The group continued moving through the wide hallways of the Xavier Institute, the air thick with unspoken tensions and underlying curiosity. The polished floors reflected the morning light that filtered through the tall windows. The path to the War Room was quiet, save for the soft hum of conversation, footsteps echoing as Avengers and X-Men walked together, uneasy yet united by the gravity of their mission.

As they progressed, Gambit slipped away from the main group, his trademark grin spreading across his face. His trench coat fluttered slightly as he closed the distance between himself and She-Hulk, who was chatting idly with Janet Van Dyne.

"Made a good trip, chère?" Gambit purred, his Cajun accent rich and deliberate.

She-Hulk glanced at him, arching a perfectly shaped green brow. "Oh yes, Monsieur LeBeau. The skies were pleasant, company was entertaining—well, mostly."

Gambit’s grin widened, eyes gleaming with mischief. With a dramatic flourish, he pulled a small, elegant box from inside his coat—dark velvet with gold trim. He held it out, opening it with a flick of his wrist to reveal a collection of fine chocolates, each piece delicately crafted.

"Here's a little somethin' I got you, chère. Finest from New Orleans. Thought a lady of taste like y'self would appreciate it."

Jennifer Walters looked down at the chocolates, a slow smirk forming. "Oh? Do you do this for every guest, Monsieur LeBeau? I didn’t see Aluminium Face get any chocolate." She nodded casually toward The Alamo, who floated lazily a few inches above the ground nearby. "Not even Cap got the sweet treatment."

Gambit chuckled, shrugging with exaggerated nonchalance. "I’m sure de Texan will get attention from someone else."

He jerked his thumb toward Rogue, who walked side by side with The Alamo as Jubilee joined them. Gambit’s eyes lingered for a moment, a flicker of something more serious passing through his playful gaze before he smiled again.

Meanwhile, Jubilee bounced beside Rogue and Alamo, a mischievous grin plastered on her face. She glanced at the two of them—Alamo still floating a few inches above the ground, his plasma aura faint but present, and Rogue, who seemed to subconsciously mirror him, her boots hovering just above the polished floor.

"Ayo! What is this Magneto crap you two pullin'?" Jubilee laughed, pointing at their feet. "Why you guys floatin'? You tryna flex or somethin’?"

Alamo glanced down, realizing he was still hovering. "Maybe my boots are dirty, Jubilee," he replied in his usual dry, West Texan drawl.

Rogue looked at him, blinking as she noticed her own feet not touching the floor. She flushed slightly, crossing her arms. "Are yer boots dirty, sugah?" she shot back, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips.

Alamo cleared his throat, dropping gently to the ground. Rogue followed suit a moment later, shaking her head.

"Ahem, ya're doin' it too, Rogue."

Jubilee burst out laughing. "I knew it! Man, y'all been spending way too much time together. Bet you’re floatin’ 'cause you wanna look taller than Cap."

"That's not true," Alamo replied, but his tone lacked conviction.

"Hehehe. It is Dunkie."

Alamo froze for a moment. "Dunkie?"

"Oh yeah! Like Dunkin' Donuts. No?"

Rogue laughed, her Southern drawl sweet and melodic. "As in Duncan?"

"Yeah!"

Alamo sighed behind his mask. "Is that how she's gonna call me now?"

"Don't blame me," Rogue said, smirking. "It's the first time Ah'm hearin' it mahself."

"Fair 'nuff."

At the front of the group, Captain America walked beside Cyclops and Professor Xavier. Wolverine had closed the distance, his cigar now resting behind his ear as he joined them, the scent of tobacco lingering faintly.

"Sergeant Howlett," Cap greeted with a small nod.

"Captain Rogers," Logan replied, smirking. "Just missin' Fury and the old crew now."

Cap inhaled deeply, his jaw tightening. The mention of Nick Fury stirred old memories—some good, most complicated. "Are you planning a second coming of the Howling Commandos, Howlett?"

Wolverine snorted. "Nah. I don't trust damn Fury anymore."

Steve’s lips thinned in a line of understanding. He knew exactly what Logan meant. "But I wouldn’t complain workin' with ya again, Cap. Like the good ol' days."

"Good ol' days," Cap echoed. "Like that time in North Africa."

Logan chuckled darkly. "With the history professor—what was his name again? Dammit, I just had it."

"Dr. Henry Jones Jr.," Steve replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Indy. Oh yeah. Do ya remember what he used to say?"

Steve smirked, repeating the familiar words with perfect clarity. "Jimmy, these are museum pieces, not your personal toys to destroy."

Wolverine grimaced. "I hated bein' called Jimmy."

"Dr. Jones didn’t care."

"Damn historians," Logan grumbled, though the fondness in his voice betrayed him.

Further back, Jean Grey noticed Cyclops glancing repeatedly toward Rogue and Alamo. His posture had stiffened, the tension in his shoulders unmistakable. Jean reached out, squeezing his shoulder gently.

"Steve stood up for us, Scott. Rogue made a big deal about how he supported us. You should take some comfort in that."

Scott gave a humorless chuckle, his gaze still fixed on Rogue and Alamo. "It's hard to compete with Captain America, really."

"Don't forget who you are, Scott," Jean whispered. "Because we won’t forget. We know what you’re capable of."

Scott didn’t respond immediately. His eyes narrowed slightly behind his visor, watching as Alamo walked with Rogue—Jubilee still teasing them both. The ease with which they talked, how Rogue smiled at the masked Texan, the way she seemed... lighter around him.

It bothered him.

"He’s young," Jean said softly, reading Scott's unease. "Hasn’t lived what we did."

"Yet he talks like he’s better than us," Scott muttered. "Like he knows more. Like he’s figured it all out."

Jean smiled, squeezing his arm again. "He’s not better than us. He’s just like us. Maybe he needs you to remind him of that. That we could be his family if he needs us."

Scott looked away, crossing his arms. "I’m pretty sure the very word 'family' would upset him."

"Nobody’s perfect, Scott. Give him time. Rogue is strong. She fights back. If he cares about her—if he cares about himself—he’ll listen."

Scott finally looked at her, nodding slowly. "You’re right, Jean. But I won’t be disrespected. Not here."

"Then tell him that. Tell him this is your home, and what a guest does is be courteous in the host’s home."

Scott’s jaw tightened. "I’ll do it."

"Scott, you can wai—"

But before Jean could finish, Scott was already moving. His strides were long and purposeful, cutting through the groups without hesitation. His expression was unreadable, his back straight and unwavering.

Rogue and Jubilee stopped talking as soon as Cyclops approached. The Alamo turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing behind his chrome mask. His posture remained relaxed, arms loosely crossed behind his back.

"Fearless Leader," Jubilee joked, trying to cut the tension.

Cyclops ignored her. His gaze locked onto Alamo.

"Scott?" Rogue asked, tilting her head, surprise clear in her voice.

"Can I borrow you for a moment?" Cyclops asked, his tone flat but firm, his eyes never leaving The Alamo.

Alamo didn’t move for a second. The red glow of his visor-like eyes dimmed slightly as he seemed to weigh his options. After a long pause, he gave a slow nod.

"I reckon ya can."

The air grew heavier. The rest of the group slowed their pace, sensing the tension building between the two men. Conversations faded. Even Wolverine, who rarely cared for such theatrics, glanced back with mild curiosity.

Jean Grey watched carefully, her expression shifting to concern. She had hoped Scott would wait—but Scott Summers rarely waited when his authority was in question.

Rogue crossed her arms, standing between them for a moment before stepping aside, giving them space. Her green eyes darted between Alamo and Scott, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.

The corridor felt narrower now.

The distance between Cyclops and The Alamo had shrunk to a mere few feet.

And the conversation that followed would determine everything

The air between Cyclops and The Alamo was thick with tension. The hallway, wide and elegant, seemed narrower with the intensity of their confrontation. The soft hum of conversation elsewhere in the mansion faded into the background as the two men squared off, their postures rigid, their gazes locked. Rogue and Jubilee stood nearby, glancing between them, unsure whether to intervene or let the confrontation run its course.

Cyclops took a step forward, standing tall, his arms crossed, the red glow of his visor reflecting faintly off the polished floor. His voice was cold, controlled, but there was no mistaking the edge in his tone.

"You're in the X-Mansion now, Alamo. There's some respect you have to have here, to us. This is not Houston. You're not here to question. You're here to help."

Alamo, hovering just slightly above the ground before his boots touched down with a soft thud, tilted his head. His chrome mask reflected the corridor lights, red eyes dim but focused. His tone was calm, almost lazy, but beneath it lay a steady defiance.

"I’m always there to help, but also to question. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with intellectual debate, Cyclops."

Cyclops’ jaw tightened. His gloved hand twitched slightly by his side.

"There is, when you’re eroding the trust within our team."

Alamo shifted his weight, folding his arms across his chest. The air around him shimmered faintly with the residual hum of plasma energy.

"Maybe you’re not bein’ able to maintain that trust yerself."

The words hung in the air like a challenge. Neither man moved. For a long moment, the silence between them said more than words could. Rogue glanced at Jubilee, who widened her eyes, mouthing "Oh no" but staying quiet.

Cyclops stepped in closer, the tension between them palpable. His voice lowered, cold and direct.

"If you keep like that, you won’t be here for long."

Alamo didn’t flinch. Slowly, deliberately, he uncrossed his arms, letting them fall to his sides. His masked face tilted, red eyes narrowing behind the chrome.

"This is yer property. Xavier’s property. Y’all make the rules. I abide or I leave. I don’t want to leave just yet, but I might…"

A pause.

"So, fer now, I’ll do as y’all say."

Cyclops exhaled slowly. Some of the tension bled from his posture, but his gaze remained hard.

"Good. You don’t have to like me—"

"I don’t," Alamo cut in smoothly.

The sharpness of the interruption made Cyclops' mouth tighten into a hard line. His fingers flexed slightly by his side, and Jean Grey, watching from afar, tensed, ready to step in if things escalated.

"But," Alamo continued, "you have to respect me."

Cyclops took another breath, slower this time.

"I was never disrespectful. But if ya understand it that way, I won’t question ya… not here… not now. But eventually, y’know how it goes."

The mask’s reflective surface revealed nothing of the expression beneath, but his tone said enough—calm, but unwilling to concede more than necessary.

Cyclops narrowed his visor, leaning forward slightly. His voice lowered into something more personal.

"Also, watch out what you say to Rogue."

Alamo didn’t hesitate. His voice came out sharper this time, cutting through the moment like a blade.

"Rogue’s a smart and capable adult. She don’t need ya bossin’ her 'round."

A flicker of something crossed Cyclops face. He stepped back half a pace, squaring his shoulders.

"Are you speaking for her?"

Before Alamo could reply, Rogue stepped in between them, raising her hands.

"Alright, ya two," she drawled, her Southern accent softening the tension in the air. "Y’all done? Let’s not make this thing worse than it has to be."

The two men stared at each other for another moment. Finally, Cyclops turned on his heel, walking back toward Jean Grey, who had been watching with silent concern.

"I’ll be watching you, Duncan," Cyclops said over his shoulder.

Alamo didn’t miss a beat.

"Good thing ya have eyes, Scott."

The retort hung in the air as Cyclops reached Jean, who placed a steadying hand on his arm. He didn’t look back.

Rogue turned to face Alamo, arms crossed over her chest. Jubilee stood beside her, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, clearly still processing the tension.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"Why can’t ya two just get along?" Rogue asked, her voice laced with exasperation.

Alamo exhaled, shaking his head.

"I don’t like bein’ ordered 'round."

Rogue gave him a pointed look, placing a hand on her hip.

"Like Ah said, Cap’s over there. Ya ain’t buttin’ heads with the old man."

Alamo glanced toward Captain America, who was deep in conversation with Professor Xavier, Wolverine and Storm across the room. He shrugged.

"I like Captain America."

Jubilee groaned loudly, throwing her arms in the air.

"Alright, that was totally not cool, dudes. Relax. This is too much. I can’t with all this macho drama. Honestly."

Rogue laughed softly at Jubilee’s theatrics, her gaze returning to Alamo. Her smile faded slightly, replaced by something softer.

"He’s tryin’ to keep us in one piece, Alamo."

Alamo looked at her for a long moment. Behind the chrome mask, his expression remained hidden, but his voice softened, just a touch.

"Fair. I'll behave."

He turned his head slightly, his red eyes lingering longer on Cyclops, who now stood beside Jean Grey. The tension between them had faded, but the unspoken challenge still lingered in the air.

"I simply say what I see," Alamo muttered.

Rogue sighed, shaking her head with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"Alright, Y’all done? Let us not make this thing worse than it has to be."

Alamo tilted his head slightly, still watching Cyclops from a distance.

"We’ll see, Rogue. We’ll see."

The standoff had ended, but the tension hadn’t lifted. Not entirely. Not yet.

And somewhere deep inside the mansion, they all knew the real challenges were still ahead.

The War Room was a marvel of modern technology. Sleek steel walls reflected soft, ambient lighting, and the large, circular table at the center bore a bold X etched into its surface—a symbol of unity, resilience, and responsibility. Surrounding the room, a network of holographic displays and advanced computers hummed faintly, their screens showing satellite feeds, legal documents, and detailed schematics of Sentinels. It was a far cry from the messy corkboard Alamo kept back home.

As the group filtered in, chairs scraped against the floor, and conversations buzzed in low murmurs. The Avengers and X-Men rarely shared spaces like this; there was a quiet curiosity in their interactions. Some casual. Some cautious.

Iron Man surveyed the room, helmet retracted, his sharp gaze lingering on the tech.

"Not a bad setup," he muttered.

Alamo, who floated a few inches above the floor before landing with a soft thump, looked around with folded arms.

"Ya don’t have one of these, Mr.Stark?"

Tony Stark smirked.

"Oh yeah, but even better. Worthington got nothing on me, I can assure you. But sometimes you just need a corkboard and it's enough, if that's your thing."

Jubilee, popping her gum, leaned back in her chair beside Rogue.

"Yeah, Dunkie. Thought you were all about that corkboard life. Heard you’ve got one of those detective boards with pins and string."

Alamo tipped his hat slightly, voice carrying his usual Texan drawl.

"Cool, right?"

Jubilee raised an eyebrow.

"Kinda weird, not gonna lie. But... it does have that old-school charm."

Gambit, reclining nearby, gave his signature grin.

"Non? Maybe Duncan’s corkboard got more answers than all these computers combined."

"Oh yeah, Cajun. That's the spirit." He broke a bit of his usual mask of restraint.

Rogue elbowed Alamo playfully.

"Ah’m startin’ to think ya are actually human, sugah."

Alamo shrugged with a small grin behind his chrome mask.

"Well, let me know when I start soundin' too personable."

The light banter faded as Captain America, Professor Xavier, and Cyclops moved to the front of the room. The atmosphere shifted—seriousness settling in. Cyclops' visor glinted as he kept a steady gaze on Alamo, the tension from their earlier conversation still lingering.

Then, She-Hulk strutted to the front, papers in hand. She wore her usual confident smirk, though it softened when she glanced at Captain America and Cyclops, ready to present the legal strategy they had devised.

Gambit, always charming, leaned toward Alamo with a conspiratorial grin.

"One hell of a party, non?"

Alamo glanced at the polished surroundings.

"Yeah, crossover of a lifetime"

Gambit gave a low chuckle.

"Somethin’ like that, cowboy."

Alamo narrowed his glowing red eyes behind the mask as She-Hulk began flipping through her documents. He watched her with suspicion.

"What she knows of finance? I started this case." He muttered in disappointment.

Gambit caught the tone.

"Little jealous, mon ami?"

Alamo shot him a look.

"Of yer girlfriend?"

Gambit laughed.

"She ain't Gambit's girlfriend."

Alamo tilted his head.

"Don’t tell me ya ain’t goin’ after her, though."

Gambitsimply winked.

"Never said dat."

Before the conversation could continue, Captain America spoke, his voice commanding the attention of the entire room.

"Attention, everyone. Avengers. X-Men."

The room fell silent. All eyes turned to Steve Rogers, standing tall in his iconic suit, the weight of leadership clear in his voice. Beside him, Professor Xavier sat in quiet dignity, his hands folded in his lap, while Cyclops stood rigid, arms crossed, visor gleaming.

The table was filled: Storm, regal as ever; Rogue, watching the front but occasionally glancing at Alamo, Iron Man, relaxed yet attentive; Falcon, sharp-eyed and thoughtful; Wasp, fingers drumming lightly on the table; Beast, hands folded over the book he brought in; Jean Grey, serene but perceptive; Gambit, casual but listening; Jubilee, playing with a strand of her hair but fully engaged; and Alamo, shifting restlessly in his seat.

She-Hulk stepped forward, confident and poised.

"Let’s break this down. Legally, we have an opening. If we can secure proper evidence tying Trask International to the illegal Sentinel operations, we’ll have a strong case under federal law. Specifically, Section 775 of the Superhuman Activities Act would be our best angle. The Sentinels weren’t just property—they were weapons deployed without congressional approval."

Despite her clear delivery, most in the room seemed detached. Storm maintained polite attention, but her distant gaze suggested doubt. Jean seemed more focused on Cyclops, sensing his growing frustration. Beast adjusted his glasses thoughtfully, but even he appeared skeptical.

The only one who couldn’t sit still was Alamo. He shifted in his chair constantly—crossing and uncrossing his legs, tapping his fingers, leaning forward then back. His movements were small but relentless.

Jubilee, finally unable to ignore it, turned toward him.

"Jeez, Dunkie. Settle down."

Alamo stopped tapping but didn’t look at her.

"He’s fixin’ to say somethin'," Rogue said knowingly.

Iron Man leaned toward Wasp, whispering with a smirk.

"Watch this."

Finally, Alamo straightened. The faint hum of plasma energy buzzed as his voice, sharp and unwavering, broke through the room’s calm.

"Y’all are obsessed with the government solvin’ this thing."

All heads turned toward him.

"But Trask? He prolly goin’ to buy the judge, the jury, and in the worst case, the damn system. No matter how robust yer prosecution is, it’s goin’ to fail. Y’all are trustin’ a government that has never really worked in our favor. As y’know... the government does."

She-Hulk lowered her papers, arching a brow.

"If we find the right prosecution, the right judge, they will do what’s right. Those who understand the situation of the oppressed—"

Alamo raised a hand.

"Oh no."

The word hung heavy, dripping with disdain.

"It’s bullshit, is what it is. What if the government’s involved? Y’all think they won’t try to clear their name? Assumin’ they didn’t do it already?"

The room tensed.

Wolverine, silent until now, took a long drag of his cigar. His narrowed eyes flicked toward Rogue and Gambit. The Mississippi girl gave him a knowing look. They understood Alamo’s point better than most. Logan had lived it—Weapon X had seen to that.

Cyclops crossed his arms tighter. His jaw clenched. Jean, sensing his frustration, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, but it didn’t loosen his posture.

Professor Xavier finally spoke, his voice calm yet resolute.

"I understand why you’re skeptical of government action, Mr. Nenni. But given America’s common law status, this case could set a powerful precedent. Institutional justice—real justice—can be achieved. Not just for mutants. For everyone."

Captain America nodded. His expression was firm but patient.

"There are good judges. Bad judges. But Professor Xavier is right. If we do this by the book, everyone benefits. If we go black ops, execute this without backing? Trask makes himself a martyr. Mutant rights? They only worsen. You told me you’re a reformist, Alamo. Not a revolutionary."

Alamo leaned back, arms crossed, silent for a moment. His mask reflected the polished table.

"I ain’t a revolutionary," he admitted finally. "But y’all have an overtly positive view of the government. I ain’t sure robust evidence is enough to put Trask behind bars."

Wolverine gave a low grunt, nodding.

"Kid’s right, Cap. After all the bull the feds pull, can we even trust ’em?"

Gambit tapped the table with a card.

"Can’t say I disagree."

She-Hulk shot Gambit a glare. He coughed, looking away.

"Oh 'nother note, maybe de mademoiselle has a point."

"Thanks" She-Hulk muttered soundless just her lips making movement and a smirk at the end.

Rogue rolled her eyes at Gambit and his poor attempt to pretend he wasn't appeasing to the emerald lawyer.

"The legal backing is essential," Jennifer insisted. "We want systemic change. Not a one-time solution. It’s a bandaid otherwise."

Alamo looked toward Captain America, his voice softer but filled with conviction.

"Are you confident in this method, Cap?"

Steve Rogers didn’t hesitate. His blue eyes met Alamo’s mask, unwavering.

"I’m confident in people’s ability to see overwhelming evidence of evil—and refuse to condone it."

Alamo sighed, lowering his head for a moment.

"I don’t think the incentives are good ’nuff, but I’ll defer to yer judgment, Cap. But if this goes sideways—"

Cap nodded once.

"We’ll find a way. We always do."

Wolverine finally smiling a grim smile, raised his cigar.

"Damn right, bub."

The War Room settled into silence once more. The lines were drawn. The plan was set. The mission had begun.

The War Room fell into a contemplative silence after Wolverine's gruff affirmation. All eyes turned to Captain America, who stood at the head of the table, shield resting against the wall behind him. His blue eyes scanned the room, measuring each person present. After a moment, he spoke, his voice steady and commanding.

"What’s next, Cap?" Iron Man asked, crossing his arms, his metallic armor reflecting the overhead lights.

Steve Rogers didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned slightly.

"Ororo, could you come here?"

Storm moved with her trademark elegance, gliding across the room with the grace of a queen. Her white hair shimmered under the soft lighting. The silver trim on her black outfit caught the light as if the goddess of the skies herself was answering a royal summons. All conversation ceased as she took her place beside Captain America.

Meanwhile, She-Hulk smoothly took a seat beside Gambit, who greeted her with his usual roguish smile.

"May I sit here?"

"Mademoiselle Walters, the pleasure be all mine."

"Charmed," Jennifer replied with a playful smirk, adjusting the sleeve of her white suit jacket.

Steve gave a nod toward the room, his voice rising with clarity and resolve.

"Iron Man. Wasp. Rogue. Gambit. Jubilee. She-Hulk. And Alamo—you will head to Chicago under Storm’s leadership. Your objective is clear: find Graydon Creed or, at the very least, track his whereabouts."

A murmur rippled through the team. Rogue, arms crossed but intrigued, gave Alamo a sidelong glance. Jubilee, popping her gum, leaned closer to Rogue, whispering with a grin:

"Road trip with Dunkie, huh? This’ll be somethin’."

Alamo, floating an inch above the floor again, slowly descended, his arms folded. His mask’s red glow didn’t flicker as he spoke.

"Chicago. Haven't been there in a minute. Could be interestin'."

Storm raised her hand, instantly silencing any further banter. Her eyes, sharp and commanding, swept over the group.

"As Rogue previously mentioned, there’s an office linked to Creed in Chicago. It’s possible Creed is still there, though more likely he’s fled. We are not to engage unnecessarily. Our goal is intelligence. We gather information—any piece of data that can lead us closer to Creed or Trask."

Her gaze intensified.

"I expect the entire team to be on their best behavior. I will not tolerate dissent for the sake of dissent. I do not care if you are an Avenger, an X-Man, or neither. On this mission, we are all family. We are all people, working together. I demand respect, care, and empathy. Is that understood?"

Her voice, firm and unwavering, echoed through the room.

Rogue nodded without hesitation.

"Understood, Ororo."

Alamo, after a slight pause, dipped his hat with a respectful nod.

"Understood, ma’am."

She-Hulk crossed her legs, looking relaxed yet attentive.

"Crystal clear, Storm. Best behavior. Promise."

Iron Man gave a mock salute.

"Yes, ma’am. Fully loaded, emotionally stable, best behavior—Stark style."

Storm narrowed her eyes slightly at Tony’s sarcasm but chose not to engage.

Jubilee, grinning, leaned back in her chair.

"We got this, Stormy. No worries."

Gambit gave a lazy two-fingered salute.

"Oui, my Déesse . Gambit always behaves... mostly."

Storm gave a final glance around the room before turning.

"We leave in five minutes. I expect you all in the hangar. Let’s move."

The group began to disperse.

As the main group made their way out, Captain America turned to the remaining X-Men.

"Cyclops. Wolverine. Phoenix—you’re with me."

Cyclops adjusted his visor, standing tall.

"Understood, Captain."

Wolverine, cigar clenched between his teeth, gave a low grunt.

"Guess the old crew's back in action, huh?"

Jean Grey, with her serene presence, nodded.

"Let’s make sure we’re ready."

Bobby Drake (Iceman) and Kitty Pryde lingered by the doorway.

"Hey, what about us?" Bobby asked with a raised brow.

Cyclops, already striding forward, looked back briefly.

"We’ll talk when we’re back."

"Not again," Bobby groaned.

"Patience, Bobby," Kitty said with a shrug, though the disappointment was evident in her voice.

On the way to the hangar, **Gambit** sidled up next to Alamo, his trench coat billowing with each stride.

"Ever been to Chicago, mon ami?"

Alamo gave a curt nod.

"Oh yeah. Did a three-week program at the University of Chicago back in the day."

She-Hulk, overhearing, turned with a teasing smirk.

"Chicago? Very fancy." She said sarcastically.

Alamo, never missing a beat, adjusted his hat.

"Gotta keep up with the best."

Jennifer Walters scoffed lightly.

"And Chicago’s the best?"

Alamo gave a knowing smile behind his mask.

"In terms of economics? Absolutely. Home of Milton Friedman, Gary Becker, Robert Lucas Jr. the Chicago School—top-notch thinkers."

She-Hulk rolled her eyes.

"Typical. Of course you’d say that, given your... proclivities."

Jubilee, glancing between them with confusion, tugged at Rogue's sleeve.

"What are they even talkin’ about, Roguey?"

Rogue, floating briefly before touching back down beside Alamo, shrugged with a grin.

"No clue, Jubes. But ah’m sure Duncan here thinks he sounds real smart."

Alamo turned slightly, mock offense in his voice.

"Oh bless yer heart, Rogue. I always sound smart... At least I try to."

Iron Man, flying low in his armor beside them, chimed in.

"Kid thinks he's a genius economist and a hero. Confidence levels: Stark-approved."

Rogue smirked.

"Well, sugah, confidence don’t mean yer right."

The team finally reached the hangar, where the Blackbird awaited them—sleek, black, and prepped for launch. Its engines hummed quietly, eager for flight. Storm was already checking the systems, her expression focused and unwavering.

"All aboard," she said without looking back.

"We leave immediately."

She-Hulk stretched her arms.

"Let’s make this trip interesting. Chicago awaits."

Jubilee, hopping excitedly beside Rogue, grinned.

"Road trip! But, you know, with less snacks and more danger."

Gambit, flicking a charged card between his fingers, winked at Alamo.

"Ready to find our monster, cowboy?"

"I'm not sure we'll."

The team gathered before the hangar, the sleek Blackbird humming softly, its engines warming up for the journey ahead. The underground bay bustled with automated systems and dim floodlights reflecting off the jet’s polished frame.

Alamo, standing tall with his black cattleman hat casting a shadow over his chrome mask, glanced up at the ceiling as the massive hangar doors slowly creaked open to reveal the morning sky. The faint scent of jet fuel mixed with the crisp air from above.

"I ain't a fan of flyin' inside cans," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. "Y'all mind if I fly like... naturally?"

Tony Stark, already in his Iron Man suit, turned with a metallic shrug.

"Well, I second the cowboy. I'll do the escort too—if you don’t mind me."

Rogue, standing beside Jubilee with her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow.

"Y’all know, this oughta have an X-Man out there too."

Jubilee snorted.

"Of course you’d say that, Roguey."

"Shush, Jubes," Rogue shot back with a grin. Then, turning back to Alamo, "Ah'm goin' with y’all."

Tony floated toward the Blackbird, jets hissing as he lowered beside Janet Van Dyne, who was checking systems in her suit.

"Something wrong, Tony?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

"Oh, y’know," Tony replied with a smirk. "I don’t wanna steal Texas Noir and Southern Gothic’s show. Figured I’d have better company if you know what I mean."

Janet raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Don’t flatter yourself, Stark."

Tony laughed, "Ouch. Fair."

Inside the Blackbird, the team took their seats.

Gambit casually slid into a seat beside She-Hulk, offering her a charming grin.

"Let's have a good trip, chére, right?"

"Behave, Cajun," Jennifer replied, smirking but not looking up from her legal briefs.

Jubilee rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Get a room, you two."

She plopped down beside Ororo in the cockpit, peeking out at the opening skies.

"At least someone is getting fresh air." The weather goddess smiled softly.

As the hangar doors fully opened, Rogue and Alamo stepped forward. Without hesitation, Rogue rose into the sky, her leather jacket billowing. Alamo followed, a trail of glowing blue plasma shimmering behind him as he lifted with ease, his boots skimming the concrete before leaving it behind.

Iron Man hovered close, jets roaring as he drifted beside them.

"Let’s see if ya worked on yer flight, cowboy," Rogue teased, glancing at Alamo from the corner of her eye.

"I still fly faster, Rogue."

Rogue smirked. "Ah fly prettier."

There was a pause.

Duncan considered his words carefully, but then spoke anyway.

"That you do, that you do."

The sincerity in Alamo’s tone caught Rogue off guard. She glanced at him quickly, a soft blush creeping up her cheeks. She looked away, brushing a loose strand of white hair behind her ear.

For a moment, there was silence. The wind whistled past them, high above the sprawling terrain below.

"Fer someone who said didn’t like teams, ya sure seem likin’ ta talk," Rogue quipped, her voice softer now.

"People are people, Rogue," Alamo replied. "I ain’t puttin’ an X on my chest. I’m just talkin’."

Rogue slowed her pace slightly to fly side by side with him.

"It don’t harm ya to talk, does it? It ain’t so bad not bein’ alone."

Alamo glanced her way, his mask hiding any expression, but his voice betrayed a rare warmth.

"Well, the company is memorable."

Rogue arched a brow. "Oh really?"

"Really."

There was a brief silence, before Rogue spoke.

"Ya liked the mansion." Rogue smirked from the side of the her lips.

"It's better than I expected, I really expected y'all to pull a number and make it like a worsened version of a college dorm room."

"'Ro likes it tight and clean, organization is her love language or somethin'."

"And what is yer love language?"

Her smile faltered for just a moment as her eyes drifted down to her gloved hands. She flexed her fingers slightly, staring longer than she meant to.

Touch.

The word echoed in her mind, unspoken. That’s all she wanted sometimes.

But she didn’t say it aloud.

Alamo, perceptive even through the mask, noticed the pause. He said nothing, letting the silence stretch as they continued gliding through the open sky.

After a moment, Alamo finally broke it.

"Well, if he’s there, it’ll solve a whole mess of problems. If he ain’t, we’ll find out soon enough."

Rogue shook the thoughts from her mind and nodded, her southern drawl returning.

"Yeah, that’s right."

“Race ya!” Alamo said, the smirk was felt even in his voice. He wanted to cheer her up.

Rogue laughed, flipping backward through the air before diving into a tight barrel roll.

"Ah thought y’all said ya were faster, Dunkie!"

Alamo, not one to back down, followed suit—executing a clean corkscrew spin, plasma trailing in perfect symmetry behind him.

"Don't call me that... But yeah, I'm takin' my sweet time enjoyin' the company, ma'am."

Rogue glanced sideways at him again, biting her bottom lip before rolling her eyes.

"Flatterin' don't get ya first place, cowboy."

They continued their playful aerial dance, weaving through clouds and over the rural expanse below.

Minutes Later

As the group leveled out, the Chicago skyline finally came into view. The Willis Tower stood tall among glass-and-steel giants, glinting in the early afternoon sun. The Chicago River cut through the city, winding like a silver snake beneath them.

Alamo slowed slightly.

"Well, there it is."

Rogue, hovering beside him, stared down at the sprawling metropolis.

"Chicago, huh? Been a while since Ah’ve been here."

"Me too, but not long 'nuff."

"Not a fan?"

"Not really." His voice came dry.

"So here's is where we find our man"

"Or nothin' at all."

"Ain't ya just a sun of positivity"

As the city approached the questions lingered, would they find Graydon Creed, or would they just chase ghosts?