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Ten Minutes

By: Nemain
folder X-Men - Animated Series (all) › Slash - Male/Male
Rating: Adult ++
Chapters: 5
Views: 2,289
Reviews: 0
Recommended: 0
Currently Reading: 0
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men Evolution, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.
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3

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Ten Minutes Chapter Three (NC-17)

Disclaimers Apply

 

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… *pokes box to get
there faster * InterNutter, TC, Maxwell
Pink and Dracena are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> J ProPhile:style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Out of stars… will you settle for “Good Job”
stickers? Morgan: *glomp *style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Readers/Reviewers: No smut this chapter but
plenty in the next!

 

 

 

“What?”

“I said we’re
open until noon today.”

“It’s Minute="30" Hour="11">eleven thirty now,” Mark said slowly, trying
to process the information. “Why did you
wait so long to call me?”

The woman’s
shrug was almost audible through the phone, so clear was her indifference.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> “Look, you want your stuff today or you class=SpellE>wanna wait till Monday?”

Mark looked
down at the neat, clean, albeit becoming-worn shirt he had been babying for the
past week, hoping not to get any holes or burn marks or stains on *this * one,
and sighed. “I’ll be there soon as I
can. Elm and Main,
right?”

“Uh huh.”

He winced
as the phone disconnected loudly. “Bollocks.”

 

He was
third in line and the clock seemed to be taunting him.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> The man at the counter was just finishing his
business, picking up a battered, sticker-covered, bungee-cord secured suitcase,
smiling pleasantly in a way that made Mark think he was possibly high or
lobotomized. The woman in front of him
stepped forward and Mark sighed with relief.
She only had one claim check and, he reasoned, the Bayville office of
the airline could not possible have so many missing bags that it would take
long to find the single one that belonged to this woman.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> “No,” she was saying in a firm, deliberate
tone, “I said Darkholme.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> D-A-R-K-H-O-L-M-E.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Not Davis!”

Mark felt
his eyes go wide. “Raven?”

The blonde
in front of him turned and seemed to freeze for a moment before smiling.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> “I’m sorry… I don’t think I know you.”

He
blinked. He had been so sure it was
her. “Oh, sorry…style='mso-spacerun:yes'> You sound like someone I know.”style='mso-footnote-id:ftn1' href="#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">class=MsoFootnoteReference>class=MsoFootnoteReference>[1]style='mso-spacerun:yes'> The woman smiled tightly and returned her
attention to the counterperson, spelling her last name again.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> _Why’d she turn around then? _ he wondered
idly. _Though I suppose a random person
saying the name of a bird rather loudly will garner attention just about
anywhere outside of an ornithology convention.
_ Finally, it was his turn.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> He sidestepped to avoid the blonde, who
strode from the office angrily and sans suitcase.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> “Here,” he said swiftly, placing his claim
checks for his missing baggage on the counter.
“There’s several.”

“Uh…” The brunette
stared at the paper slips, arranging them first into a row, then into a
rectangle of tiled claims. “We don’t
have these.”

“Someone
*just* called me from this office!” he sputtered.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> “It’s been over a week since your airline
lost them and I *need* the things in those bags!”

“Just a sec…”

Mark
groaned inwardly and noticed the time. Minute="50" Hour="23">Ten till noon.
Ten minutes, he sighed to himself, before the office closed.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> _If I were a betting man, I’d wager against
myself in this case. _style='mso-spacerun:yes'> A flurry of movement at the end of the
counter drew his attention there. A man verging on corpulent was making his way
from what Mark assumed were the back office along with the mouse-like
counterperson, both of them bearing down on the benighted librarian with
matching expressions of sympathetic disregard.
“Let me guess… supervisor?”

“Well, yes,”
the man wheezed, pausing to catch his breath, coughing into a dingy
handkerchief before addressing Mark again.
“I’m sorry, sir, but while we have your luggage, it can’t be released.”

Mark
counted to ten in his mind before speaking, but the words still came out edged
and not a little loudly. “Why not? Is it
having too much fun with the other luggage, trading travel stories and remedies
for blisters?”

“Uh… no.”style='mso-spacerun:yes'> The supervisor exchanged a look with his
subordinate. “There’s some, ah, red
tape. National security stuff…”

Mark groaned
aloud then. “Look, all my paperwork is
in order, my employer can vouch for that if need be.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> I’m legal.”

“It’s not
that… it’s… well, British national security.”
The supervisor shrugged, his eyes darting from Mark to the door.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> “You’ll have to come back on Monday
morning. We open at eight.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> The guy from the consulate said he’d be here
then to talk to you…”

Mark bit
back the harshest of his curses and settled for “Bloody fucking government.”style='mso-spacerun:yes'> He swept his claim checks up and glared at
the clock. It was noon.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Any chance he had of relaxing was gone—Saturday
afternoon was devoted to straightening the library and he still had to wrangle
Jubilee into finishing her punishment for the food fight last Monday.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> “Fine,” he said tightly.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> “Monday.”
He nodded to them curtly, kissing
the last few moments of freedom for the day goodbye and turned, striding out of
the office and regretting that the glass door could not slam behind him.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> He drew up short a few feet down the sidewalk
when he reached the station wagon borrowed from the Institute.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> A familiar person was leaning against it,
studying the toes of her shoes. “Raven?”

“I thought
that was you,” she replied by way of greeting.
She pushed herself away from the car and walked towards him, smiling
slightly. “I’m running errands in town
and saw you through the glass. Thought I’d
wait and say hi.”

Mark smiled
in return, feeling slightly awkward. “Um… I’d love to have a long chat but I’m
supposed to be back at the school for some afternoon duties.”style='mso-spacerun:yes'> He rocked on his toes a bit, hoping he did
not sound like an ass. “Screw it.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Would you like to go for some coffee?”

She smiled
and laughed softly. “I was wondering if
you would find it difficult to talk to me after… the other day.”style='mso-spacerun:yes'> She tucked some errant strands of red hair
behind her ear, her guise that he had come to know firmly in place.

“Well, I
can’t say that I’m very certain as to how we’re going to proceed with our
acquaintance…” He pushed his glasses up
his nose and sighed. “First,
coffee. Coffee makes it all better,
doesn’t it?”

She
snorted. “I think we’re going to get
along fine.”

 













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Yes, I
know Mystique can alter her voice as well as her appearance.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> For argument’s sake, she chose to use her
normal voice for this story.






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