text: The hardest part of dealing with body snatchers was that you had to pretend they were your friends at dinnertime. Which meant that Jubilee stopped going to dinner. Frankly, she did not think anyone was keeping regular meal hours; since their return from Seattle, she had run into Scott only once in the kitchen. Jubilee had stayed long enough to grab a box of Twinkies and then made a run for it back to her room, looking over her shoulder the entire time to see if Scott followed her. He did not, but she still felt wary. There was no telling what they wanted.
  
  She even, for a time, stayed away from Wolverine. That did not last long, but when she did go to him she remained on the periphery, occasionally talking, but most often just observing. Wolverine—or whoever he was— did not seem to mind. The more she was around him, the more it seemed that he treated her like a pet, some lonely little puppy that was cute to have around, but only as long as it didn't become annoying. Even with the possibility that her Wolvie was a completely different man, Jubilee did not question her ability to handle him. Nah. Wolvie was easy.
  
  The real problem was Jean. Jubilee had already taken certain precautions—the kind that involved a wrench and a screwdriver, and the unhealthy application of such tools to certain highly revered pieces of technology—but that was not going to help anyone living in the Mansion.
  
  "Dude," Jubilee said to Remy, less than a day after their first meeting with Ororo. "She's going to read our minds and find out we don't trust her. We might as well give up now."
  
  "Mebbe," he said, with a curious lack of expression. Could be exhaustion; he'd been up half the night helping Storm drive the kids into the city for their "field trip."
  
  "Mebbe?" she mimicked. "What aren't you telling me?"
  
  Remy brought Jubilee to his room. It was certainly not the first time she had gone into the teachers' wing, but she had never been to Remy's room before. She expected luxury, designer furnishings, New Orleans flair.
  
  The reality was quite different.
  
  "Wow," Jubilee said, when Remy opened his door and turned on the light. "I feel cheated."
  
  "'Cuse me?"
  
  "Nothing," she said, closely examining the fine clean lines of the polished wood floors, the simple curve of two black leather armchairs. The bed was plain, the sheets cotton and white. It was all very austere. Not what she had envisioned at all.
  
  Remy shut the door and walked across his room to the closet. Jubilee got a glimpse of dress shirts and jeans, several long coats, and a set of body armor, and then he pulled down a box from the top shelf and kicked the closet shut. He sat down on the floor and Jubilee joined him. She studied the box in his hands.
  
  "I've been saving these for something important," Remy said, and opened the lid. Jubilee peered inside and saw three small black discs the size of her thumbnail cushioned in gray foam pads.
  
  "What are they?" she asked, stroking one with her finger. Remy pried the disc from the foam and placed it in her palm.
  
  "Psychic dampeners," he said. "I acquired them just last month."
  
  "Cool," Jubilee said. "If I wear this, not even Professor X can read my thoughts?"
  
  "That's what they promised me." There was an odd note in his voice that caught her attention. Jubilee tore her gaze from the disc and looked into his eyes.
  
  "Why do you have these?" she asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
  
  "Really, you want to know?" His smile looked faintly bitter. "Because, ma petite, best friends make the worst kind of enemy."
  
  Jubilee sat back, staring. "You've thought about this happening. You anticipated it. You thought they—the psychics in this place—could go bad."
  
  "Everyone can go bad. The pace is slower for some, that's all."
  
  Jubilee sucked in her breath. She did not know what to think about this new revelation, how to respond to the idea that Remy might not trust even her, but she swallowed down the hurt and stuck out her hand with the disc glinting dull and black beneath the light. "Can you help me turn this thing on?"
  
  He did, working silently as he placed the disc behind her ear. Jubilee felt it vibrate once and then go still.
  
  "Is it is working?" she whispered.
  
  "Oui." He picked up a second disc and placed it behind his own ear.
  
  "Storm," she said.
  
  "Of course," he said, and they went looking for her all over again.
  
  Remy did not like exposing his secrets; that Jubilee now knew he had made contingency plans in case his friends ever turned on him was a deeply personal fact that had hurt to share. Part of the revelation had resulted from Jubilee's own perceptiveness, but the other was entirely his own fault. He had said more than he should. Oddly, he felt no desire to take it back.
  
  He and Jubilee did not linger in Ororo's office after giving her the dampener. Remy did not want to allow his friend an opportunity to comment on his paranoia, his morality. It was enough that her thoughts would be safe when she left Xavier's office.
  
  "So now what?" Jubilee asked.
  
  "The Blackbird," he said. "I want to check to the logs."
  
  The lights were off inside the hangar; they left them that way as they walked to the jet, listening for anyone else who might be in there. Jubilee, after a moment, whistled the theme to The Twilight Zone.
  
  "You can stop that," Remy said. "Really."
  
  "Sure," she said, and he realized that she was trying to cover for her own uneasiness. When the Mansion was full, there were usually any number of people down in the hangar—either learning something new about the machines, doing maintenance, or taking flying lessons via the simulator in the corner. This new silence felt unnatural. He did not trust it.
  
  The interior of the Blackbird was as he remembered. Nothing looked out of place; he saw no signs of a struggle. Quick, uneasy about lingering long, he made a search of the logs and found several recordings Scott had made upon arrival in Seattle. He played them.
  
  "Boring," Jubilee said, lounging in the pilot's seat. She looked over the controls and blinked hard.
  
  "Hey," she said. "Remy, you need to look at this."
  
  He bent over her shoulder, staring where she pointed. It was the fuel gauge, and the arrow tilted at empty. No one had refueled the jet.
  
  "Oh, yeah," Jubilee murmured. "Someone is going to get it."
  
  Remy shook his head. "Refueling the jet as soon as you return is a fundamental safety procedure. Even you know that."
  
  Because too many emergencies arose that required the X-Men to depart the Mansion at great haste. Running out of fuel in midair on the way to saving lives was not a good situation to find oneself in. Right now, there was barely enough fuel to fly into the city.
  
  Jubilee tapped her jaw. "So finally there are people on this team even more irresponsible than me. I'd be happy about that, except it's another sign of the end times."
  
  "End times?" said a new voice. "That's a little melodramatic, don't you think?"
  
  Remy whirled, stepping in front of Jubilee. Scott stood at the back of the jet, his body cast in shadow. There was a slight tilt to his mouth, an almost-smile that was cold and hard. For just an instant, Remy did not recognize, him; the person inside was so different that the physical resemblance had become meaningless.
  
  "What are the two of you doing here?"
  
  "Maintenance check," Remy lied easily. "It's my turn."
  
  Scott made a humming noise. "Do you do all your maintenance checks in the company of teenage girls?"
  
  "Hey." Jubilee narrowed her eyes. "I don't like the sound of that."
  
  Neither did Remy. "She's my student, Scott."
  
  "So was little Lolita, once upon a time."
  
  Jubilee raised her hands; Remy glimpsed light in her palms and he grabbed her wrists.
  
  "Non," he murmured. "Not now."
  
  Scott moved closer; his smile changed into something sly. "So. Have you found anything that needs maintenance?" He looked at Jubilee. "Or did I get here too soon?"
  
  "Remy," Jubilee said. His hand tightened on her wrist.
  
  "Get out of here, Scott," Remy said. "You need to leave, right now."
  
  "And miss out on the fun?" His mouth widened, white and cruel. "Where should we start?"
  
  Remy let go of Jubilee and punched Scott in the face. It was a blow Scott should have been able to block— Remy was too angry, his swing wild—but he slammed Scott's face before the team leader had a chance to raise his hands, and the man went down hard on the floor. Remy stood over his body. His heart thundered and he held cards between his hot fingers.
  
  "Don' you ever talk like that to Jubilee or me," he said in his softest voice. "Don' even think it."
  
  "Or what?" Scott asked, touching his bloody mouth. "You'll kill me?"
  
  Remy felt his heart sink into a dark place. This man in front of him was not Scott Summers, but the body was his, and he could not be certain that the man himself did not still reside there, lost beneath the cruel light in the eyes of the person looking up at him from the floor.
  
  But there were some things Remy would not tolerate, no matter what, and he said, "Yes, I will kill you, Scott."
  
  Scott scooted backward until he could stand with some distance between himself and Remy. Remy watched him carefully, waiting for him to retaliate. Scott never did.
  
  "Later," he said, backing away slowly. "Later, you and I will do this again."
  
  Remy said nothing. He watched Scott leave the jet and did not relax until the X-Man left the hangar. Remy slapped the ramp panel and raised the door. When the airlock sealed, when they were protected by steel, Remy leaned against the wall and felt a long shaky breath escape his throat. He heard footsteps. His gaze slid sideways to Jubilee. Her eyes were huge.
  
  He reached out and drew Jubilee against him.
  
  "It's okay," he whispered.
  
  "No," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "It's not."