeing such an attractive man with that emotion in those eyes just made things all the more worse off for being there.

"Chere." He spoke when Hank could not. "It's...it's like dis, okay?"

Pausing as she was -- those...hands...held away from her in a frozen pose -- she listened... Trying to stay calm... She listened.

There had been a battle, yes. They'd been called out to stop yet another uprising, more trouble caused by an unruly band of misfit upstarts with something to prove. Of course, they'd gone to keep the peace. Not surprisingly, a fight ensued.

What happened towards the end didn't usually happen.

There had been a woman with a particularly...evil...look to her. She was like every ad for a misunderstood youth mixed into one: short, black spiky hair, black leather clothing, piercings, tattoos, and dark make-up everywhere. And combat boots up to her knees. She didn't look too stable -- sort of like that chick that played the leader of the 'pack' in The Craft, the one with the big teeth and blue eyes...and dark hair, come to think of it.

She hung back more than most, cackling more than anything else -- that is, until she decided to step in. Her friends were more of a handful than previously expected, and as a result, the X-Men had half been getting their asses handed to them. Iceman had been one of the few who'd gotten his complete ass handed to him, and then some.

Down and nearly out, this strange young lady thought to get her jollies --

By bludgeoning the youngest original X-Men over the head with a pipe crackling with strange gray energy.

Storm ordered her to stop. She didn't. On the contrary, she whacked the Iceman good and intended to do more. Lightening flared up above. The girl flinched, but then onward showed no signs of intimidation. She lifted her pipe once more. Storm shouted.

The girl smirked, lifted a hand coruscating with the same power she'd bled into the pipe and pointed that hand at Storm. The intention there couldn't have been clearer. Storm would get no warning shot. No mercy.

Storm lifted her own hand, tried to give the girl one last chance -- and was rebuffed. The girl blasted away -- so did Storm. Apparently, the girl had been a bit quicker to the draw. Lucky there -- for an instant. For, as Storm was blasted, her powers flared out of her control. In the split seconds that followed where she was sinking into unconsciousness, her disarming blast became a boomsmite from Hades.

The girl had been turned to little more than ash.

"And me? What...what happened to me?" she wondered in the here and now.

Hank and Remy shared another look. "Well..." the Arcadian answered. "Dere was dis...strange t'ing dat happened, chere. Real strange." His dark eyes dropped to her hands for a moment, then lifted back to her eyes. "Really, really strange." He winced for his own artlessness and inability to come up with something better.

By then, Ororo had looked back down the hands that had mysteriously connected themselves to her body -- then caught glimpse of her wrists. Thicker than a woman's, that's for sure. And hairier, too. And more muscled. The same could be said of her smooth, chocolate brown forearms --

A sudden realization hit her. Her breath caught for a moment...then ever so slowly, she lifted her hands.

"Uh, chere? Maybe y' shouldn'..." The former thief knew where this was going, and on glancing to the man beside him, knew that he'd surmised as much as well.

Her hands held perfectly still before descending. She'd taken a deep breath and knew that something was different there as it was with her hands and arms, but still, she was not prepared.

For flatness. Not completely flat, but in comparison? Immensely flat.

Her breasts were gone.

In their stead were pectoral muscles. Well-developed, she had to notice, but still not what she wanted. At least, not on her. These were supposed to belong on the man of her dreams, only on her when he was on her -- not like this!

Trying not to panic but able to do only that, her hands frantically searched out the rest of her features. Fingertips brushed over her face, finding the dimensions more than off -- then flew down to her covered legs, hoping and praying that she would not find a mimesis there, too. She ripped away the covers. Clad in clothing that were not hers, the corresponding set to the better known 'hospital gown', were her legs.

But not her legs. They were much too long and far too muscled to pass as a woman's lower appendages -- at least, under normal circumstances.

But these were not normal circumstances.

No, not normal at all.

She began to tremble and shake, unable to say a word as terror and disbelief took her in its icy grip. She felt her face crumpling as a ball of what seemed to be sheer agony rose up in her, searching for release.

And it found it.

She screamed.

The entire mansion shook.

2

Pouring rain, waterfalls, puddles of all shapes and sizes, flowing water spouts, broken fire hydrants spraying passersby in the streets, sprinkler systems, aquatic displays and water parks, glass upon glasses of water -- anything concerning H2O flitted through her mind, pulsing and raging until it was all she thought she knew.

But, the single most image that splashed her dreamscape was a simple toy -- one of those little things that could be found in a number of novelty shops across the country of little boys or male cherubs caught in the supposedly cute act of urinating.

There it stood before her, at first small enough to fit on a desk -- then the size of a water fountain, and even larger still. Once a small stream flowed -- then an effervescent horizontal geyser.

A particularly teasing horizontal geyser. Why that was, she had no idea -- 

Until she awoke with harsh light forcing her to squint and one word in her thoughts.

Restroom.

She had to go to the bathroom, and IMMEDIATELY -- more than she EVER had to before, to her knowledge. Instinctively, she sat up without a care for where she was, because -- to her knowledge -- she already knew where she was -- or so she thought... In her bedroom where she usually awoke. Even still, she sat up, swung her legs off the bed -- 

Felt...something...somewhere it shouldn't be.

What is that? she wondered to herself.

She blinked to clear her eyes -- and saw that she was not in her own room. That would have explained the harsh lighting -- no such lighting was allowed in her own quarters. More than that, what qualified as clothing that she felt against her skin was not of the sort she'd have chosen on her own to wear -- or this she was positive.

What she wasn't quite sure of was where she was or why she was there. She glanced around her -- found the medlab all around. She looked down at herself -- 

Breath caught in her chest and throat as she gasped, crystal blue eyes flying wide open.

"By the goddess!" she breathed -- but not in her own voice. "What -- " There it was again, deep and rasping. Gaping, she took a few seconds more to look upon herself without speaking. She opened her hands and looked down at her palms -- masculine palms. She flexed her own hands and those hands before her moved. "Bright lady -- "

"Ah. You're awake."

She looked up at the voice, every ounce of her surprise unschooled on her face. She saw a bouncing blue Beast not so bouncingly entering from his office. "H-Henry?

He nodded, trying not to appear too amazed by what he saw on Ororo's face -- the expression, that is... "Yes ... How do you feel?" he asked.

She opened her mouth to speak -- stopped herself from making that mistake again, and was then hit with something else.

Restroom!

She had to go to the bathroom. NOW.

Her surprise gave way to dismay and disconcertion.

She didn't know how to go to the restroom as anything other than a woman.

What was she supposed to do?

"Ororo? What is the matter -- besides the obvious?"

Her gaze refocused upon Henry -- a male, the only one that could help her. But could she ask him?

Or would she simply do nothing and --

No.

Absolutely not!

She may not have had her body, but she still had her dignity and she would NEVER live down the fact that she'd soiled herself simply because she refused to ask for help. She knew what refusing to seek aid could do to a person -- she'd experienced it more than once.

Today would not be one of those times.

She cleared her throat -- and was greeted to a decidedly manly sound. Sighing, she closed her eyes briefly, then opened them. And then she tried to speak.

"I..." She sighed again. How could she ask?

"Yes?" Henry took another step towards her, eyes concerned. "Is there something I can get you?"

She nodded slowly.

"A drink of water, perhaps? Something to eat?"

She shook her head.

"What else -- some sort of medication, perhaps? An aspirin?"

She shook her head again, frustration apparent in every aspect of her new features.

"I seem to be unable to think of anything else," he told her as his eyes fell in contemplation of something else she might want, then lifted again to hers. "Perhaps if you told me..?"

Ororo blinked. She shook her head.

"No?" Henry asked. "No, you aren't going to tell me?"

She nodded in the affirmative, though with a bit of reluctance.

He blinked. "Ah. So, am I to understand that this will be a game of charades, then?"

She just looked at him, brow furrowing. Then, she motioned to her mouth. I dare not speak aloud.

"You...do not want to speak, is that it? Perhaps because of your...new voice, yes?"

She nodded miserably.

"Ah. Well, if you cannot tell me, perhaps you can show me?"

Her eyes went wide as she fervently shook her head, her mass of snow-white hair thrown to and fro.

Henry started a bit at how dead-set she was against a demonstration, which he would be ashamed to admit, piqued his curiosity. "Well. Ah...is this something you would qualify as an emergency, perhaps?"

Ororo nodded in all her circumstance's urgency, suddenly a diffident squirming mass on top of the medlab bed.

Henry arched an eyebrow, slowly nodding in comprehension. "You have to go to the restroom -- that's it, isn't it?"

Ororo averted her eyes, nodding slightly in embarrassment.

Henry smirked as if he'd deduced the answer by plucking it from her very thoughts. "Well, all you have to do is go, Ororo, really -- " Then, he paused. "Wait." He blushed beneath his fur. "You..." He looked at her again as if seeing her for the first time, and it was almost as if he were. "I...I realize now the, um, dilemma you face. Hmph." He scratched his fuzzy chin. "You...require instruction." How could that have escaped me? Perhaps it had something to do with the effeminate gestures Ororo still displayed, and rather overtly, too...

Could this possibly get any worse? Ororo wondered.

"Uh...hey theyah, sugah."

Ororo paled, gulped, then slowly turned, eyes a bit too wide for her own tastes. Standing in the doorway was Rogue, accompanied by Remy LeBeau.

Why did I even ask? Flushing, Ororo turned away without answering, heart thumping and hot shame washing over her.

Remy cleared his throat. "Uh...Rogue, she wan'ed ta see how ya was doin'. T'ought I'd bring 'er by."

I wish you had not.

The Cajun man came further into the room, pulling Rogue by a gloved hand. She skipped a step, nearly tripping -- she had been that distracted. He turned and blinked at her, finding her blushing and dropping her eyes as she brushed a strand of auburn hair behind her ear.

"Uh, ahem, sorry, Cajun." Her lips were turned up a little, well, guiltily, he thought, but not an altogether guiltiness, however.

His eyes narrowed just so -- then he turned back to Ororo, then back to Rogue, studying her for a brief moment. Then his own eyes widened, though barely perceivably so.

Saints! Rogue, she was checkin' Stormy out!

Clearing his throat softly, he pretended he hadn't noticed, which wasn't as easy as it could've -- or should've -- been. Turning back to Ororo, he found her trembling a bit.

"Wha's wrong, chere?" he asked as he came closer. Ororo did not move to respond. He looked to Henry McCoy of answer. "S'goin' on 'ere?"

The furry azure doctor glanced at Rogue first, then drew his similarly blue eyes back to Remy's red on black ones. "It...is a personal matter, Remy," he answered evenly.

"Ah. Remy not 'posed ta know, eh?"

"Actually..?" He looked away from the Acadian to Ororo. "You might be just what we need."

Remy's brow quirked up. "Oui?"

After coaxing Ororo out of the bed -- which required Henry to ask Rogue to turn her back, though Ororo would never admit to that measure being of her own request -- Remy led her to the bathroom. Moving once more like a stumbling newborn out in the wild -- or so she felt -- she made her way to the restroom, with only Remy accompanying her. As her best friend, Hank surmised it would be easier to face with him rather than himself, even if he were her physician.

The younger man had been apprised of the situation via a succinct whisper that Rogue wished she'd been a part of and might have gotten a kick out of.

But she wasn't allowed in on it. Absolutely not.

Remy had blinked at Hank several times before a chuckle tried to rise up his throat -- which he promptly stifled. Then, realizing the severity of the situation, he sobered even further. This couldn't be easy at all on Ororo and the least he could do was not laugh -- or look too obviously aware of how much like a woman Ororo still moved while in her male body.

At the juncture between the men's and ladies rooms, Ororo stood puzzled.

"Dis way," Remy told her, pushing open the door.

Ororo only blinked at him as if he were partially relieved of his faculties. Surely she could not go in there.

Remy smiled. "S'okay, 'Ro. Nobody gone arrest ya if ya go in, ya know."

Ororo nearly glowered at him.

He resisted in making a joke about how she had all the equipment that would grant her automatic entry now. "Ya comin'?" he asked casually as he turned and went in, trying not to make as much fuss about it, thereby soothing Ororo into a more expeditious compliance.

She stood there for a moment, contemplating. She really didn't want to go in -- she'd had a whiff or two of a male restroom before and for some reason, had the distinct impression that it was only by luck alone that she hadn't been assaulted by -- and stumbling back from -- the stench of urine already.

But, this was the mansion and part of the lab -- of course it would be clean at all times. And more than that?

She really had to go!

Resolutely, she walked to the door and took a step in...and then another. She found Remy waiting for her around the corner.

In front of a urinal.

"Dat's right," he told her. "C'mon in."

At least it was as clean as she'd thought it'd be...

She swallowed over a lump in throat before she took yet another step, the tile cooling the bottom of her feet as she stared at the sparkling white thing. There was no stall, just a line of those things along the wall, four in all, separated by partitions so that one had some semblance of privacy.

She's seen a urinal before, but not quite in this light before. No longer just a sight caught in a passing glance, she was now full on paying attention to them, forcing them to hold some meaning to her. And now, she had to learn to use one of them.

And in a hurry, too.

"C'mon over here and do like I do, neh?"

Glancing at Remy, she approached the porcelain object, mimicking his movements so quickly only because of the crisis that was the impending draining of her bladder that would occur with or without her cooperation. Her hands balled and unballed at her sides.

"Okay, now, uh, ya gone need ta, uh...gain access," he delicately put it, putting on a commiserating look.

She just stared at him a moment. Gain access?!

"Ya know wha' I mean," he said next, this time apologetic.

Ororo blinked at him...then slowly dropped her eyes, almost stealthily, as if the movement of her eyes could actually be heard by the wrong party.

She wore not a gown, but a two piece set -- bottoms and a top made of the same material, perhaps due to Henry's foresight that somehow eluded even him as to the needs of 'access' that Ororo might have later. It just wouldn't due to have to do this in a gown, now would it?

A gown. A two-piece set. Neither which she owned herself before this time.

She hadn't arrived in the lab with that outfit on. Someone had placed it on her -- Hank had. Hank, who'd...seen her...naked. He'd seen...that -- the 'wrong party'.

And what must she have looked like in the remains of her costume in the body of a man?!

Sweet, Goddess... She was mortified.

When she hesitated far too long for his tastes, Remy asked, "Pro'lem, chere?"

She didn't answer -- didn't even look up at him. She just stood there...gazing off into nothing, brow pulled together and lips slightly parted in one of the most pathetic looks he'd yet to see on her.

"Uh," he scratched his head. "It ain't gon' bite ya, chere."

She blinked herself out of her stupor and glanced at Remy quickly, not so sure that he knew that for sure or not.

"It's part o' ya -- might not always seem dat way -- but it is," he assured her.

Being that he was her best friend, she trusted him. But, being as she was also a man now, she wasn't so sure that she could be sure of anything.

"I can only guess wha' dis gone be like, but look at it dis way: if ya don' do dis soon, dere gone be a mess, and no matter who ya are now, male o' female, god o' goddess, ya ain't go have dat -- you wettin' ya'self, now are ya?"

Certainly not.

"Now, s'gone be strange, I know, since ya ain't ne'er -- well, far be it from me ta assume dat ya ain't ne'er touched one -- " The look she gave him next, a mixture of incredulity and exasperation shut him up quickly. He grinned cheekily and apologetically, and brought his hands up in abdication. "Sorry. Sorry. Shouldn'a said dat. Know it already." In his mind, he flashed back to Bruce Willis in The Fifth Element when what's-her-face pulled the gun on him for kissing her.

He could have sworn he saw thunder flash in Ororo's eyes.

"Ya know," he said, looking up into her eyes, "dat 'minds me. How ya powers doin', chere?"

She blinked at him, her ire draining from her face. I...I do not know.

When she'd awakened, she had no sense of them to the point where she'd forgotten she even had them. Her need to relieve herself was put off by her inner search for that presence, that inward detection of her birthright.

"Second t'ought, chere?" Remy said when he saw the level of concentration brewing on Ororo's face. "We t'ink 'bout dat later. Ya need ta go, right?"

She refocused back on him. Yes. I do. My powers can be put off for the time being.

"'Kay. Do like I do, 'kay?"

She nodded.

"Now, ya standin' like I am. All ya gotta do now, is...well, ya know, uh..." He scratched his face just below his right sideburn, then he motioned in the air in a roundabout fashion.

She understood.

She glanced back down to her waistband. IT was underneath there -- the thing that truly made her no longer a woman.

The 'wrong party'.

She had a penis now.

To say that it was disconcerting was an understatement of proportions so massive, the mere hint of it could probably level a building.

She swallowed, feeling a cold and greasy fear seeping from her breast -- she no longer had breasts, either, by the by -- and a trickle of the same fell down her back.

Damn it, Ororo! Do this or face the consequences!

Heart beginning to pound, she took hold of her waistband between masculine fingertips. She took a few breaths, preparing herself, swallowed over a lump, took in yet another breath, held it -- pulled the draw-stringed waistband from the well-muscled belly she now had revealed by the raising of her shirt.

Her pubic hair did not notably startle her -- it was the same as it always was, were one to go into such details. No, it wasn't that -- it was what was underneath, that which she slowly revealed by tilting her head back from the overhead lighting and her pelvis -- her now masculine pelvis -- up for a better view.

She felt her breath coming faster and faster -- like she was an easily frightened teeny-bopper at the first showing of Scream, or some other child with a fear of heights trying to overcome that phobia by jumping on the nearest and largest roller coaster she could find.

And then...there it was.

It wasn't as if she had never seen one before, because she had, and on several occasions, the least of which being the fact that in the village she had called home for a time, its people frequently went half-naked. She'd seen her share.

But this was different.

It was from the WRONG angle.

She thought that she would gasp on sight of it actually attached to her body -- but she didn't. Oh, no.

On the contrary, her eyebrows perked up without her knowledge of the occurrence, and the fingertips of one hand lifted her lips, also without her knowledge -- she was so absorbed.

"Oh, my," she breathed instead of "By the Bright Lady!"

It...it...was big. Even flaccid, it was magnificent! And it was hers! HERS!

And she could not believe herself!

This was not how she should have been behaving -- marveling at the size of herself like some other actual male. She should be revolted, disgusted, at the very least bewildered -- not proud. Not egotistically lifted by the knowledge that she as a male had something to brag about -- and a BIG something, too!

"Uh, chere? Why ya look like dat?" Remy asked her after another long pause.

She blinked up at him. "Excuse me?" Still too dazed, she failed to notice that she'd spoken aloud.

"Ya look like de cat dat found de one fat mouse with de limp."

"What?"

"Chere, if ya wuhn't so shocked, ya'd be grinnin', dat's wha'. Wha's so..." He stopped. And stared for a sec. Blinked. How could he have been so dense?

Of course he knew what it was! And he was the one that was shocked...

"So. Like wha' ya see, neh?" he asked instead, putting on a wry smile.

She cleared her throat, blushing as she looked away, that self-satisfied look gone.

"Don' be 'shamed, chere. Only nat'ral -- bit soon...but nat'ral." He chuckled. "But dat ain't the point," he hurriedly added when he'd realized he should have just kept the humor to himself. "Jus' make it dat much easier ta deal wit'. Now dat ya seen it and ya over dat part, now come de hard part -- no pun intended."

She turned and glared this time.

"Oops. Okay. No more jokes. Promise." He even crossed his heart, smiling that 'please don't kill me' smile of his.

She gave him a look that said, 'let's just get this over with'.

He cleared his throat. "Now. Take hold o' it, 'kay?"

She just looked down at herself for a moment.

"Uh, chere? Don' get lost on me 'gain, 'kay?"

Blushing yet again, she lightly shook her head, removing all yearning to conceitedly gaze upon herself from her thoughts.

"Damn, chere, ya worse den Remy -- know dat?" He shook his own head, feigning irritation.

"Let us finish this," she hissed, loud enough to be heard, but not quite loud enough to blatantly announce her new male tones.

"True, do'," he muttered. "'Kay, now. Gon' be serious. Now, jus' stand up straight."

She was already doing that.

"Ya gotta take hold o' it so's ya can control it. Can't do it wit' no hands wit'out experience."

She sighed.

"I hurryin', I hurryin'. Relax. Now, ya, uh, got 'im?" he asked, trying to be sensitive to the situation.

Okay. She had to actually touch it now. Looking was one thing -- touching was quite another. This -- tactual confirmation -- would make it all the more real even if she could already see that it was indeed there and attached, her very own -- and impressive, she couldn't resist tacking on -- manhood.

"Now, ya ain't gotta strangle 'im -- dat's somet'ing diff'rent."

She nearly paled when she looked at him next.

"Aiight, aiight. Now I 'fficially stop de jokes. Promise and double swear."

"One more, Remy LeBeau -- just one more and I will blast you to the ends of the earth," she threatened in a low growl that was barely audible, but came in loud and clear to the slightly rattled Cajun man and former thief to her right.

"Right," he agreed quickly. "Ahem. 'Kay. Got 'im?"

She looked away, trying to calm that irrational thump of the organ in her chest as she slowly reached down... Do not panic, Ororo. It...it is a part of you as Remy said. It...it will not bite. Calm yourself -- by the Gods, I would rather be trapped in an airtight box than deal with this!

Her hand slowly closed over warm, smooth flesh --

She gasped at the sensation of touch -- gasped where Remy could hear her, and thus turn to see her stunned face and how she was no longer standing all the way straight.

"Oh, uh...shoulda warned ya, chere. Sensitive place dat is, ya know -- now," he added.

She couldn't turn to him just yet, not when she felt so ashamed, but she glowered just the same, making sure he saw that more than anything else.

"Ya get used ta it, chere. Promise. Jus' try ta focus on de fact dat ya really gotta go, 'kay?"

Actually, it wasn't all that difficult. The second he mentioned it, she remembered what it was that had her playing guessing games with Hank what seemed like eons ago.

She straightened once more, no longer partially hunched over, and removed the hand she had braced against the urinal.

"Ya ready?" he asked.

She nodded, though a bit unsurely.

"Now, don' jump de gun, 'kay? Gotta control it. Dis one o' de few times ya can', 'kay? Dat wuhn't a joke by de way -- actual fact."

Ororo nodded.

"Now, ya gotta ease into it, aiight? Don' wanna make a mess." He turned to see just how close she was to the amenity. "Don' stand too close. Don' wanna get ya'self -- o' melt de cake."

'What?' was the expression she gave him next.

He pointed to the white cake-like thing in the urinal. "De cake dat keep de t'ing fresh. Ya pee on it and it melt. Some boys do it fo' fun -- but Remy don' t'ink you'd be de type ta enjoy not'ing like dat," he added almost sheepishly.

With a frown, Ororo took a half step back, preferring not to comment.

"Jus' like dat. Perfect. Now, like I said, go slow. Aim where ya wan' it ta go and let it out in a nice calm stream, 'kay?"

Ororo concentrated on doing as he said, trying to discern the inner differences in how it felt to 'hold it in' as a woman and now as a man. Then deciding that that might take too much time, she went on instinct, feeling how to allow the passageways to open and to close and hoping that she did not indeed make a mess.

She took a deep breath...and let 'er rip, as they say --

Then, petrified as an ODD sensation rippled through her...down below. Pulse now racing, her eyes flew open, though that particular reaction was being slowed by her high held dignity -- and only that reaction.

But the other? It wasn't listening. Oh, no -- not that one.

She tried not to hallo as her still new genitalia began to stiffen before her eyes, instead moaning breathlessly, teeth clenching. Shaky on her feet, aiming was now more than a bit difficult. Filled with a heat that manifested itself outwardly as a layer of maroon upon her dark skin, she hurriedly tried to force the thing to _go_back_down_.

And it wouldn't listen!

It just made it all the more insistent on standing high and proud! Like the spear of a mighty warrior from her native homeland that would not be broken...or brought down. Just as Remy had indicated it would -- not exactly, but similarly, nonetheless!

Goddess, NO! St-stay down! Sit! SIT! Bright Lady, it's not a dog, Ororo!

But it was behaving like one -- like a naughty puppy.

"Uh, chere? Chere?"

She couldn't answer him -- she barely heard him. But when he repeated himself, a twisted, psychotic, and overly masochistic part of herself just had to acknowledge Remy to make this moment just as BAD as it could possibly get.

Then, suddenly, she was twisting away from him, blocking from view her embarrassment, for lack of a better phrasing, clenching back an audible sound and trying not to panic.

At least, not anymore than she already was.

All but gasping, she glanced down to find herself fully erect.

FULLY.

For a sweet, beautiful second, she was captured by an awe that took her breath away even more than it had already been stolen -- almost completely enraptured by the powerful sight of herself staring back --

Then she came to her senses once again.

Goddess, why NOW?! It wasn't like she'd been a man for all that long, was it?

"'Ro? Wha's de matter?" Remy blinked at his long-time friend, wondering what it could be that sparked her abrupt inability to go through with this. She did have to go, didn't she? "Chere, speak ta me."

But she couldn't do that. Not at a time like this -- she couldn't let him see. Not this. What -- what am I supposed to do?!

Narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, Remy turned towards the form that was now that which physically represented Ororo Munroe. "'Ro? Answer me. Wha's wrong?"

Not answering, she pressed her palm against the cool surface of the wall, then slowly rested her temple against it, too, trying to calm herself and her erratic breathing. I -- I just have to calm myself. Just be calm... Calm -- damn it all! Why aren't I calming?!

Meanwhile, Remy cocked his head to one side a bit as he took in Ororo's new posture, how she was now hiding from him... Wha' de hell coul' be makin' her do dat--

Blinking, he nearly smacked himself in the head as he was struck with sudden insight --

And then he facepalmed.

"Merde," he muttered, shaking his head with a deep, suffering sigh. "Almos' made it, too..."

When they emerged some time later, Hank and Rogue were talking quietly, which halted when they noticed they weren't alone. Both looked up to see Remy and Ororo standing side by side, Ororo a bit taller than Remy now -- though not due to what she'd just gone through...

Rogue wasn't quite able to take her eyes completely away from Ororo. Despite how off she looked due to the fact that she was dealing with the repercussions of being a man, which were disconcerting -- something Rogue knew well enough, though not so permanently -- and the fact that Ororo had truly been a woman the other day, Rogue could not help but be...attracted.

Ororo was gorgeous, male or female.

"Did everything come out okay?" Hank asked before his hand could get the chance to clamp over his mouth and beat his foot in getting there.

His foot won out.

Ororo's brow furrowed as she strained to keep her dignity about her.

"Ev'ryt'ing be fine, Hank," Remy answered quickly, glancing up at Ororo -- and nearly grimacing.

"Ahem. Good. Very good."

Ororo went back to her bed, walking a bit easier now that she'd been on her feet for a few moments...and had overcome her slight...misadventure. When she got there, she paused -- then turned to Henry.

She cleared her throat before speaking and averted her eyes so that she wouldn't have to see what was in Henry's as she spoke. "I wish...to return to my room," she told him quietly.

"At this time, I do not feel that it is wise for you to -- "

"Is there something you can do for me that you have neglected to mention?" she asked, looking at him now, her need to be away from that sterile place crowding out whatever hesitations she had at looking him in the eye.

He gave her a truly rueful look. "No," he answered quietly.

"Am I suffering from some injury that demands further treatment?"

"No."

"Then why must I remain here?"

Hank watched her for a moment, saying nothing. He had no reason, really, other than observation. There was nothing that he could do for her.

"Well, then," she said, gaining her answer from his silence. "I will be in my room, then." She turned towards the door.

Rogue stood there.

Pride flushing throughout her, Ororo kept her head high as she moved in that direction. She nodded in acknowledgement to the young woman as she moved past her, even if she didn't feel much of that self-regard inside.

Rogue returned that nod -- though she looked to be a bit red in the cheeks. It was only because she was smiling in that way that she was that Ororo wasn't offended. She continued on.

Remembering something, though, she paused. Half looking over her shoulder, unable to truly meet his eyes and denouncing herself for it even at a time such as that one, she said, "Thank you, Remy, for your assistance." ...If one could call what she'd went through just previous to finally relieving herself 'assistance'.

Remy shrugged easily, though what they'd just went through together was more than just a little harrowing -- though he wouldn't call a six-minute recap of what went on last week on All My Children harrowing, even if Ororo did. Hell, he had fun with it -- she'd been the only person that could stay in the room with him after three and a half minutes of it, and he didn't count the fact that she couldn't have left if she'd wanted to against her.

"Dat's wha' friends fo', chere."

She nodded, a brief flash of Erica Cain wearing a mask to cover half her face after an accident of some sort dancing through her mind -- then she beat a not so hasty retreat to her room.

For a long moment, there was nothing but pin-dropping silence. It seemed that no one knew what to say. Not the Cajun whose best friend and most trusted ally in the whole world was now a man who, perhaps, was in possession of a possibly preferable penis to his own. Nor was the puzzled physician whose perplexity could only be penned by his powerless.

But Rogue wasn't quite so speechless.

Shaking her head almost wistfully, hands on full hips, she said, "Ya know what, Cajun? Ah think ya just got knocked outta the placin' fo' 'Best Ass' around heyah, sugah."

3

Bobby had just ... blinked. He couldn't do much more than that -- not with THIS before him.

It has to be the blow I took to the head -- it just HAS to be.

He told himself this repeatedly, but it failed to make what he saw before him any less of a reality.

Ororo. Lying there unconscious. Lying there unconscious and no longer a woman.

I-it can't be, he stammered inside his head. It CAN'T. The laws of nature just wouldn't allow such a thing to happen -- not to HER.

But it HAD happened, hadn't it? And he was silent witness to the fact.

No longer of slender and tone feminine body that had sent a quake or two through his own body at one time or another, she was now of slender and tone masculine body...a body that just couldn't fit into that uniform.

Her musculature expanded out past the material, causing it to rip and tear in places. As she was longer than before, her now-broad shoulders had punched through up top as her now-manly feet had below. Where her chest should have distended outward with her breast now lay a shallow puddle of fabric that somewhat helped to keep the rest of the top portion from going the way that her belt had -- which had snapped and now lay off to the side.

Her foot protruded through her shoes -- HEELS, he said to himself on a clearer note -- and the arms of her clothing no longer reached her wrists -- it was as if a dude had snagged one of her uni's and tried to fit into it -- fitting wrongly everywhere.

But that wasn't the case.

A woman had been in there a few short moments ago, and now in her place lay a man. A man of wide shoulders and sturdy frame, of strong chin, now that he looked closer -- a handsome man if he were to go that far.

He could see that sovereignty that was so much a part of Ororo Munroe even now -- and a bulge that hadn't been there moments ago.

He wondered if the gathering X-Men would be able to, too.

"Wh-what happened?!" Jean gasped as she landed, her TK sparking out.

"Where's Ororo?" Scott questioned as he skid to a halt beside the crouching Iceman.

"And who the hell is that wearin' her uniform?!" Rogue wondered.

Bobby said nothing, unable to stop staring, his mind whirling.

"Bobby? Bobby?! Answer me!" Scott ordered -- then shot a look to his wife when he got no answer. "Jean? Is he alright?"

Jean ran a brief scan. "He...he's in shock, I think."

"Bobby!" Remy yelled. "Snap outta it, homme, and tell us where Stormy is!" Not'ing had better have happened ta 'er, he thought angrily. And de ice cube ain't helpin'! "Who IS dis guy?" he wondered, too, about the man in white lying unconscious before him. For some reason, his usually quick mind failed to recognize the costume just yet.

Still, Bobby said nothing. It was all TOO incredible to believe. The beautiful, unreachable, and sadly untouchable goddess, star attraction in many a wet dreams of many men across the globe...was now a MAN.

"Bobby?" Rogue kneeled down beside the frozen man as she gently called his name. "Can ya heyah me, sugah?"

Slowly -- ever so slowly -- he turned to look at her at the sound of her voice. For a long and frightening moment, he was the very picture of stupefaction. He raised a hand to point at the dark-skinned body beside him.

"HOLYSHITSHE'SAMAN!" he blurted out, eyes wide.

"WHAT?!" The collective team members exclaimed.

"A MAN! She's a MAN!" he blathered, unable to sound rational. Oddly enough, he sounded like an extra out of The Wizard of Oz.

"Who's a man?"

"Storm! Storm's a MAN!"

"No, way..."

Bobby turned his head towards a stern looking Remy LeBeau. "SweartagodIsawit!"

"Calm down, sugah, and tell us what ya saw," Rogue said.

"That's what I saw!" he told her, speaking half as rapidly now as he had been a moment ago. "That girl! She did it! The one in all the black -- the one that HIT me! Ow!" He flinched in memory of being wailed over the head with a length of conduit, massaging his neck and checking for flaws that might make his transformation back to human more difficult than it would be otherwise.

"What's the mattah?"

"Forget about me -- Ororo needs far more help than I do." He turned his icy eyes back to the fallen co-leader of the X-Men.

She'd better turn back to normal before she wakes up...or it's gonna get ugly.

"That's Ororo?!"

"Apparently so, Jean," her husband answered, frowning. "Apparently so."

Jean's gaze turned from surprised to perplexed to...almost appreciable as she looked down at Ororo again.

Damn, Ororo, she thought to herself, her husband unable to hear it.

"Bobby, who did this -- where is she?"

Bobby paused just then...and straightening slowly, he turned and pointed --

To a charred spot on the ground a dozen feet away.

There was a perfect silence for about ten seconds.

"...That's all that's left?" Rogue asked quietly, gloved fingertips slowly lifting to red lips as she blinked at the sight before her.

Bobby nodded. "Other than some smoking leather over there -- yeah. That's it." He pointed to a black, smoldering remnant of said leather scrap draped over a piece of plank that jutted out of the wreckage of the battle site.

"Damn," Remy muttered, almost wincing. "Got dat girl, but good." And Stormy, she ain't gone be likin' dat she took a life, either -- do', she might not be too upset, considering... Considering that she was now of the male persuasion.

"Let's get her to Hank -- see what he can do for her," Scott ordered. "Let's go."

When they arrived back at the mansion, Bobby had about three immediate options. He could go down to the medlab and wait for results on Ororo's condition, go with Scott to inform the Professor of what had happened, or he could go and gossip about it with everyone else in the kitchen.

Bobby went to his room instead. He really needed the rest, and Hank told him it'd be okay for him to get some sleep, seeing as he hadn't quite caught a concussion from his introduction to a certain piece of pipe earlier that day.

"God. I don't think I've ever been this wiped out," he muttered as he dragged himself up the stairs, not even enough strength left in him to ice-slide himself up to the second floor and evaporate the thing once he'd reached his room.

It seemed like forever and a week before he was pulling the door open and stumbling to his bed, yanking off his uniform as he went, where he lost consciousness before he hit the pillows.

He rolled over with a sigh, smacking at the taste in his mouth he'd acquired after sleep -- which he hated.

And it would remain, nagging and mocking him until one of two things happened: he either fell back asleep -- wherein the nagging taste would assault him later on, with possibly more of a virulent edge to it than it'd had before -- or he could wake himself up and do something about it. Namely, brushing his teeth.

He lay where he was, though, for a few moments more. He felt just a tad bit too groggy to brave a trip to the bathroom -- 

And then he was 'reminded' of that damned taste in his mouth, so he forced himself up and out of the bed, eyes less than half-lidded, but still open enough to make sure he didn't smack into everything that might be in his way.

Yawning, he ran his fingers through disheveled hair, then scratched at the back of his neck to relieve that 'welcome back to the land of consciousness' itch he was prone to getting there.

At the doorway, he forwent flicking on the light -- no need to assault his eyes just yet -- instead moving straight over to the toilet. He needed to go to the bathroom.

Casually, as he'd done countless times, he reached down to...make a grab for the requisite equipment --

And blinked sleepily when he missed.

He paused for a moment, just KNOWING that he couldn't have just missed no matter HOW half-asleep he was...

He reached again.

And missed.

He blinked again, clearing all sleep from his eyes, suddenly very wide-awake. He grabbed again, this time a little closer.

And missed yet again.

Slowly, his eyes went wide.

And he frantically began to grabble...down there.

And STILL didn't find what he was looking for at all despite his efforts.

What the fuck?!

In a lightning movement that might've made the resident Cajun proud -- well, in one perspective or another -- he dropped his head and eyes and flung his hands away from himself for a full view.

Why the hell can't I --  Oh. My. God.

It... It...

It wasn't there!

It was gone!

The strangest sound fought its way from between Robert Drake's lips -- a sound that could never -- EVER -- be described as ANYTHING in the masculine range of yelps, yips, or yowls.

"Wh-where-?! What the -- ?! H-how the -- EEP!"

It...it was so FLAT down there...

Naturally, he began to panic. His equipment was gone! His plumbing, necessary accessories, jewels, one-eyed weasel -- it was GONE!

And as his boggled mind struggled to process this -- grappled at the illusion that it might, some day, understand what in the hell was going on, Bobby Drake realized something else.

He hadn't exactly a clear view as he looked down at his misplaced manhood.

There was definite...impediment.

Blinking, Bobby drew his eyes up -- slowly, very slowly...

He gasped, all air being driven from his lungs as he took a staggering step back, eyes flying wide open as they never had before -- not even earlier that day when he'd found Ororo.

"AHHHH!"

He... He had...

He had...

Breasts.

"What the HELL?!" he breathed hoarsely, this time aloud -- in more tones that could never -- EVER -- be described as ANYTHING in the masculine range.

Suddenly wildly disoriented, not trusting what he was seeing before him, he rushed over to the mirror, flipping the light switch --

It can't be -- it just CAN'T be!

Light filled the room -- and so thunderstruck was he that the glare barely registered -- and Bobby found himself in the mirror.

Or should that be 'HERself'?

In the mirror was NOT Bobby Drake.

Bobby just WASN'T that pretty.

And Bobby -- though some might argue the fact -- was a MAN.

What he found in the mirror most definitely wasn't a man -- unless that man had had some serious work done.

For a long moment, he could do nothing but stare.

My. God, swam up in his thoughts from some murky abyss of incredulity.

A slender-fingered hand reached up to touch a face that was totally unfamiliar to Bobby -- found soft skin waiting, skin softer than he could remember finding on his own face.

Whom he saw in the mirror couldn't quite pass as stunning as several other women under the roof of 'X' could -- but she was unmistakably good-looking.

Possessing Bobby's soft brown hair and hazel eyes, she also had a delicate jaw, ears that could be described as nothing less than 'cute', a nose that seemed to be tailored to her face, an elegant neck --

And a nice rack.

Distantly, he thought, Hell. I'd do her.

She was, after all, totally attractive.

She.

As if what he was seeing in the mirror wasn't HIM.

Because it was.

And he knew the 'why' and the 'how' of it.

A certain young, short, darkly clad, tattooed, pierced, blue-eyed, spiky-haired girl with a certain strange power that had changed Ororo Munroe into a man.

A certain and strange power that had been charged into a length of pipe -- a pipe that had been brought down over his head.

Maybe that had been enough to change him -- maybe a blast of it wasn't necessary as in Ororo's case --

What am I wasting mind-breath on -- of COURSE it had been enough! Lookit me!

Yeah. Just look.

A beautiful woman stared back at him.

But from the wrong angle, his mind was so quick to point out.

A woman.

His eyes fell again -- against his own will.

The missing plumbing.

He sighed deeply, wistfully -- a whispering moan. No... Not Willie Shorthairs... I LOVED that guy!

And Willie was gone --

To be replaced by a woman's...parts -- and breasts!

There's a bright side to this already, Bobbo! Buck up!

"A bright side," he murmured aloud -- and was treated to the sound of his new voice. A woman's voice. It seemed to fit the face it was given to, though he couldn't precisely describe it. Not too deep and not too high -- it was just...normal. No detectable accent, like say, Ororo or Betsy -- or even Jean, what with her originating on the east coast -- and why would she? Had Bobby an accent?

No. Even IF he'd been born and bred in Long Island-or 'Lawn Gisland' to those with the accent.

And would suddenly turning into a woman change that?

...He should hope not.

But whether or not he had gained an accent was irrelevant.

Either way, he was a still WOMAN now.

A woman.

What the hell would that mean when he left this bathroom -- his room -- and others saw him?

Suddenly, he could barely breathe.

What will my father think?!

'What the-?! You're a WOMAN?! Bobby, how in the hell did you manage to get yourself turned into a WOMAN?!'

He could just see his face...

"Holy shit," he breathed, his face a work of perplexity.

And mom?

'I always wanted a girl...' seemed to fit pretty well.

He didn't know whether to grimace or be...relieved at that one.

"Holy friggin' -- "

Who CARES, man?! You've got hooters! Lookit 'em! came a voice from the inside.

And he did.

What a set.

They weren't all terribly large like a few pairs he could think of -- but enough to fit in his hands -- technically 'her' hands -- when he slowly cupped them.

"Ooh," he breathed at the sensation of him -- HER -- self in his -- HER -- hands, a smile spreading across feminine lips.

Smooth and supple, he wished that this was a separate woman -- while at the same time glad it was NOT.

It felt great, what he doing.

Eyes narrowing just a bit...he uncupped one breast...and reached for an, as of yet, unresponsive nipple -- was only vaguely surprised that someone hadn't smacked his hand away and given him an admonishing look of 'Bad Man! Bad Man, You!'

He teased it -- and it soon stood firm.

"Ooh!" he breathed a little louder. "Oh, I like THAT," he said as he began to grin. Further attention to him -- HER -- self led to an almost hysterical giggle that echoed throughout the room to the tune of insetting psychosis.

"This is SOOOO cool!"

Looking back up into the mirror, Bobby found a nearly lewd smirk looking back. With a wry twist of now-womanly lips, Bobby began to turn this way and that, watching the way his new body moved, the shape of shoulders and collarbone, of hips and firm buttocks --

"I am FINE," he gloated to him -- HER -- self, as toned muscles played beneath smooth skin and young bosom stood pert. "I might be able to get used to this."

But he still missed Willie.

Not only because Willie had been WILLIE -- had always been there, a very precious part of the male anatomy -- the MOST important, actually -- almost like a friend -- a friend that went through all his good and bad times, was nearly always awake moments before him in the morning as if in greeting of the new day --

But, also because Bobby still had to go to the bathroom.

And he wasn't accustomed to sitting unless he had to go number two.

Number one was up for this particular event.

And Willie wasn't there to...well, help out, or anything. He'd cut and run -- or whatever had happened to him while the Iceman slept. Wherever he was, he wasn't doing anyone any good -- which had been sort of true of Willie for too long of a while, anyway, Bobby thought a bit bitterly to himself. Nothing really new on that score, or rather, lack_there_of.

Just me and Willie...and no one else. What a bitch.

And now he was a woman -- a woman who'd have NO use for Willie -- at least, not as he had in his former capacity, anyway.

He was no longer a 'giver'.

He was on the 'receiving' team now, a part of his overworked brain informed him.

"Damn," he muttered as he was hit with that realization.

Sex for him was totally changed as he knew it -- if he would ever know it again. How was he supposed to deal with that?

You COULD be a lesbian, ya know...

He instantly perked at that.

"Hey... I COULD, couldn't I?" That insane grin of his was coming back... Unknowingly, he rubbed his hands together in anticipation, as if he had a date already lined up. He'd always wanted in on a session of that -- two women together. Well, in this body, he had more of a chance of that happening, right?

And as he had the requisite equipment now, he could go into women-designated places! Ladies rooms, locker rooms -- the communal showers of the mansion!

"Oh, yes!"

Yeah, like Ororo would let you anywhere near the showers...

"But the ladies at the Bally's wouldn't know a thing, now would they?" he said evilly to himself.

You are bad. Very bad.

"You know this, man," he said, in a bad impersonation of Chris Rock's character out of the movie Friday.

But I'm really gonna miss Willie -- miss 'im already. I want 'im back.

It didn't occur to him just yet that he was conducting a conversation with himself. "We can't have him back -- that girl is dead, and without her, we probably won't change back. We have to get used to it -- just like 'Ro is."

'Ro... She's a dude now. She's got equipment now! I'd like to see the look on her face when she wakes up and realizes --

"Hey! Watch your mouth!"

What?! Aren't you waiting to see it, too?

"What do you mean, YOU? There's no YOU -- there's only ME."

If there's just YOU, then why're you talking to ME?

Bobby blinked. Why was he talking to 'him'?

I think you're cracking up, man.

"Oh, shut up."

You gonna make me, WOMAN?

"Don't start -- "

You're the one that started it -- thinking all disassociatively and everything.

"Dammit, I don't want to argue with you!" Bobby shouted in his lady's voice.

"Uh, 'allo? Who's dat?"

Bobby froze.

That hadn't been him who had said that. As Bobby has pointed out himself, earlier, he had no accent.

"'Allo?" the voice came again -- a man's voice with a Cajun's drawl.

"Remy," Bobby breathed, instinctively crouching low as if Remy could see straight through the door with those alien eyes of his and could possibly spot the naked woman that had been the male Bobby Drake and was now 'Roberta' Drake, standing in Bobby's bathroom.

A knock -- and probably not the first to have been rapped upon the door during 'Roberta's' discussion with herself -- sounded with impatience.

"Bobby? Dat you soundin' like a femme in dere?" Jokingly, he added, "O' do ya finally got somebody in dere wit' ya?" He sounded highly doubtful that the answer to that second part would be in the affirmative.

Bobby was simultaneously angered and agreeable with that tone. Hell, when was the last time he was in the position to have a woman in his room -- a separate one, that is?

A long while. He sighed.

You can't let him see us like this!

"You think I don't know that?!" he hissed to himself.

He might hit on us!

"He wouldn't..."

This is REMY we're talking about, Drake.

"Point. What should we do?"

We gotta hide!

"Where?"

Under the bed, man -- er, girl! Quick!

"I am NOT -- "

More knocking. "Bobby?"

Bobby flew out of the bathroom and back into his bedroom, arms across his chest in an oddly feminine display, feeling as if Remy's eyes were already all over him. Now, he knew what it was like for all those women that hated to be ogled.

"Pig," Roberta mumbled tersely. After dropping to the floor -- the cold, cold floor -- it was quickly decided that that would not be the best place to hide.

But, you LIKE the cold!

"Yeah, but, it's still freezing!" he whispered. "I don't know why!"

Well...under the covers! Quick!

Roberta was only too happy to comply. "What the hell is up with my powers, anyway?" he wondered softly.

"Bobby? Answer me, homme," Remy said in an annoyed tone.

"No can do," Roberta whispered.

"I gone come in if ya don', Bobby. Give ya till de count o' tres, and Remy'll charge de door down."

What the hell is his problem?! Why won't he just leave?!

"Ya know it's time fo' dinner, nes pas?"

Oh. That.

"I don' get ya down 'ere, and dey start bitchin' at Remy 'cause you didn't get none o' de special biscuits."

Special biscuits? Roberta sighed. There was no way he was gonna get out of this without answering -- which he couldn't do with his present voice.

He's gonna break in!

"Please don't," Roberta prayed softly. "Just go. Leave. Eat all you want -- I woulda said something by now if I cared!"

"One," Remy began.

Oh, shit.

"Two."

Another strange sound worked itself loose from inside the former X-MAN.

Ex-man. X-Man. Heh. Almost kinda funny. Almost...

"Tres. Okay, den. Be dat way."

There was a perfect moment of silence where Bobby could almost -- ALMOST -- believe that Remy was walking away, only having been kidding, and seeing how his bluff had been called, was bowing out gracefully --

No such luck.

NEVER any such luck.

The doorknob jiggled three times -- he made no point in being secretive, for there was simply no need -- and then...the door came open.

He'd picked the lock. Just like that.

At least he didn't blow it open...

Does the guy carry lockpicks everywhere he goes?!

Red on black eyes peered inside. "Bobby, wake up. Dinner time."

'Roberta' made not a move, lying flat on her back, hoping to God that Remy would just believe he was asleep and be gone.

Boots tread softly over hardwood floor as he approached. It was like being inside a horror film with Michael Meyers or Jason -- hiding and hoping that they couldn't hear your breathing or smell you sweat or see you shaking beneath the covers; hoping that they'd find no evidence that you were even there and would just _go_away_.

No such luck.

NEVER any such luck.

The comforter was yanked back --

Revealing a startled woman to Remy LeBeau rather than a disgruntled Iceman -- an attractive woman, too. He blinked, gathering composure. "Pardonnez-moi, chere," he said with an apologetic, yet debonair smile -- and some wonder that not even he could hide at finding an actual chick there and in Bobby's bed, no less. And naked, too. "Remy not know Bobby not alone."

Roberta could only pull together a faint semblance of a smile -- one where you couldn't believe you were getting away with something -- wasn't' even sure if you even were, yet -- but were riding it out for as long as it lasted, hardly able to believe your luck.

He...he doesn't recognize us! Yay!

"Bobby, he not de kind ta typically have a woman willing go ta his room, nes pas?"

HEY! He's doggin' us out, man -- er, um, girl! Can you believe him?!

Bobby bit back the expression of contempt that would have overcome his new face rather easily if he'd just allowed it to, covering it with a chuckle and a shrug, as if she'd known that particular bit about Bobby -- and hadn't minded it.

"Why don'tcha have de ice cube escort ya down -- ya eat wit' us, 'kay?"

Again, 'Roberta' only shrugged this time to communicate that she would be okay with that -- even though she really wouldn't have been.

"Bien," he said, that smile never faltering. In a graceful move, he captured her hand and brought it to his lips, bending in a suave bow. "Look forward ta seein' ya lata', chere."

Roberta stifled a cough of surprise at the motion. Can you BELIEVE that?! He's hitting on our date! ...Sort of... And with US in the bed! The NERVE of that guy!

It was about this time that Bobby realized he was gonna need some help -- with the double-talking AND getting his hand back from Remy before he wretched.

"Uh...okay," Roberta said, forcing a smile.

"Good. Um... Where Bobby at, anyway?" he asked. Obviously, she had to be alone -- there wasn't another body present in the bed and the door to the bathroom was wide open with the light on and no one inside.

"He -- he's not here," she answered a bit lamely, clearing her throat to excuse whatever anomaly that might be found in her voice, though there were none.

"Wha' -- he jus' leave ya 'ere all by ya'self?" He feigned a gentle outrage. "Dat ain't no way ta treat a lady, chere -- 'specially not one as lovely as you."

Ipe.

"L-lovely?"

Gambit nodded softly. "Oui."

And the weirdest thing happened...

Roberta began to feel as if she were falling up into Remy's eyes; they were actually really enchanting, if one took the time to notice -- or if those eyes made you take notice.

Inside, Roberta could feel panic setting in. This damned body is doin' stuff to us!

Roberta couldn't answer -- could only blink up at those strange-weird-alien-outlandish eyes.

"If ya were 'ere wit' Remy, he wouldn't let ya outta his sight," he informed the woman before him in his velvety-smooth voice as he lowered down onto the bed at her side, her hand still held in his.

Aie!

"H-he'll be back -- I'm sure of it," Roberta managed to get out, amazed that she didn't sound half as bewildered as she felt.

"Are ya?" Remy asked as he brought that hand back up to his lips again, gently brushing them -- and most likely not coincidentally, his stubble -- across the knuckles.

Roberta's breath caught.

Aie, yie, YIE!

*Cough* "Yes," she squeaked.

"Gotta lotta faith in 'im. How long ya known Bobby, ehn?"

Whuh-oh...

"A while..."

"And ain't nobody ne'er heard o' ya o' seen ya b'fo'?" he asked softly, never breaking eye contact.

Run! Run! Get us outta here!

Roberta could only work her lips. Nothing would come out, however. All she could focus on was those dark, enigmatic eyes -- and those lips. This close...they were actually very nice.

What in the hell are you thinking?! someone yelled out inside his head.

"I...I don't know," came the reply -- on the outside.

"Non? Dat's a cryin' shame, chere," Remy responded. "Remy'd wanna show ya off to de world."

She flushed red. "Really? But...I -- I'm not really all that...attractive or anything -- "

"Don' e'er say dat, chere. Ya're beautiful. Dis man, 'ere -- he know somet'ing 'bout beauty. Trus' me on dis, 'kay?"

Roberta found she should just couldn't say 'no'. "Wha -- well, okay." She blushed a deeper shade of demure.

Suddenly, a hand was at her face, tracing the line of her jaw as inhuman eyes watched...fell down to admire chin, throat, collarbone, shoulders...a revealed breast.

"Jus' beautiful," came a soft voice -- a voice that did NOT belong to the woman lying back on the bed.

At those words, Roberta became aware of something distinctly -- odd. New, too.

A tingling.

Between her legs.

Uh-oh. Oh, no -- NO! Snap out of it, man! Snap OUT of it!

But Roberta -- BOBBY -- didn't want to snap out of it -- not with this peculiar sensation, and this odd fluttering in her stomach, and those odd eyes staring down at her with heat and fiery irises, and relish that caused her breath to quicken and chest to rise high with each inhalation.

A hand that was not her own brushed across her breast -- she gasped softly, eyes slipping shut of their own volition.

What the FU --

"Ohhh..." she breathed suddenly, cutting that voice off like a dead weight dragging down a drowning survivor of a boat wreck down into the murky deep. Once free, that survivor could swim to shore, find a piece of wreckage to cling to -- or simply lay back, so to speak, and tread water.

Roberta wanted to tread water with Remy LeBeau -- wanted to lay back as his hands and eyes roamed about a body that hadn't been there a few short hours ago, awakening sensations perhaps prematurely, but necessarily, making her feel things she, as Bobby Drake, never thought she'd want to experience.

You're not missing Willie anymore, ARE you?

No answer. Not to him...

Hazel eyes came open -- found those weird eyes so much closer now -- so very close. And those lips parted in such a mischievous smile --   "Ah -- !" Those hands... Probing, touching -- heedless of the fact that 'Bobby might return', or that someone might pass by the open door --

"Chere," an accented voice whispered in his ear. And then a breathy string of French...

A skilled hand passed beneath the covers, brushing a breast, over a flat, taunt belly, fingertips tickling lightly and coercing another gasp...stroked down over a thigh -- between thighs as they parted in aching awaiting --

What the hell -- ?!

"Yes," she whispered, arching ever so slightly, a leg rising, her free hand grasping at the sheets beside her --  "Yes..."

No! No!

"Guess ya don' mind if Bobby come back, neh?" Remy murmured, a smile in his voice.

YEAH! Stop that, ya bastard!

Her head began to wag immediately. "No. No," she repeated vehemently. "Don't stop."

NO?! Whaddaya mean 'NO'?! Yes! YES! STOP!

"Who said Remy was gonna do somet'ing like dat, ehn?" He chuckled deliciously as his fingertips neared expectant warmth --

And Roberta _could_not_WAIT_ for him to finally reach that place -- that undeniable place that Bobby never thought he'd ever know from this side, and as Remy came closer and closer still, she thought she would burst if she wasn't touched where she needed to be and NOW! -- that she would incinerate on the bed sheets, lit by flames of yearning frustration and impatience --

"Hurry -- please. Now," she heard herself say from far away.

AGH! NOOO!

"Waitin' is one o' de bes' parts chere."

"Now..." she insisted in nearly a whimper, beginning to writhe beneath Remy's ministrations.

Snap OUT of it!

Remy brushed his lips across a bared throat. "Jus' 'bout dere," he whispered as he brought his fingers closer and closer yet --

"Yes..."

NO! Are you MAD?!

"Yes," she murmured.

NO! You're supposed to be saying NO!

"Hmm..." A soft, masculine chuckle sent a delightful shiver up her spine that caused her to arch up again -- and into those dexterous fingertips.

She felt as if she were exploding inside.

Oh, no --

"YES!!"

"NO! NO! NOOO!"

"Bobby! Wake up, boy! Bobby?!"

He flailed feebly, his hands swatting at empty air. "S-stop! No! NO!" he shrieked in his sleep, eyes clenched shut. "Get away!"

Strong hands shook him awake -- caused him to bolt up from sleep with his fist cocked back and ready to fire --  Green eyes greeted his wild eyes -- beautiful and concerned green eyes, and white-striped auburn hair...

Rogue.

"Ya okay, hon?"

Blinking at her, unable to remember how it was that she came to be in his room and that close to him, he was also unable to answer her question. "R-Rogue?" he all but gasped, panting.

She nodded, looking at him with a weighing glance. "Yeah. How are ya, sugah?" He looked a bit wild -- almost delirious, the way he was sheathed with sweat as he was and having been yelling out in his sleep like he was being chased by some terrifying monstrosity.

How am I..?

He couldn't answer that, either --

Until recollection slammed into him like a Mack truck -- powerful, surging, breathtaking, appalling, dizzying recollection. Hazel eyes flew wide open as his hands flew down to his crotch.

"Bobby?! What in the hell are ya doin'?!" Rogue questioned as she reeled back from what seemed to her to be obscene fondling of himself. He was, after all, undressed under his blanket, which she'd gotten a glimpse of as she tried to rouse him from slumber.

Bobby hadn't heard a thing she'd said. "Yes!" he cheered to himself, his eyes slipping closed and his head falling back in deepest relief as an absolutely silly grin broke out on his face. "Willie," he mumbled as he felt his missing equipment not so missing in action anymore.

"Willie?!" Rogue breathed in what looked to be horror.

Then, Bobby's eyes snapped open, still ignorant of Rogue's bewilderment.

He felt his chest.

Flat planes of muscle.

No breasts.

"Aw, damn," he hissed.

" -- I said, wha' de hell ya t'ink ya doin', ice cube?!"

That voice...

That Cajun voice.

Bobby whirled, suddenly hyperventilating as he floundered back as far as he could from the advancing red and black-eyed man, pressing himself against the wall on that side. "St-stay the hell away from me, you pervert!" he shouted as he snatched his blanket to cover himself like a prudish old woman.

Remy halted dead in his tracks. "Me? You de one feelin' ya'self up in front o' a lady," he growled.

"ME?! You're the one that -- that..." He hesitated, an accusing finger hanging in the air. "...That..."

He couldn't just TELL him what had happened -- what had gone on in his head, now could he?

Oh, HELL naw!

"Wha' Remy do, ehn?" the offended Cajun wondered, folding his arms as he glared.

"Uh..." Bobby glanced at Rogue who was still eyeing him strangely. "Uh...nothing," he said. "Nothing at all." He shook his head and cleared his throat, his eyes falling to his bed covers.

That had to be about the WEIRDEST dream I've ever had -- and the most traumatic... he added with a gulp.

"Den, why ya call me a 'pervert', huh? Ain't like Remy in 'ere 'cause he wanna be. Was just passin' by when we 'eard ya yellin' like a woman -- "

A woman?!

"Remy, please," Rogue berated, her eyes flashing to his in a quick admonishing glance. "Cain't ya see he's all shook up?" She turned back to Bobby. "This ain't got nothin' ta do with what happened out there in the field with that girl, do it?" she asked. Meaning the freaky-deak that had smacked him one good over the head.

Bobby, paled, wondering how she'd come to that conclusion -- she was right, yeah, but still...

"N-no," he denied with a vehement shake of his head. "Wh-what made you think that?" He tried to smile and knew he was failing miserably at it.

But he didn't care.

It wasn't like they knew -- that they'd EVER find out, either. About the dream.

"Yeah, Rogue. What did make you think that?"

Rogue turned around at the voice. "Jus' wonderin', is all. Ah mean, after what her powers did ta Storm and how she was usin' 'em in close proximity ta him, and all..." She left off, letting Jean fill in the blanks.

Bobby had slowly leaned to his right, hardly hearing a word Rogue had said...and caught sight of Jean leaning against the frame of the doorway, previously just out of sight behind Remy.

In her own green eyes twinkled a comprehension -- a knowing that made his guts twist.

She smirked. <Wild, wasn't it?>

Oh.

No.

Meep.

She chuckled in his mind and it danced in her eyes. <You know you liked it.>

He wanted to scream, and he would have, too, if Remy and Rogue -- albeit it, a blinking-rather-dumbly Remy and Rogue -- weren't there right then.

I wanna die. I wanna curl up somewhere and DIE, he moaned inwardly, his thoughts so clear in his sickly pallor.

Jean chuckled aloud this time as she stepped out of the door and back into the hall. she informed him as she went on her way.

The mention of Scott Summers made every shade of color he could claim to own drain even farther from his skin -- and the thought of Cyclops being let in on his mortifying dream made him want to faint.

Aie, yie, yie!

Bobby hated that expression more and more every time he used it.

"Wha' de hell is goin' on?" Remy asked for the second time in as many minutes.

Bobby tried to look innocent, his still being pressed up against the wall and clutching his blankets and that look on his face notwithstanding. "Uh, nothing. Nothing at all," he repeated as he chuckled nervously -- such a dead give away that he was lying through his teeth.

"Yep. Looks like nothing to me," Jean added with a quirk of a crafted eyebrow, her hands stuffing themselves in the pockets of her jeans as she went on her way.

Bobby let his face fall into his hands as if he were going to cry. "Can you two, like...leave now? Please?" So I can die in peace?

Remy shrugged, no longer really giving a damn what was going on. "Le's go, chere. Look like he wan' his privacy."

Rogue nodded as she stood, still looking at Bobby in that odd way. "If you gon' be alright--"

Bobby waved her away. "I'll be fine." Sooner or later...

Remy reached for her as she walked away and she allowed his hand to come to rest at the small of her back when she neared him. "That boy got problems," she mumbled when they had gotten out into the hallway.

"Oui -- and dat's sayin' somet'ing if Remy sayin' it, too." Considering everything he'd gone through as of late -- Antarctica and all.

"Ah hear ya."

Back in his room, Bobby slowly raked his fingers through his hair, sighing deeply as he leaned his head back against the wall, and as he curled his legs up against himself, he all but reveled in the feel of his nearly-lost 'friend'. God, I just want to forget this EVER happened.

<You are SUCH a bad liar.>

JEAN! Quiddit!

<What?> she asked innocently. <Just stating the facts -- Roberta.> A telepathic grin -- an evil one.

ARRGGH!

<Ha, ha, ha...>

4

She was now in the safety of her room, but as to the comfort part?

There was very little.

She felt like a stranger on her own lands. She was no longer Ororo Munroe in body. Inside, she could hear her own voice and her own thoughts - and then, she looked down upon herself and found herself trapped within someone else's fleshly confines.

She was not yet used to this body. Walking and moving took more care than usual. She weighed more and was taller than before. More than that, she was stronger as well, easily able to overpower herself by brute force alone were her female self present - which it was not.

Everything seemed alien now - how things felt to the touch, for example. It was as if she were there in her room for the first time, never having felt the texture of her bed sheets before, the smoothness of the oak that made up its frame and the chest at the foot of it. Even the feel of her own body was strange to her now - not that she'd spent more time than necessary touching herself...

Usually so very composed, she felt close the edge.

She felt as though she could slip this time, slip right into the abyss.

She had never faced an adversity such as this. Imprisonment, yes. Enslavement, yes. Massive and overpowering fear, yes. Great injury, yes. And powerlessness, too.

But this was different - new.

It wasn't something she could just get used, either, and she feared that it would never cease to be new - that she would always feel off-balanced, and never 'used to it.'

Her senses were all feeding her information differently - the feel of her own hair to her own fingertips was as exotic to her as that of a woman's she'd never met before. She even thought the smell of her indoor garden was different, that the sights she took in weren't the same as they were two days ago, and even her sense of taste would tell her that what she had once thought was the taste of a peach was actually something completely conflicting.

And of all the things that were made new once more was the touch of mother earth upon her.

Remy had reminded her that she hadn't felt that touch in too long a while - no matter how short of a while it was. It was always supposed to be there - incessantly so, even.

But it wasn't now.

She felt oddly ... alleviated, freed - yet simultaneously ... alone.

Did not the earth recognize her in spirit if not in body?

No, she decided. She was no longer the daughter of the Earth - she was now its son.

But she would not be denied her birthright!

She closed her eyes as she stood in the middle of her room, and reached out for the familiar grasp that always demanded attention lest it rage out of her control, the reins be snatched from her hands until however much time it took before she could reclaim them.

Her life - her body - had been irrevocably changed, but she would be damned if she would lose the only thing that was tangibly left of Ororo Munroe - the gift to manipulate the weather, to glide upon the winds, to command thunder and lightening, and be caressed by cleansing rains.

Where are you? she called out inwardly. I know that you are still there - you could not have left me, as well! Please, do not have gone. Please...

It was exhilarating, too, though - the loss. She felt as if she could rage to her heart's content and not a cloud would flicker with an electrical charge, not a droplet of rain would fall, and not a gust of wind would ruffle a lock of hair.

But another part of her would EXPLODE if she did not have that burden to bear, that blessing to uphold, that honor as an X-Man to carry.

It was all she had now.

She would not be denied.

"Hear me," she whispered softly, reaching out with all that was inside her that would be remembered by her mother, the Earth, arms lifting from her sides and into the air. "Feel my spirit. Know that it is I, child of the Earth that calls you. Do not reject me now."

She did not order so much as plead - plead - for her rightful place.

Such an irony.

She had asked for change and she had it - and unhappily. Then, she was petitioning for something that she should already have, should never have lost - and all for a half-formed wish that should never have been caught to breath and made real by voice.

The connection must be there - it has to be. I cannot live like this - not alone!

"Please. Come back to me - welcome me into your arms again," she breathed as if she were desirous of a former lover that was hesitant at accepting her back. "Touch me... Fill me..."

Just when she felt nothing riposting her call, when it seemed that the connection lie dead and lifeless on the floor before her - that Mother Earth had indeed rejected her new body as the sum aggregate of what Ororo Munroe was and would ever be in body and spirit, when the skies seemed to ignore her as nothing more than a simple human that would breathe and return to dust in a blink of its existence -

She felt it.

The RUSH.

A powerful and roaring wind threw open the shutters and flooded in from the skyward entrance above her head as it coursed to her, enwrapping her - embracing her. Between her legs, around her waist, and through her hair, it caressed and stroked her skin - the hesitant lover had welcomed her return at long last - and lifted her in the air amongst a delicious cyclone as she threw back her head and laughed and sobbed in the greatest relief she could recall, her deep voice lost to the howling windstorm.

A touch.

She felt it deep inside - down deep, could just barely feel it, could scarcely discern the spark as her powers were ignited, jumpstarted by her fervent devotion after her conversion had apparently buried it.

Buried it alive.

And now it pulsed and thumped and grew within as well as without. The blazing and beautiful colors and hues that were the weather patterns were lain out before her like so many paints on a palette, there to be shaped and remade by her and her alone.

Her new appearance had not left her no longer qualified for the job - it was the within that mattered far more than the without, a simple truth she had always been aware of, but had had no greater crisis with until now. She could see it, despite how she'd felt that her sight had altered somehow, she could see it, and it just as it'd always been.

"I feel you," she laughed. "I can!" she shouted in her strong male tones as she was drawn out of her room and into the skies above, too enrapt to care for her new voice. "I CAN!"

And then it was only her and the storm, beating rain, sleet and snow, swirling winds and clouds, thunder, lightening - and all at her command once again, reclaimed.

"You are mine once more!"

And, indeed, it was.

As it had always been.

And she rejoiced for however long she was able.

A loud boom - more like a KAKRATHOOM! shook the windows of the boathouse.

"What was that?"

"Lightening, I think. Rain, sleet-"

"I know that, Jean. I was wondering why. Sort of sudden, wasn't it? It was sunny just a minute ago." Scott Summers, also known as Cyclops of the X-Men, and perhaps more importantly, husband of Jean Grey-Summers, edged open a slat in the blinds to peer outside at the sudden thunderclap that had lit up the late dusk outside the window of their bedroom.

"A bit, but you know we have a resident weather controller on the premises," she reminded him.

"Do we?" he asked after a short pause.

"Of course. Just because her sex has been changed, it doesn't mean that's changed, too."

Hearing the words 'sex' and 'changed' in such close proximity and in reference to Ororo Munroe made his left eyebrow twitch. It didn't take much to drop the 'ed' off the end of 'changed' and slap the two words together...

Shaking his head to loose himself of the thought, he said, "We don't really know that. And Remy did mention that 'Ro wasn't exactly in touch with her powers."

"Well, we'll see soon enough," his wife told him, as she organized the last of her items.

Scott sighed and nodded. "I guess." The idea of Ororo being a man was indeed an odd thing to accept. What would it mean to their relationship if it were permanent? Would they have a true alpha- male struggle between them, then? And why was he thinking of that now? It wasn't important - Ororo's recovery from this was, which had to be especially difficult for one such as herself.

"Not really, I'm not sure, probably, I have no idea - you're just weird, yes it is, and again, yes it is."

Scott blinked at her. "Wha'?" So confounded was he, the 't' at the end of the word never made it to his statement.

She grinned and shook her head. "You'll catch on in a minute - you usually, do," she told him, confidence of his ability to do so dancing in her clear voice. "I, on the other hand, have got to get this up to Ororo. Thanks for the clothes."

"Um ... no problem."

"Actually, you should probably be upset. This just means I'll have to drag you out shopping with me when I go to the mall to pick up something for her tomorrow."

He nearly paled. "B-but, why?"

"You wear close to her size, and besides - I like to show you off." She swatted him on the behind as she passed him, the borrowed clothing in telekinetic tow. "See you in a bit, okay?"

"What about unstable molecules?"

"Forget the unstable molecules. I haven't been shopping in a while and you're going. Period."

He sighed. "Fine." When she was gone, that changed to a whispered "Damn!"

~I heard that, husband.~

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Sucks being married to a telepath."

~That's not what you were gasping last night.~

Proud leader of the X-Men that he was, he blushed. Furiously.

A telepathic chuckle drifted to him in parting, trailing off to leave him alone in his abashment.

When she finally lowered herself back to the grounds, her feet touched solidarity beneath them once more. And she was reminded.

Feet that were hers and not hers sent the sensation to her mind, the feel of the wind whirling beneath them, and then the woodenness of the floor of her room.

Different.

It still was all different.

Only the touch of the elements remained unchanged, the feel of it inside where all was normal - or at least, she could believe that it was.

With a sigh that seemed to drain away all the comfort she'd found, she again looked around the attic that was her bedroom with her man's eyes.

A woman's bedroom.

And she was no longer that, now was she?

She looked down at herself.

No, I most certainly am not.

And she caught sight of the clothing she still wore from the medlab, now sodden from her reclamation of her mutant abilities and clinging to her male form, delineating greater muscle mass and masculine curves as well as other noticeable attributes that caused her to look away.

I cannot wear this forever, can I?

But what else was there? Everything she had, naturally, fit her as a woman and nothing else. She had not the size nor type of clothing to fit one as she was now.

Trying to keep the memory of her most likely having been first noted as a man in her uniform, of all things - her particularly womanly uniform, cape and heeled boots, and all - and wondered what would she wear.

The answer came in the form of knocking at the door.

"Ororo?"

It was Jean.

Jean, who was still a woman after all she'd been through.

Ororo did not answer - she could not. Suddenly, she felt shame - as if she'd done something wrong when she had not.

"Ororo, it's Jean."

As if I did not know, bubbled up within her too quickly to be cut off.

"I figured you did," came from the other side of the door.

Ororo immediately flushed as red as one such as she could.

"You remember what happens when you project like that, right?" There was no anger in her voice, only understanding.

Yes, she sighed. I do. Even still ... she did not raise the formidable shielding around her mind that she'd been taught to erect.

"Good. Now, are you going to let me in?"

Not yet fully formed, her next thought was in the negative. She wanted no one else to see her - not as she was.

"You can't hide forever, Ororo. You have to let someone in. No recluses allowed on campus, you know."

She makes jokes now? Now?!

"Sorry. You're right." She sighed. "Ororo, I have food and clothing here. Now, unless you want to go hungry - I know you haven't eaten in more than a day - and wear those clothes you got from the lab for however long they'll last, you'll open the door."

Coercion? Now?! Ororo thought more to herself so that Jean would not hear. But then she looked down at herself again and was presented with an impasse on a similar level to the one she faced when she was in dire need of the restroom.

All right, she ceded. But this will be...short.

"Promise," Jean replied with nothing to hint that she felt put off by Ororo's brusqueness.

Ororo hesitated before she made her way to the door - then forced herself to continue. Resting her hand on the knob, noting just how much it wasn't her hand save for skin tone, how the feel of the brass didn't seem as committed to memory as it'd once been, she turned it with yet another sigh for her lost femininity.

She pulled it open an inch - then a bit more.

Jean tilted her head to one side to see in and found little more than a shadow staring back. "Ororo?"

Yes, she psi-whispered as she stepped back into the shadows and let the door slide open.

Jean entered slowly, not wanting to make Ororo anymore uneasy than she already was, which she knew was escalated merely by her presence. Side stepping the door, she closed it behind her with a sweep of her foot before focusing on her friend who was presently trying not to shrink into the shadows as a mutual friend of theirs was now able to do.

In her hands she carried a tray of food, something light that wouldn't be too much of a problem in getting down: a small tuna salad, bread, soup, water and juice, and a side of fruit. Beneath the tray was clothing. All of it she held up with the aid of her TK, of course, for otherwise, she would have dropped it on the way up the stairs.

The first thing Jean was able to discern was the hint of that familiar mane of snow-white hair that sat higher than it had before and was tied back, then those piercing blue eyes - which also now maintained a higher station than before - and then the depth of the shadows gathered around her welcomed by the chocolate coating that was her skin.

But that was about all she recognized.

It was like looking at a long-lost brother of the Munroe family that had unexpectedly turned up out of the blue without word or mention of where he'd been or even how it was that he could exist.

And a very cute brother, too, she had to admit. Very cute if the shadows weren't playing tricks with her eyes.

"Ororo?" she called softly. "You don't have to hide from me."

Don't I? she asked herself without thinking to suppress the question, though she tried with all her might to keep her struggling emotions to herself.

"No, you don't. We're friends, 'Ro - whatever happens, that'll never change."

Even if I have?

"Yeah," Jean nodded. "Even still." She lowered her emerald eyes to the contents in her arms. "You want to give me a hand with this?"

Ororo knew that that was a ploy to draw her out - whatever may have happened to her, she still retained the keen mind she was born with ... even if it had nearly escaped her not too long ago.

"Please don't be afraid, Ororo. I know this is hard for you and I would never try to make it any harder. I also know you don't want pity and that's not what I'm here to give you - only my help. We are friends."

Even still... She could not help the dread that filled her eyes and heart at the thought of Jean's fully seeing her ... even if she also knew that it was unnecessary.

"I ... I understand, Ororo, but if anyone else under this roof knows about change, it's me, don't you think?"

She couldn't help but admit to the truthfulness of that, even if Betsy most likely beat out Jean, period, in that category - she was now inhabiting an entirely different body than the one she'd been born with. Phoenix had been through a transformation or two in her day, though, hadn't she? Even if she'd retained the shape of a woman, she'd still be through much - much that had to have been quite arduous for her, to put it mildly.

Using her TK, Jean easily set the tray and clothing off to the side on the floor. Then, looking imploringly into the combination of shadow, blue eyes, and pale hair, Jean slowly outstretched her hand, palm up. She said nothing, but let the question lie in her eyes.

Ororo's heart began to pound as she gazed down upon that hand. Part of her noted the new vantage point - she had to have gained five inches in height. Another part noted the look in her best female friend's - her sister's - eyes. So trusting and trustworthy. Understanding, and - vulnerable? How could that be?

Whatever the reason was, whether Ororo knew that she understood or not ... it was enough.

Slowly, tentatively, she lifted her hand - and though the sight of it more than just unnerved her - all but appalled her ... she reached out of the darkness and gently took hold of something light.

Jean watched, expression unchanging for Ororo's sake, as her hand fit into Ororo's. Still of slender and graceful digits and smooth dark skin, it was also a man's, hinting at great strength even though Ororo made no attempt to demonstrate that. Of course it was a bit fantastic that that was Ororo's hand now, but she did not shy away or gasp on sight of it.

On the contrary, she wrapped her smaller hand around it and covered it with her other one, smiling comfortingly. And when Ororo's worried eyes fell to their clasping of hands and made the effort of softly squeezing back, of needing and asking for, and just scantly taking it from she who had just given her the gift of touch that she needed so much, Jean took advantage.

Stepping forward and pulling on the hand caught between her own, before Ororo might be able to reel back in surprise and dismay, Jean wrapped her arms around the startled new-man, embracing him.

Ororo's heart beat so hard and so fast, she felt as if it would propel itself through her chest and slam into Jean, thereby doing them both harm. Arms held away from the redheaded woman clinging to her as if radioactive material lined her now very muscled arms, she began to tremble, feeling almost betrayed by the large leap Jean had taken without warning.

~In case you need me to say it, Ororo, I accept you. Please believe that,~ she psi-murmured, sending that to her friend in words and all the necessary - and a few extra - accompanying emotions. ~There simply is no reason for you to ever doubt that. None.~

Ororo blinked once, then twice ... and slowly, slowly, her arms fell, encompassed, then closed around Jean, whose head could now only reach up to her shoulder. She returned the embrace, but it was bittersweet. Her longer arms wrapped around Jean and then some, far more than her original arms could, and Jean felt so small to her, now - far shorter to her than before. She probably outweighed her friend by at least seventy pounds now.

Even still, it was contact and it was acceptance. Jean Grey-Summers would not lie to her about that and would not have come to her offering solace if she did not truly mean to give it.

Jean stroked her back, sending gentle waves of consolation.

Ororo rested her chin in red hair that was almost supernaturally lustrous by the pale beams of moonlight that reached her head. She sighed heavily, a blossoming something rising her chest, though dimmer in comparison to that which had overwhelmed her in the medlab on her discovery of her new self.

"I..." she whispered so softly, she herself could barely hear it, and if that alone had to be proof that she'd even spoken - evidence found by her own ears - then she would scarcely have known she'd said anything at all. "I ... am so afraid," she finished.

~I know. I know.~ And, of course she did.

They held each other for some time, then slowly pulled apart. Jean stayed a while. They sat, they talked - and they didn't, using telepathy where Ororo could not stand to hear her new voice. What she needed to know most was that at least one person beneath that roof would not look at her as if she were some oddity to be stared at, no longer regarded as an equal or as normal went beneath that roof, which could be done without the spoken word.

And it was.

Jean had brought her several days worth of clothing and Scott was only so glad to help - though mention of the X-Men's leader need not have been brought up, for it would only serve to remind Ororo of her duties as co-leader and what her latest trial would mean to her position on the team.

She didn't need to think of that just yet - only herself and how she would go on now that it was found that her transformation was permanent without that girl there to reverse it.

Ororo sipped at her soup, a bit awkward with the spoon at first, but quickly catching on. Jean picked at her bread and the tuna salad Ororo appeared to have no interest in, knowing that eating alone - like drinking - wasn't always such a good idea.

A measure of comfort could be found with her friend, Ororo now knew, and was greatly relieved that this was one X-Man - an X-Woman actually - that she need not hide herself away from ... which was something she had already specifically known she was in need of. And while she was at it, Jean tried as best as she could to reassure the new-man that despite what she thought, there was really no need to fear ostracism by her teammates even if at that time - to Ororo - it seemed like the only way they could react.

She was still one of them, whatever her shape. She had a place there in that house and she always would, even if she were now a 'he'. She would have the aid and consideration she needed and deserved ... but at the same time, Jean knew that it was nearly impossible for her to believe otherwise.

Ororo was a tightly bound person -- her powers gave her little other choice. She valued her dignity more so than nearly anything else, and such a thing as her transformation happening to her - HER, to whom control was an absolute necessity..? It was an outrage, pure and simple, and with no way to fight her predicament, she was made to feel powerless.

Ororo and 'powerless' just did not go together.

And it would take time, Jean knew, before Ororo and 'acceptance' finally did.

After Jean had left her, Ororo's mind wandered aimlessly, futilely over everything and nothing - but mostly on her current situation and her inability to do anything about it. During that time, she reached no conclusions, came to no astounding discovery. Glancing at the door Jean had just left through, she had a small wish to call her friend back, to reach out with her mind to reclaim her reassurances, if only for a little more time... But deciding she really ought to learn to be alone this way, as she was most likely going to be just that - alone this way - she turned her eyes elsewhere.

The bowl of soup.

That bowl of soup - that thing ... When trying to use her spoon to eat her soup - while ignoring the tuna that she wasn't in the mood for despite her hunger - she'd fumbled more than once. Yes, she'd caught on rather quickly, but not to the same extent of 'expertise' she could claim to have with her other hands.

She'd felt like a child as she held that spoon, like a bumbling child--

Out in the wild, as she'd felt when she tried to walk for the first time.

It occurred to her again how much she might have to relearn if she were to maintain the level of grace and conduct that she had always had before ... her change. Things she'd taken for granted, things that children were taught and had pretty much mastered well before the time they were half her age.

She'd have to start over, in a sense.

The routines that had been so ... routine ... to her before would now take actual thought to accomplish. Her hands were not only larger - they were stronger, the fingers longer. As she turned them over before her, noting the same exact skin tones as she'd had before, she was hit again with how different they were to her - strange, even - despite that similarity.

And then she noticed, as if for the first time the cracked nail polish on her nails - her broader, manlier-shaped nails that had stretched her neatly applied double coat of dark red that had matched her lips.

Goddess... She blinked down at those nails, eyes widening ... Nail polish. On a man's hands. HER hands...

And then, she was hit with something else for the first time...

Yes, nail polish on a man's hands was startling - to someone who wasn't used to seeing it - but, nail polish on her nails...?

Ororo was a man - or physically, at least, where only eyes and ears and probing hands were the solicitor of proof. Inside, however, she was anything but. She was very much a woman - with all the consummate emotions intact - and still very much attracted to men. That was one of the few things that hadn't changed - along with her hair, which she didn't even want to get into right then...

What is to become of me, then? she wondered, her face slowly contorting in frustration and confusion ... and dread. Who am I now, really? What place do I hold?

No one answered. It was perfectly silent. She was totally alone - even the voice within had nothing to respond with.

Suddenly, she felt abandoned, lost and adrift with no one to help her. And no one could, could they? How many times had she found herself in a similar position? Clueless as how to free herself of one dilemma or another that trapped her like a small confining cage? At another time, she might consider a trip to Africa to clear her mind, but her problem would only follow her there, clinging closer her to than her shadow. And she'd rather not go back to her homeland in the body she inhabited now.

Who would recognize her then? Understand her quandary? She'd rather not have to answer that at the moment. She had more pressing things to attend to, namely common, ordinary, mundane things whose simplicity eluded her new hands.

Glaring at the soup and the spoon resting in it, she felt a rising antagonism heating her from within. It was irrational, yes, but oddly, it felt right just then as it never had before.

That damnable utensil was what she focused most on, however - not the soup, or anything else that was thus far being ignored in her concentration. The soup could be sipped, didn't need the spoon, and therefore, was independent of the soup. Yes. Independent of the soup ... but it had arrived with the spoon, which made the broth guilty by association. Yes...

Outside thunder sounded almost eagerly, as if awaiting something to happen or wondering whether or not to cheer on a horrendously stupid tangent that could lead up to an outburst of meteorological proportions.

Meanwhile, Ororo was consumed with images of the broth bubbling malcontentedly as the glass of the bowl increased in temperature by her own hands - no, by her own eyes, yes... That would be even better - heat straight from her eyes ... Then the offending object would explode in a madly delirious cacophony of flying, flower-patterned debris, soup erupting into the air, the spoon dribbling away in a melted, misshapen puddle of silver.

Yes...

She wasn't sure how long, exactly, it took before she realized she was grinning like a beast, teeth revealed in an entranced snarl so deep that she most like would not have recognized herself were she female again.

Wh-what... What is the matter with me?! Besides the obvious, anyway... It is only SOUP, Ororo! Soup! It canNOT mean you any disrespect! And so what if it did?! It was still only soup!!

She was being irrational - entertaining thoughts of destroying her food and its accompany flatware. Was she going mad, too? Floundering under the pressure of it all or was this also a symptom of what had happened to her, but was only showing up now? She should report this to Henry?

Her eyes flickered to her salad - she had to stop herself before she began envisioning detonating tuna and molten fork as garnish.

What was going on?!

What could make her do this? What could make her this ... this ... this stupid all of a sudden as to think to use her abilities against side dishes?! What?!

Her still-sharp mind whirled through the possibilities, making sure to keep her present situation high in her thoughts, lest it be discounted. The one thing that was different about her was her male body. That was all. Her mind was still intact. She thought the same, or so she believed, and felt the same ... Or so she thought ... She'd dealt with stress before and never had she ever conceived of terrorizing her sustenance.

She ran long, slender yet manly fingers over her hair ... lightly scratched, eyes narrowed ... What could it be..? Was she cracking up? Was that it?

No, no. She shook her head. I do not feel panicked - not exactly. Jean did much to calm me and the reclamation of my abilities has heartened me so. It ... It is not that. Just this ... mindless irritation - rage, even - coming from nowhere when there is no reason for it, even though it is painfully obvious that it has no place and would serve little purpose beyond a brief and childish satisfaction - and the creation of a mess ... A mess which has only now entered my mind. Why did she just realize, at that moment, that there would be a mess? Just another thing for her to rant at later, that would most likely further pique this strange anger that had risen itself up out of her temperament in what seemed to be a declaration of its permanent presence as it had decided to become - a prevalent change in her behavior that would do her nothing but harm and unbecomingness?

And just what the hell did that last sentence mean?

As she let loose a barely inaudible growl of frustration, she glanced back down at the bowl - that chafing came back in an instant and she found herself glaring - An oozing puddle - let us see how you would like that. Unformed and unrecognizable by anyone! Her eyes shot up and away from the bowl in near panic, breaking the dangerous stare she'd had building and was now cooling into a light simmer.

She blinked. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears as alarm sought to claim her faculties.

Oh, no, she breathed in her head. Oh, no, no, no, no...

Could it be? Could it...?

With a shuddering sigh, she slowly nodded yes before she could even truly form the thought.

It is, she confirmed to herself. There was no time for denial, here - not now. It is. She'd caught the comparison -- Unformed and recognizable by anyone!' she'd thought. She'd caught it indeed. She would do onto it and it as had been done onto her - would cease its tormenting of her by condemning it to her own fate: transformation. Irrevocable transmutation.

And she had nearly missed that, too.

"Sweet Goddess," she breathed in an odd, detached, yet very real awe. Eyes widened ever so slightly, fingertips lifting to her lips. Backing way from the soup - the taunting, aggravating, and belittling soup and spoon and everything else on the tray before her that once again inspired her vengeance and reconfirmed her suspicion.

She gulped. Took another breath ... And softly breathed past her splayed fingers the four syllables that she knew were responsible for her present petulant plight in an eerily soft tone that chilled her bones:

"Testosterone."

Outside, lightening crackled in the distance as if to say, 'Ding, ding, ding! Tell her what - I mean, tell him - him - I knew it was a 'him' - what he's won!'