*** Like unexpectedly fed stray cats, most of Excalibur came creeping hopefully around the kitchen again early the next morning. They were rewarded by the sights, sounds and smells of an impromptu breakfast buffet: eggs, bacon and sausages happily cooked by Rahne over the campfire, bread and jam, boxed crackers and cold cereal. And Cassie had more successfully repeated her experiment in campfire-oven biscuits. She entered the kitchen--where the crowd had doubled since her last trip in--bearing a tray of these, while Hank followed, carefully carrying a small kettle by its hoop handle. An appealing aroma wafted from it, and Pete Wisdom's head snapped up. "Is that...coffee?" "Yes, it is," Cassie replied. "Would you like some?" He approached with a distrustful slouch, clearly not letting himself get his hopes up. When Cassie used a ladle to dip a dark brown liquid out of the pot, an expression of extreme suspicion crossed his face, but he held out his hand for the cup she proffered. That look became astonishment after his first sip. "Bloody 'ell. I'm impressed! How'd ya make this?" "I couldn't find a coffee pot, so I had to use this," Cassie explained, pointing at the kettle Hank had placed on the counter. "You just boil some water, and put the ground coffee in it--" "And some eggshells," Hank added helpfully. "Eggshells? Why?" Pete eyed his cup doubtfully, searching for organic foreign objects. "I don't know--it's just how you do it," Cassie said apologetically. "Anyway--then you boil it a bit, and let it sit awhile--and it's coffee." Kitty, looking faintly distracted by worry, joined them for a cup. "D'ya see this?" Pete demanded. "Boiled over an open fire with eggs thrown in it--" "Shells," Hank said again. "--and it's far less of a witch's brew than that poison Moira cooks up! She has to be doin' it deliberately!" "Oh, Pete!" Kitty took her cup and moved over to make room for a yawning Kurt, who was at the head of a line of others seeking a dose of morning-antidote. "How's Lockheed this morning?" Cassie asked as she dipped up coffee, filling the cups that Hank passed to her. "Feeling sick again," Kitty said. "He was so much better last night--I'm starting to get worried." "Once we put the computer back on line, Moira and I can do a more in- depth analysis of the little fellow," Hank suggested. "Perhaps that will give us a clue." Next in line for the freshly made coffee was the large blonde man Cassie had only briefly been introduced to recently. He didn't look like Betsy's brother, but she supposed it was one of those mutant things. He took the offered cup and sniffed at it in a surprisingly genteel manner for such a large person. "Hmm," he said, in a deep resonant baritone. "You don't happen to have any tea, do you?" "Uhm, I'm afraid not, no. I don't think this way of cooking will work as well with tea as with coffee, sorry," Cassie offered her apologies. "Oh," he replied, with a somewhat crestfallen look on his face. "Unfortunately all the tea strainers were destroyed, and I've got a tin of Earl Grey sitting neglected in a cupboard somewhere." "No problem, Brian, mate," Pete called out from where he was nursing the remains of his coffee. "I'll pick up a pack of Typhoo next time I'm on the mainland." Brian turned towards Pete with a slightly pained expression on his face. "Teabags?!?" He sighed and turned back to Cassie. "Londoners," he said, with a slight grin. "I'm sure your coffee will be wonderful, thank you." Cassie passed over a plate of food, unable to help herself grinning in response, even though she didn't quite understand the connotations of the conversation. Yet another member of Excalibur who, with just a few lines, had managed to make her feel involved in the easy going teasing that went on between the team members. As breakfast progressed, Kurt wandered amongst the individuals present, casually setting up the day's workload. Cassie marveled once again at the 'all in a day's work' attitude the group seemed to be taking towards the need to reconstruct a large portion of their home. Maybe it was something you somehow got used to? The food quickly disappeared, and the people more slowly followed suit, off to their various tasks. "I'm afraid my work with Moira is likely to be dull to watch," Hank told Cassie, as he prepared to join his colleague in the computer center. "You might prefer to just rest, or walk down to see the ocean...." "I'll see what I feel like later," Cassie told him. "Um, after I finish helping Rahne clean up in here." At Hank's level look, she said, "Well, I can't just leave her to do it all herself!" "No, of course not." With a fondly dubious shake of his head, Hank gave her a quick kiss. "If you should want to seek me out, just ask anyone to lead you to the computer lab. But I think I can persuade Moira to break for lunch, so I should see you then." As Cassie opened her mouth to agree, Rahne poked her head in the kitchen door. "Should I let the fire go out, or will we be wanting it for lunch?" "Kurt said he'd have the power on in here in a couple hours," Cassie replied, evading Hank's eyes. "So we probably don't need it anymore." "I'll just douse it then," said Rahne, with mostly hidden disappointment, and darted back outside. "What are we having for lunch?" Hank asked blandly. "It, uh, depends on what they have around, I guess," Cassie said sheepishly. He didn't comment further, and she hastened to add, "But Hank, I have to feed you, and if I'm cooking for you it would be rude to ignore everyone else." He couldn't help laughing at the appeal on her face. "Your logic is impeccable." He kissed her again, on the forehead. "Have a most enjoyable morning, Ms. Crocker, and I will see you at noon." *** "Soo, Hank. D'ye think it'd work?" Hank pondered. Moira and he were back in the main computer lab, and had been discussing the prospect of setting up some sort of security device around the remaining bottles of whisky in Moira's room. "Well, a basic security alarm would be relatively simple--we could set it to react to anyone attempting to move the bottles, with only you and me able to shut it down. But what particular reaction did you have in mind for the thief?" "Weel, I know it's that Englishmun helping himself, so something painful. Very painful. Horribly, long-lastingly, torturously painful." The vengeful light in Moira's eye unnerved Hank a bit. He thought she was merely indulging in a bit of hyperbole to vent her anger, but.... "Don't you find," he suggested diffidently, "that the most effective punishments, ah, fit the crime?" If she knew he was hinting for a reduction in severity of sentence, she didn't show it. Her eyes narrowed over a daunting smile of anticipation as she stroked her chin in thought. "Ye know, maybe I should rig it up ta play ma tape o' highland bagpipe music on continuous loop. I know as an Englishmun he wouldnae have the taste tae enjoy that." Hank let a slightly panicked look steal across his face. "Hmmm," he pondered aloud, "with a good burst of adrenaline, and adding two minutes to collect Cassie, I believe I could make it to the Blackbird and leave the island in a minimum of thirteen and a half minutes." He looked at Moira pleadingly. "Moira, please. Thirteen and a half minutes of bagpipe music...." She grinned in response to his joke and gave him a light bat round the shoulder. "Just because ye've nae got the taste f'r good music is nae reason tae let that Englishmun off lightly. And ye never know, ye might learn to like it." "Well, I'm sure it'll make Pete think twice about crossing you again," Hank suggested. "Nae, that's the trouble. He won't. He baits and pesters ever'one continually. I dinnae see how Kitty stands it." "Maybe because Kitty understands his reasons?" Moira frowned her lack of comprehension, and Hank continued his impromptu analysis. "Maybe he, for some reason, feels a need to keep others from getting too close to him?" Hank tilted his head, considering his colleague, someone he both knew well and didn't know at all. "I think you can understand that, Moira." 'You do the same thing,' he added silently. Moira seemed to grasp what Hank was hinting at, because she shrugged in irritation. "If I want to listen to psychobabble, Dr. Jack o' all trades and master o' none, I'll call Rory in. Fer now, we ha'e work before us." Their conversation was interrupted as the door swung open and a large boxful of complex-looking equipment walked in on a pair of silvery metal legs. "Where would you like me to place this, Moira?" it asked in a Russian accent. "There's a table to yuir right, Piotr. Just prop it up there, thanks." The box deposited itself upon the nearby workspace, and was instantly leaped upon by Moira, who carefully pulled out the individual pieces of equipment and started laying them out in an orderly fashion. Piotr, his work done, was about to leave when he was interrupted by Hank coming over from the far side of the room. "Ah, Piotr," Hank called, beaming at him. "Good to see you again." "And you, my friend. I am sorry I was unable to meet you yesterday...." "No need to apologize, my Russian comrade. Moira explained that you and the others were somewhat busy." At this point Moira finished her thorough analysis of the box's contents, and tactfully decided to leave the room. "Are you thinking of returning to the mansion soon?" Hank asked sociably. "I...do not think that would be wise, at the moment," Piotr replied, his eyes only briefly leaving the floor. "Ah, yes. Kurt mentioned the recent altercation." Although perhaps he had not explained the full extent of what happened between Kitty's former boyfriend and her current lover, thought Hank, studying the melancholy man in front of him. Even though he had never become as close to the Russian as he was with his older friends, he could still recognize that the man in front of him was suffering a great deal. Piotr had always been so...intense, so driven by his emotions.... In an attempt to lighten the mood, Hank said, "Of course, having met Mr. Wisdom recently, I must confess a certain desire to give him a good thump or two myself." He waited. "That was a joke. Please indulge me by laughing sometime soon...?" "I am sorry. I do not feel much like laughing about it at the moment." Hank began to worry. Things were definitely worse than they had first appeared with the young Russian. He made a mental note to have a good talk with Ororo about the situation when he got back. But for now he decided to change the subject. "I have some news for you. About Magneto." Piotr's eyes lit up at the name. "Magnus? You have heard of him?" "More than that. He arrived at the gates of the mansion the day before yesterday--" "Arrived? How do you mean? Has he recovered?" Piotr's eyes were now fixed on Hank, eager for news of his friend. "Not...quite. He is perfectly functional physically; indeed, he's remarkably healthy. He calls himself Joseph, and seems to have retained at least some knowledge of how to use his powers. However, he has no memory of his life previous to Charles wiping his mind." "And no one has told him?" "About who he was? No, not yet; at least, not to my knowledge. The professor has given him the option of learning about his past, but I do not know what...Joseph has decided to do." Piotr stood still for a moment, absorbing the information. "Then...perhaps I should return to the mansion sometime soon," he said with slow deliberation. "You are always welcome," Hank replied, thinking that now would probably be a very good time for Piotr to do so. He knew the Russian felt a great deal of guilt over the events of the past few months. Seeing 'Joseph' being given a second chance might reassure Piotr he deserved at least as much. *** Pete Wisdom shouldered his way in through the kitchen door, both hands occupied with grasping the handle of a large wicker basket containing the pitiful huddled form of Lockheed. When Rahne and Cassie turned to see who had come in, he scowled to cover his embarrassment. "Kitty wants 'im to get some fresh air an' sunshine," he muttered. "That might help," said Cassie, and Rahne chimed in, "Aye, a good idea." Wisdom scanned their faces for any sign they were secretly mocking him, nodded brusquely, and continued through the room. At the door leading outside, he paused. "Don' suppose there's any a'that coffee left?" "Oh, yes, we poured what was left into a big Thermos we found," Cassie replied. Pete started to lower the basket to the ground and she added, "Go on, your hands are full. I'll bring a cup out to you." The mid-morning sun was warm in the lee of the building, out of the wind. Lockheed had responded to the brightness by pulling his wings up over his head, and huddling into an even smaller lump. Pete was leaning against the side of the building, lighting up. He took the cup from Cassie's hand with a grunt of thanks. "He doesn't look all that good today, does he?" Cassie said, gazing at the strange creature, her interest now mixed with concern. "Like me after a night out with the lads," Pete agreed, flippant as usual. Cassie gave him a sidelong look that was just the slightest bit reproachful. "It must be scary for Kitty, not knowing what's wrong with him." "Yeah, Kitty's fond of the little git." A half-sigh escaped him as he flicked his cigarette ash. "Can't think why." "It could be worse, you know," Cassie suggested diffidently. "What, she could have a pair, and be breedin' 'em on the roof like bloody pigeons?" The mental image made Cassie laugh in spite of herself. "That too. But I was thinking about my own situation. I have a cat, you see, and when she met Hank--" "--the fur flew?" Wisdom finished for her, smirking. The Beast on the run from his girl's tabby was a sight he'd pay good money to have witnessed. "No, the opposite. She really liked him. She adored him, actually. Wouldn't leave him alone--sitting on him, climbing his legs, licking his fur...." Cassie shook her head. "It was really embarrassing." Pete Wisdom pictured himself with Lockheed clinging around his neck at every opportunity, and shuddered. "Yer right, that would be worse." They both again considered the little dragon, and he found himself saying, "It's not like I'm glad he's sick, or hopin' he'll pop off. I've been figurin' that sooner or later, he'll catch on that I'm here to stay, and give over with this feudin'." "That sounds likely," Cassie said. "You know, my folks used to keep Cornflower for me when I was away--they're doing that right now, actually--and at first, my Dad would grump around about 'Cassie's damn ol' cat' being spoiled rotten." She grinned. "That was because she liked my mom best, and ignored him. Then suddenly one day she was his little cutie, following him everywhere." "She just got used to the idea, huh?" "Mom says she caught Dad sneaking her special treats." Pete just shook his head. "I've tried that. The little sod took it, and still hates me anyway." Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Kurt and Kitty, with Rahne bringing up the rear. "Congratulate me, I am a genius," Kurt proclaimed. "The power is now fully operational, as good as new, or possibly better!" He bowed modestly as Cassie and Rahne dutifully applauded. The noise made Lockheed poke his head out from under his wing, emitting a whining growl of complaint. Kitty instantly picked him up and attempted to comfort him. "It's okay, little guy. The computers will be up and running soon, and we'll find out what's wrong with you." She blinked hard, trying not to cry, and Pete rose to the occasion, flicking away his cigarette before putting an arm around her shoulders. "I could be wrong, but I think he was more comfortable up in his den in your room." Kitty sniffed and nodded, and let Pete guide her away, carrying her sick little companion. She turned back to say, "Kurt, will you please tell Hank and Moira I'll be down to help directly?" "Immediately, katzchen," he promised, and vanished with a soft pop. "You know, they might be ready for a break. Let's take down the rest of the coffee before we start lunch," Cassie suggested to Rahne, feeling it was a good excuse to see Hank for a moment. This was quite agreeable to Rahne, and after they gathered mugs and other necessities, she led the way to the computer lab. They were only just nearing the labs when they saw Moira march through the door, and seconds later march out again followed by a somewhat bewildered Hank. "Moira, exactly what is wrong?" Hank asked, attempting to get an explanation as to why she was pulling him away from the very work she was so anxious for him to complete. "Oh, just ye wait and see," she replied, moving briskly up the stairs. "Ye'll have tae see this tae believe it." Cassie followed them automatically, catching up with Hank. The portable coffee break was set aside, unheeded. "Hank, what...?" "Weel, luv, let's jus' say I'm beginning tae giv' this poltergeist idea a wee bit more consideration," Moira replied over her shoulder. The little procession met Kitty in the hall, and took her in tow as they continued to Moira's room. Opening the door, the excited Scot guided them through to one of the wardrobes and flung it open. "There!" They all peered into the dark depths of the old oak wardrobe. It contained the usual wardrobe innards: a rack of clothes--mostly thick coats, a pile of shoes and assortments on the floor, and in the corner a cardboard box full of bottles of whisky. "Ummm, it's a wardrobe, Moira," Kitty pointed out, unsure of what she was supposed to be seeing. "Aye, tha's right. It's a wardrobe, an' the one where my whisky's bein' stolen fr'm. Rahne, could ye get one o' those bottles oot f'r me?" With a puzzled look on her face, the young girl complied. The wardrobe was very deep, and the bottles were stored right at the back. To get to them she had to step right into the wardrobe. However, as soon as her foot touched the wooden floor she jerked it back in alarm. The room had suddenly filled with an awful groaning and wheezing noise, echoing madly around like the last agonizing gasps of a dying soul. Still jumpy after their encounter last night, and with thoughts of poltergeists and ghouls still fresh on their minds both Rahne and Cassie leapt for the nearest source of masculine comfort--Hank. Kitty just covered her ears and grimaced. "Well, the alarm system is clearly working correctly," Hank said loudly to Moira, automatically comforting the two trembling females in his arms. "Moira?" Moira was standing still, her eyes half closed in dreamy contentment as the caterwauls and wails droned over her. "Hmm? Och, yes. Sorry." She reached out towards the side of the wardrobe and the horrendous noises ceased. "Ahh, Ah've nae heard tha' in a long while." "What was it?" Rahne asked in a shocked voice, disentangling herself from Hank. "The GlenMorran Pipers," Moira replied, still looking slightly dreamy with nostalgia. "An album of auld airs and strathspeys. Beautiful stuff." "I take it the correctly functioning alarm system was not the reason you requested our presence here," Hank said. "Nae. The problem is, another bottle's gone." "Ah," Kitty said as realization dawned. "So you set up an alarm system to stop anyone from stealing any more of your whisky, but it didn't work." "Tha's right." "But surely it wouldn't be too hard to get around it? If all you did was make the floor pressure sensitive...." "We did a bit more than that, Kitty," Hank responded. "Not only will the alarm go off if there is any registered pressure on the floor, but there are infra-red beams crossing the entrance to the wardrobe. To be able to get through those you would have to be rather smaller than an average person. Which, I'm afraid to say, Moira, discounts our ruffled Englishman from the list of suspects." "Aye. 'Tis a pity, but yuir right. In fact the only person who could get through these defenses easily would be Meggan, with her shape-shiftin' powers. But I can't see her drinkin' whisky, an' she certainly wouldnae steal..." "Not Meggan, no way," Kitty said firmly, and Rahne also shook her head in vehement support of her friend. "Could Kurt, um, pop in and out?" Cassie suggested, drawn by professional interest into the mystery. "For a joke?" "I doubt it," Hank replied, after an instant's consideration. "Unless he has refined his powers considerably since we last met." "Nae, lass, he needs to teleport into free, open space," Moira explained kindly. "He'd ne'er try such a mad thing as popping into my wardrobe for just a joke." "Agreed," Kitty added. "Which leaves..." "The poltergeist?" Rahne finished off, rather tremulously. "Or at least something with rather remarkable abilities," Hank clarified. "Y'know, I remember Kurt telling me about facing something similar not too long ago," Kitty said. "It was when he was training the Technet a while back. There were reports of items going missing, and no amount of security seemed to stop it happening." "So what did he do about it?" Hank asked. "He set a trap." "Far be it from me to point out the obvious," Hank said gently, "but we just did exactly that." "Then we obviously have to upgrade," Kitty smiled, taking no offense. "Pretend we're crossing over from Excalibur to the X-files." *** Hank, Kitty and Moira gave over the remainder of the morning to this new project. As the attempt to catch the thief in the bedroom had been unsuccessful, they decided to set the trap in the other area of poltergeist activity--the kitchen. Fortunately, Hank and Moira had repaired the worst of the physical destruction the afternoon before, and this morning had made fair progress in retrofitting the software and connections between peripherals, and regaining access to the core database. Now, with Kitty's help added, it was a quick task to prepare the new trap. The X-ghostbusters broke for a festive lunch with the rest of the team, roast chicken and potatoes and vegetable marrow pie made even more festive with another bottle of Moira's dwindling stock of whisky. The resulting half-full bottle was left innocently on a worktop in the kitchen. Innocently, that is, except for the motion detectors rigged up to it that would register the slightest bit of movement of the bottle. None of the group helping load the dishwasher came anywhere near it, and it soon stood in lonely splendor in the silent kitchen. The motion detectors had been connected to the now more or less up-and-running computer network, so that if the bottle was moved, screens all over the rest of the building would give a visible signal of the occurrence. With the trap set, all the computer wizards went back to the tedious task of finishing up the details, eyes flickering constantly to the various computer screens that would give warning of the poltergeist's activity, even though all agreed they likely wouldn't get a nibble until after dark. The waiting made time pass very slowly. When Pete came in to inform Kitty that Lockheed was up out of bed on his own power, she took the opportunity to grab both Pete and Moira, suggesting some clearing of the air was in order. She leaned comfortably against a workbench, enjoying the all-too-rare spectacle of Moira apologizing to the rumpled Englishman. "So you admit it wasn't me, then?" Pete asked, a slight grin on his face. He was prepared to enjoy this. "Aye, I'll admit it couldn't have been ye who took the last bottle, unless yiv suddenly got a lot better with them hot-knives of yuirs," Moira replied grudgingly. "And since I know ye didnae take that 'un, I suppose I can believe ye were nae responsible f'r the others, either." "So yer gonna apologize for accusing me, then?" He was grinning openly now. Moira sighed deeply. She hated to do it, but honesty won over her natural Scottish desire to not give an inch where the English were concerned, and she forced the words out. "I'm sorry for accusing you." "None of this was my fault?" "No." Pete's evil grin grew wider. "I'm not sure that's enough. Y'know, maybe you should tell that to the whole team, public-like." Moira's eyebrows rose, then dived to a glare. "Any more o' that, young man, and ye can take yuir apology and stick it right up yuir--" "Moira!" Kitty interrupted. "The alarm's gone off!" "Whit?" "The alarm! Someone's grabbed the bottle!" Trying to keep as quiet as possible the three of them rushed to the door of the kitchen, bumping into Hank, Cassie and Rahne as they did so. "What're ye plannin' to do, Lady Moira?" Rahne asked in a hushed whisper. "If'n it is a poltergeist..." "If it is a poltergeist, then I want it oot o' ma hoose!" Moira replied in an aggressive whisper. "So we're gonnae take a look." "On three, then," Hank whispered, unknowingly echoing the events of the previous night. "One, two...three!" The six of them burst open the door, rushed into the kitchen and stopped dead at the sight before them. The bottle of whisky had been lifted into the air, turned almost upside down and held while its contents were swiftly guzzled by.... "Lockheed!!" Caught mauve-handed, the little dragon tried to flee. Hank snagged the nearly empty bottle as it fell, and Kitty, due to years of experience, made a flying leap to catch her reptile delinquent. "Lockheed, I am totally ashamed of you!" Her bright red cheeks betrayed her chagrin at her pet's misbehavior. Lockheed smiled blearily, already feeling the alcohol's effects, and gave her a hopeful nuzzle, angling for instant forgiveness. "We should get her a squirt gun," Cassie murmured to Hank, who recalled that device's quelling effects on Cornflower's antics, and nodded. "Och, we should hae guessed," Moira exclaimed, managing to look puzzled and indignant at the same time. "Lockheed, you had me so worried--and you were just hung over the whole time?" Kitty held him out and shook him lightly, which made his head weave alarmingly. "Oh, you--you dragon!" She then clasped him to her chest. Pete cleared his throat. "Can't blame the little devil fer havin' a taste fer th' finer things in life." "Pete, don't you start--" Kitty began, then listened to his actual words. "--defending him?" This brought forth from Pete an 'I've been naughty but you'll forgive me' grin uncannily similar to Lockheed's. "Only to be expected he'd go for quality stuff, when you see who he picked for a mistress." Kitty tried and failed to suppress a smile. "Strange how I seem to attract rascals." From his position over Kitty's shoulder, Lockheed eyed Pete thoughtfully. "Well, now your only problem will be how to devise a dragon-proof storage compartment for your potables," Hank said. "No doubt a piece of cake." "I wonder what made him develop such a thirst of a sudden--it's obviously bad for his system," Moira mused. Kitty's eyes widened. "Pete! It has to be--do you remember? When that friend of yours from London was here you poured a nip in a saucer for Lockheed as a joke!" "Wisdom gave my ancient whisky to Lockheed in a saucer!?" Moira gasped. Then further comprehension made her smile with fierce anticipation. "So I guess ye'd be wrong about this not bein' yuir fault, eh, Wisdom?" "Err..." "What's that? I canna hear ye!" she crowed. "I guess we'll have to make this a matter for a public apology after all." "While you're considering your options, Moira," Hank suggested, hoping to avert another fight, "perhaps we could wrap this up and finish our work with the computers. I think we can get you totally back on line this evening, with a bit more work." "Verra weel," Moira grumbled. "But I'll nae be fergettin' this soon--and it will be longer than that before yon beastie gets even a whiff o' ma whisky." "Or any alcohol," Kitty added firmly. Lockheed gave a faint keen of dismay. "Hey, that's a bit rough," Pete protested. "A little drop now and then won't do any harm." Ever eager to disagree with Pete, Moira replied, "We've seen what happens when he starts on the beers." "This was his first time. The little'un just don't know 'is limits yet," Pete argued. "An' OK, he gets a bit rowdy when he's had a few--at least he doesn't start pickin' fights, like some I could mention." Moira glared, but declined to dignify that remark with a response. "Well, we'll see," Kitty said, stroking the back of Lockheed's neck lovingly. And from over Kitty's shoulder, where no one else could see, Lockheed winked a grudging thanks to Pete.