He fought to block them out and succeeded, to a degree.
He huddled closer to the one known as Jean for protection, she was calming and wise and good. A great red-headed angel, he thought, a phoenix.
The others seemed okay too, though confusing. He found the large bladed man, the one referred to as Wolverine or Logan, to be intimidating. But the bouncy one, the one known as Toad was nice, fun, kind of bubbly. David liked that.
Finally, unconscious in a corner, was his songbird, Wa-wa. She slept in her jacket, her face at peace.
David moved forward, slowly, on all fours. Before anyone could stop him, he had reached her and, tenderly, put his lips to her forehead in a gentle kiss.
"Sleep tight, little Wa-wa," he murmured.
"You, like, know her?" asked the one known as Kitty.
"She was in the room next to me. We talked lots. Sometimes, when I got lonely, she sang, and sometimes I helped take some pain away."
"Pain?" balked Logan. "What do you mean, pain?"
"S-some times, when we were bad th-the guards had to teach us lessons, not to be b-b-bad. But I can stop pain being f-f-felt in other people, s-s-stop the things happening in the mind that make pain, so I did that, for Wa-wa."
Logan watched grimly as David returned to his ministrations, slowly stroking Wanda's hair, murmuring soft nothings.
They both looked like prison camp escapees, which in a sense they were. But something about this David bothered Logan, the way he looked, the way he smelled ... it was ... familar.
Logan shook the thought off, he had better things to think about. Like getting them to their destination.
*
Ororo swooped low, then came up fast, skimming the treetops that bordered the Institute so closely there was a tear of fabric.
"Yowch!" Pietro glared up at her, clutching the torn front of his shirt. "Hey, these were my best duds!"
"Would you rather be dead?"
"Hell no - Dive! Dive! Dive!" He gestured wildly to where another streak of green energy was flying towards them.
Ororo glanced at it and dropped from the sky, cutting off her flying abilities to achieve maximun velocity. She heard Pietro screech as they picked up speed, but barely flinched as the two of them fell like a stone. Something sizzled through the back of her cape, and she knew the energy had missed her by less than an inch.
In milliseconds her eyes had dried out, and she was fighting for breath as the wind pummelled against her face. Somewhere behind them trailed Pietro's gargled attempt at a scream, along with both their stomachs. Falling from 100 feet wasn't fun.
{WHOOSH} Just as they hurtled towards the ground she levelled off, calling up a wind to guide her horizontal and then screaming along the empty street, away from the Institute. Her speed decreased a little, and when it was safe enough she let go of the struggling boy in her grasp and twisted around, using what momentum she had to power back towards the stranger and his odd, burning weapon.
Pietro hit the ground and fell into a roll that prevented much injury beyond scrapes to his knees and palms. Mystique had been psychotic, and a hard taskmaster, but she'd given the Brotherhood enough basic training that they could stay alive in most combat situations.
The speedster straightened up in record time, which was actually rather slow for him, and turned to watch as Ororo flew straight at the Friend of Humanity. Around her hands was the faintest crackle of blue lightning, and her face was set into a grim mask.
_Jeez, is she crazed? No wonder Daniels turned out so weird, with relations like *that*._
The man with the gun saw her coming and pulled up his weapon again, aiming as best he could in the little time he had before she arrived. He fired one shot, which missed, and then leapt aside as the angry weather witch barrelled past.
She halted a little distance behind him, then turned around and hovered in mid-air, scant inches above the ground. Folding her arms, she made the significance of standing between him and the mansion quite clear to see.
"I don't know who you are," she said in a stern voice, "and frankly, I don't much care. But this is my home. And you are not welcome here." Briefly, the feeling of deja vu stole over her, but she shook it away and resumed glowering at her attacker.
He stood defiantly, though there was a waver about his chin as he squared his jaw. The strange energy gun he'd been using lay to one side where it had skittered away, and he didn't appear to have another one in the empty holster swinging from his belt.
Ororo pointed away from the Institute. "Leave. Or you'll be made to by force." More lightning fizzled, encasing her fingertips and crawling around her filmy white eyes. A small spurt escaped and shattered a pebble by his foot, making him jump back.
She was a sight to behold; the very epitome of angry nature, rolled into a human form and made furious by this threat to those she loved. This was what had inspired her tribe to fear and revere her. This was what had made her a Goddess.
This was someone you really didn't want to mess with.
He seemed taken aback at the display, but said nothing, and Ororo watched, emotionless, as he held up his hands in a defeated gesture. The small man swivelled away, arms still raised so that she could see them, and started walking, boots making a 'clop-clop-clop' as he went.
She let her arm drop a little, though her powers remained pent in her fists. Her shoulders and chest were tight with gathering this much energy inside without opportunity for release, and as he stepped slowly her lungs began to ache from the pressure.
{SWISH}
Abruptly, the FoH spun around, something small and round, like a capsule clasped in his raised right hand. Ororo tensed, but already he was bringing his arm around to throw it. She couldn't get out of the way!
{WHUMP}
"Yaaargh!"
A blur of silver crashed into the green-suited man, sending him to the floor in an ungainly heap. The tiny capsule, already airborne, kept on going, followed by a streak of pure speed that reached up a hand and caught it a mere foot before it could impact.
Then it exploded.
Pietro catapulted into Ororo, knocking her backwards into the wall and winding her. With her concentration broken, the buildup of lightning inside her broke free and careered around the small battle area, engulfing a nearby tree and turning it to cinders in less than a second. The ashes were whipped away by a gust of mutant wind moments later.
Ororo struggled to get up, and tried to move the large lump off her chest. It was only when the lump groaned that she realised it was a person.
Pietro's hand was bloody, and there was a small hole in the centre of his palm that was large enough to fit a golf ball through. He moved off her onto his knees, clutching at it with his eyes squeezed shut in obvious pain.
Ororo, still breathless and wheezing, instantly reached for him, but froze when a familiar sound came to her ears. The sound of an energy gun cocking. Squinting left, she saw the barrel being raised in their direction and cursed in all languages she knew as the end glowed green.
"You know what? Smeg you, Mutie."
*
"Fraulein, what're you *doing*?"
Nicole tapped something complicated into the control panel and peered at the display screen. Her lips tightened at what she saw, and her fingers moved faster.
Kurt crept up to her shoulder, but moved away again at a snarl. Nicole glared back at the screen, eyes hard.
"Fraulein - "
"Capturing us a Fiend." She moved the target-finder a little to the left, and hit the last key.
Rimmer yelled as the thick netting shot from a strange-looking warhead that appeared from behind the wall and encapsulated him. Even more so when it proved to be electrified.
Ororo and Pietro looked on in surprise as he fell to his knees and then his face, clothes smoking slightly. His energy gun was little more than a mass of melted plastic and useless metal now, and his eyes were closed.
Hurriedly, Ororo tapped at her communicator. "Nightcrawler? Kurt? Kurt!"
A voice splintered through the bursts of static, and from its breathless nature it was clear that Kurt was on the move as he spoke. "What is it?"
"Kurt, one of the defences just - "
"I know, I know. That's Nicole's doing, I'm afraid. We're on our way to pick you two up, now. Stay where you are."
"Copy. I don't think we could move, anyway. Pietro's been injured quite badly."
More static. " ...eisse!"
"Kurt? Kurt!"
"*What*? I mean, yes Ororo?"
"Kurt, the intruder. Is he ... "
"No, no. Just stunned. Like I said, we're coming to pick both you and him up right now. What?" He faded out, like he was talking to someone on his end of the line. "Yes, I'll ... *OK*! Look, I'm not used to this sort of ... " The static returned, and when it cleared Ororo caught the last part of an order to someone obviously in Kurt's vicinity. " ...ing some restraints. Nicole thinks we'll need them. Ororo?"
"Yes?"
"Be there in a second. Over and out." He cut the communication.
To Ororo's right, Pietro groaned. Without thinking the weather witch gathered up a piece of her cloak and tore it off. "Here," she said, tenderly grasping his injured hand and wrapping the fabric tightly around it. "That should stem the blood flow until we get you back inside."
"Thanks, lady," the blonde replied, and she didn't have the heart to correct the name this time.
They stayed in silence for a second, until Ororo broke it by clearing her throat. "Uh, I meant to ask ... why did you ... um, back there, you saved - "
"Yeah, yeah, I saved your butt." Pietro shrugged. "Despite what you X-Geeks think, I'm not a total bad guy. None of the Brotherhood are."
Ororo frowned. "But why did you - "
"Look, we're all in this steaming pile of futuristic shit together, aren't we?"
"Not quite the way I would've phrased it, but yes."
"So it stands to reason that we gotta stick together, don't it? Besides," he gave her a conspiratorial, if rather strained wink, "I don't wanna give Daniels any excuses to start shooting spikes at me while Principal Kelly's around."
Ororo allowed herself a watery smile. "No."
{BAMF} A burst of lilac smoke and sulphur appeared nearby, accompanied by a blue elf and dark-skinned boy.
"Rescue team, reporting for duty," said Roberto with a grin, and made a beeline for the fallen Fiend. He picked him up easily over one shoulder and turned back to the others. "Want I should wait up?"
"No, take him inside quickly," ordered Kurt, and watched as his younger teammate shinned up and over the forbidding wall like it was an everyday occurrence.
Ororo straightened up and got to her feet. Her chest still hurt a little, but her breathing had eased and she declined Kurt's offer to take her back inside. "I'll make my own way," she said, and floated up into the air.
Pietro looked up as Kurt approached, expression suspicious. "Look, I didn't mean to - " but Kurt cut him off.
"It's OK, we saw what you did for Ororo."
"You did?" Pietro's face switched to baffled for a moment, then understanding. "Oh, Ricky's new powers, right?"
Kurt nodded. "Clairvoyance can come in pretty useful. Here," he proffered a hand.
"What's that for?"
"The Elf Express. Straight to the med-lab in under ten seconds, or your money back."
Pietro smirked, and took the offer with his good palm. "I can live with that."
*
Betsy emerged from her room looking somewhat more presentable. "Ready."
"To Muir!" Scott opened the front door.
"Wait, not ready." Betsy felt her way over to a desk and sat down.
"What are you doing now?" Scott demanded.
"Leaving a note for my mother," the telepath replied calmly. Her fingers moved rapidly across the typewriter. "Dear Mum, Have gone to save world. Possible apocalypse not excuse to skip medicine or have ice cream for breakfast. Will return ASAP. Love B." She rose from the chair.
"Well?" Rogue looked around. "What are we waiting for?"
*
It took a full ten minutes for Rogue and Tabitha to unlock all the bikes. Scott helped by pacing and whining.
"Now where did we leave the jet?" Rogue wondered.
"Didn't you mark it on the map?" Scott asked as he adjusted his helmet.
"I don't have the map."
"I don't have the map."
"*I* don't have the map," Tabby said.
Scott banged his head against a handy lamppost.
Rogue settled astride her bike. "Pull yourself together. I have the map."
"But you said - "
"Shut up. I have the map and I know where we're going." Rogue passed Betsy the extra helmet, and she got on the back of Tabitha's bike.
*
Forge raised his head as the strapped-down bundle next to him groaned. He couldn't see much, since the collar inhibited quite a bit of movement, but could just make out Jubilee's face as she blinked and started to come to.
"Welcome back to the world of the living," he said dryly. He refrained from asking 'how do you feel', but she provided him with a response as if he had, anyway.
"Jeez, did anyone get the number of that truck? My head feels like it's gonna frikkin' explode! I - Forge? What're you doing here?" She twisted her head and stared about her. "Come to think of it, where *is* here?"
"Got me," Forge replied. "All I know is that I saw you being attacked by a couple of dogs practically on my front lawn, and went out to help. Next thing, I'm waking up here, strapped to a table and with no idea what's going on. Care to fill in the blanks?"
"Strapped to a - oh, God." There was the sound of skin scraping against metal and the shuffling of clothing. "I can't move! I'm trapped! What's this thing around my neck?"
"A mutant restraint collar. It cancels out our powers, leaving us with essentially the minimum of human abilities. I have it on very good authority that trying to get them off by force isn't a good idea, either."
"And why's that?"
"They'll kill us if we try it."
"Oh," said Jubilee in a small voice. "Who told you that?"
"She didn't give me a name, but it was some woman who was hanging around when I woke up. She seemed to know a lot about what was going on, but left before you came around."
"Think she'll be back?"
"That depends. She didn't give any indication she would, but since I don't even know why we're here, I'm not really one to judge. So, I'll say it again. Care to explain to me just why you were being accosted outside my house?"
Jubilee sighed. It was probably better he knew, under the circumstances. Besides, it would give her something to do other than panic about messing up, yet *again*, and landing herself in a bigger load of doggy-doo than ever before. No way was the Professor going to let her off with detailing the X-Jet as punishment this time.
If she ever got back, of course.
Taking a deep breath, Jubilee began her long and involved explanation as to the events that had started that morning with the unexpected visitors over breakfast, through to their current predicament of the moment. It was a good thing her forte was talking, because the two of them were to find that they had a lot of time to fill in the very near future.
*
"No, Charles, ye cannae change my mind!"
If Moira had been any more decisive she would have been petulant, and in truth Charles knew he had very little chance of persuading her.
"Moira," he said, in a desperate, almost whining voice that none of the other X-Men would have recognised, "please. Don't you think I, of all people, know the risks involved? Would I be asking you to do this if I didn't think it was totally necessary?"
"Maybe, maybe not. Ye don't understand the possible danger of the situation, Charles, Kevin has absolutely no control over his powers. He's as likely to blow up Bayville on first sight as to help you."
"But with this new girl, Betsy, helping him with his control - "
"Ye've not even met her, yet, Charles! You don't know how strong she is, she could have less control over her powers than Kevin."
"I trust the judgment of the Neo-X-Men that she is, indeed, the right person for the job."
"Aye? And maybe they're mucking you about, Charles, have ye thought of that? Maybe this is all some ploy."
"Moira, I *am* a telepath."
"Well, they could be hiding it from your powers somehow, they do have some strange technology."
Charles sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Moira, please," he begged. "Let's get onto the question at hand."
"No, let's not," was the growled reply. "Ye cannae change my mind, Charles, not for all the tea in China. Kevin. Stays. Here."
Looking up into Moira's eyes, gleaming with determination and spirit, Charles Xavier once again felt a familiar tugging at his heartstrings, and was once again reminded of why, all those years ago, he had been so enthralled with her at Oxford.
But that was in the past, they had gone their separate ways, made separate decisions, and, though still good friends, were once again at odds.
What was it with him and friendships, that made them fall apart? Which turned all his friends into his rivals, or enemies? Perhaps it was because, for a person who could control minds with relative ease, Charles Xavier had always loved and admired people who were steadfast in their beliefs and ideas, whether they agreed with him or not.
Still it would be nice for once, just for once, to get what he wanted.
*
"Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"
The cry resounded across the road, and Betsy clung as best she could to Tabby's back so as not to fall off. The blonde swivelled her own head and grinned through her visor.
"Havin' fun?"
_I'm claiming that temporary insanity made me agree to this,_ she shot back telepathically. _Keep your eyes on the - oh Jeez! Pedestrian!_
The bike swerved from where it had been veering towards the pavement, and a jabbing fist and angry shout followed in their wake from the lone dog-walker they'd very nearly hit.
_Who the hell said you could drive?_
_Nobody._
_Well, nobody was right, then! Watch out for that tree!_
_What is this, George of the Jungle? I - whoah!_
_Told you so._ Betsy frowned into her helmet and peered over to the other three riders in front of them. None of the trio appeared to be having any difficulty steering, whilst Tabby had almost gotten them killed on six separate occasions. And they weren't even out of the city yet.
_Never again,_ she vowed to herself. _On the return trip, I'm calling a bloody taxi and charging them the fare!_
Scott dropped back, switching lanes and shooting Betsy a quick thumbs-up that was obviously meant to make her feel better about the precarious journey. She treated him to the best one-fingered salute she could manage without actually toppling off the motorcycle. He seemed a little shocked at her reaction. However, he was even more shocked when an overtaking car almost clipped his side, and he wavered across the road like a drunken bum.
_Roundabout,_ Betsy informed them all needlessly.
_Oh shit, not again!_ said a voice through the ether.
_Scott, remember - _ started Rogue, sending her message via Betsy.
_I know, I kn... argh!_ Scott's mental screech very nearly deafened the telepath as they rounded the corner and ran smack-bang onto the roundabout without any signposted warning. Luckily, it was a small thing, made up of a grassy knoll and single tree planted in the middle of the street. Rogue, Victoria, and even Tabby navigated it with ease.
Scott, however, had a few problems. Still off-balance, he swerved violently to the left, changed his mind, twisted right again, and eventually ended up mounting the knoll and driving straight across it to emerge in front of the rest of the group on the other side with a bump that made him sorry to be male.
_If I ever have to come back to this country,_ he vowed, _I'm taking the frikkin' train!_
*
The trip was going well. They were nearly at the mansion, when they were attacked.
Things were quiet. David had sat quietly in a corner with Jean, cradling the sleeping Wanda's face, and humming to himself.
"Hey," whispered Todd. "It occurs to me, yo, that our friend David over there, he's well, he's as powerful as any of the others, we could just use him to defeat that Smash dude."
A glance from Jean dispelled this notion. _He's powerful,_ she said telepathically to them, _but he doesn't have much control._
"How did we miss him anyway?" asked Kitty. "I mean, we knew about Wanda."
"We only learnt about her out of luck," explained Margretha. "When the anti-mutant laws were first passed, the ones already in captivity, such as Wanda and presumably David, were the first to die. Then the records were altered or destroyed, so that even their existence was kept hidden. We only knew of Wanda's existence through other sources."
Something in the way she said 'other' bade them ask no more questions. The X-Men now were a fairly peaceful group, but, in the future, who knew what lengths they would go to to save the mutant race.
Before anything else could be said, however, the attack came.
It happened suddenly, one moment they were gliding along, the next some strange fighter planes dove out of cloud cover and attacked them.
Logan swore, and performed such a dazzling array of defensive manouevres that he reminded them all just why learning to fly the X-Jet and the Velocity was only done with adults.
The fighter planes shot rockets, which missed the Velocity by mere inches, their painful screeching causing the students to clap their hands to their ears.
"What's happening?" screamed David, his ravished face full of fear.
"We're being attacked!" cried Fred, equally frightened.
Wolverine pulled the jet hard to the side, avoiding another volley of rockets. Everyone lurched sideways, gasping and crying out in pain and fear.
Then all hell broke out.
David panicked.
A long, dreadful wail broke out of the boy's mouth, small objects flew across the compartment, and some large objects did, too.
His mind telepathically reached out, attacking the first ones it found. Fortunately, one of these was the pilot of one of the fighter jets, and the said jet tumbled out of the sky, as the poor man lost all control.
Unfortunately, another mind affected was Logan's. He gave a savage, primal scream, and released the controls of the Velocity, falling from the seat, and landing in a foetal ball, his hands wrapped around his head.
The Velocity followed the first enemy plane as it tumbled out of the sky.
Jean lunged for the controls and yanked them backwards. The Velocity levelled out a smidgen, so that they were now falling diagonally rather than straight towards the ground. However, even though she leaned back so much that her shoulders screamed, they remained in rapid descent still.
Todd let out an extremely high-pitched squeal. "Oh *gawd*, we're gonna die!"
Jean tried to concentrate, but it was difficult with David's incessant shrieking. Both mentally and physically.
_David,_ she said, reaching out with mental fingers to touch and soothe his panicked mind. He latched onto her presence like a limpit, and she dimly heard him whimper. _Shh, don't be afraid. I'm here._
His response was wordless, but she sensed the emotion enough to know his abject terror at the sudden situation. Jean thanked her lucky stars for the modicum of empathy she'd been blessed with, and sent out waves of cool balm to help the younger boy's terrified mental state.
Gradually, the screeching abated. Rather too gradually, she realised as the ground rushed to meet them with alarming speed.
Suddenly: _I can help._
Jean felt the influx of power immediately, and gasped. She retained enough of her wits to turn the energy in favour of her telekinesis, and with ethereal hands, grabbed the falling 'copter. She yanked it back upwards, jolting its cargo but halting their fatal journey groundwards. It was a strain, and her eyebrows practically met in the middle as she frowned into the effort, drawing on every ounce of strength she possessed to pull the Velocity back into the sky again.
Someone moved into place beside her, and strong hands removed her own from the controls.
"I'll take over, Red," Logan gruffed, guiding them to a horizontal position. Jean let go with a relieved sigh, and sank to her knees, her mind bordering exhaustion as the strength David had been lending her was suddenly retracted and absorbed back into him. An intense fatigue at once overcame the telepath, and she wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, right then and there on the floor of the helicopter.
Logan flipped a couple of switches, and she heard him mumble something about jamming the planes' radar to stave them off target. The sounds of jets faded away as they resumed powering back towards Bayville.
Jean finally gave in to tiredness, and toppled into a crumpled heap. A cry folowed the move, and arms were pulling her up by her armpits even as she surrendered to oblivion and much-needed psychic rest.
Logan surveyed her with a critical eye, his own mind aching only a little now. One of the many wonders of healing factor. _I hope Chuck and the rest of the gang are havin' better luck than us._
*
Susan looked up eagerly as Xavier entered, but her face quickly fell as she saw his expression.
Beast, finally finished with Moira's records, also looked up in concern, he'd never seen Charles so ... frustrated.
"I'm sorry," said the professor. "I've tried everything I can think of, nothing seems to sway her. As I've said, she's a stubborn woman, she just won't let us borrow Kevin, not under any circumstances."
"Have you really tried everything?" asked Susan, an edge of desperation in her voice.
"Everything I can think of," replied Xavier.
"Perhaps," said Beast, slowly and carefully, as if his words threatened to blow up at any second, "perhaps we should, ah, take rather than ask, if you know what I mean."
Xavier gave a small smile. "Firstly," he said, "I would never forgive myself. Secondly, Moira's defence systems are equal, if not superior to my own, thirdly she has more than a handful of mutants at her fingertips. And finally, Kevin could accidentally destroy us all, even if he were trying to control his powers. To forcibly kidnap him would certainly be disastrous."
"There is ... one other option," said Susan.
"Well?"
"Mr. Xavier, you're the most powerful telepath in the world. You can detect minds from 500 miles away, and I know for a fact you can ... control minds, too. Perhaps you could use this on Ms. MacTaggart to persuade her -"
"NO!"
They were all taken aback by Xavier's sudden explosion.
"No," he said again, in more controlled tones. "Ever since I was a child I have been perfectly aware of the ... possibilities my power has. But I have also been determined never to abuse my abilities as some mutants have. To ... control the mind of anyone, especially Moira, would be a violation of the highest order, and I will not do it."
"But you've mind-wiped people before," said Rahne, "to hide the existence of mutants."
"True, but that is merely the erasing of certain, very specific memories, not a violation of the free will we were all born with, the free will we should all have a basic right to."
"True," said Susan, "but we should also have a right to live, to hope, to have some dream that we can live life outside of a lab or breeding pens. The people of my future do not have that right, do not have any rights. Professor Xavier, if we do not have Kevin, then hundreds of mutants will die, often in slow, painful ways. And thousands more shall be condemned to a life of slavery, torture, and experimentation. Is all this worth keeping your principles?"
Charles Xavier was silent, trying to come to a decision.
*
"OWowowowowowowowowowow!!! It hurts! Are you trying to bloody kill me! OWWWWWW!"
"You know," said Storm calmly, as she slowly bandaged Pietro's arm, after doing a variety of other medical procedures on it, "for the supposed 'leader' of the Brotherhood, you are, as my nephew would say, a big wuss."
Pietro bit his lip and said nothing, watching as Storm continued her ministrations.
Storm herself was troubled, the hole in Pietro's hand was not lethal or anything, of course, but it was troublesome. There was, in fact, a possibility that he would lose all use of that hand if it wasn't tended to properly. Storm had treated it to some extent, but she knew she had only bought time. This wound needed the attention of Dr. McCoy.
"Have we heard anything of the other teams?" she asked.
"Nein," sighed Kurt. "Last we heard, Scott's team had reached England, and the Professor had reached Muir, but we have had no news at all of Logan. In fact, we can't even contact the Velocity now, it's as if their communication systems are down."
_Not good,_ thought Storm, but said nothing. The last thing they needed now was panic.
*
"I am never, I repeat, *never* riding with you *again*!"
Tabby cocked her head to one side. "Y'know, I get the feeling you don't like me."
"You're not the problem, it's your bloody driving that's terrible." Betsy, newly dismounted from the motorcycle, was venting her warranted fury on those close enough to hear it. Tabby, naturally, being the rider responsible for most of her ire, was bearing the full brunt of the telepath's sharp tongue. "Where the hell did you learn to ride? A dirt track?"
"Close enough," the blonde grinned, totally unperturbed by the lashing aimed her way, and even going so far as to remove a pocket-mirror from her belt and fluff her hair whilst talking.
Betsy rammed her fists against her hips and scowled behind her glasses, fuming visibly. Behind her, Scott, Rogue and Victoria were trying hard to slip past unnoticed, and equally hard not to laugh.
Betsy certainly made for an amusing sight. Her long dark hair was a tangled mass of various windswept peaks and troughs, so that it looked not unlike the Pyrenees of hair-dom. Her clothes were spattered with mud and all other kinds of unknown dirt, and there was a large tear in the back of her shirt where Tabby had decided she really could avoid that low-hanging branch if she went fast enough. In all she looked a mess, and severely displeased about being so.
The three escapee mutants wheeled their bikes onto the jet and tied them into place, making sure all restraints were secure and necessary protocol followed to the letter. Scott took a moment to rearrange his visor, before slipping to the front of the jet to warm up the engines and, no doubt, call up Muir Island to say they were on their way. Rogue and Victoria procrastinated a little longer, until there was really nothing else to do but venture outside again to retrieve that last motorcycle.
When they emerged from the hatch, Betsy was still talking, but had moved into what her family, had they been there, would've termed 'full auto-rant' [1]. Both girls exchanged a glance, then descended the ramp to rescue Tabby.
Tabby, however, didn't seem to need rescuing very much, and was holding her own quite well against the English girl's tirade.
"I really don't see what the problem is," she sniffed. "I got us here, didn't I?"
"The way you drive, I'm surprised we didn't arrive in *pieces*! What were you planning to do? Take me to Scotland in a bloody matchbox? [2]"
"Perhaps that'd shut your mouth for a bit," Tabby muttered.
"What did you say?"
"You're the telepath. You tell me."
Deciding to intervene before the argument reached thermonuclear levels, Victoria and Rogue took the diplomatic approach, and managed to get both girls aboard and strapped into their seats - on opposite sides of the jet, naturally - without either of them using their powers on the other. Tabby took to voicing her complaints against Betsy very verbosely into Victoria's left ear, whilst Betsy herself stared sullenly out the window, only breaking her silence every so often to ask a question of Rogue concerning Kevin, Muir Island, and what exactly she was expected to do once they arrived.
Up front, Scott sighed and thanked his lucky stars that flying exempted him from both conversations.
*
The sound of a door sliding open caught the attention of both Jubilee and Forge, and they looked up. Not that they really had anything else to do, since they'd pretty much exhausted all avenues of conversation without having to go as far as consider their own mortality, which was something of a constant reminder given their current circumstances.
"Uh oh, company," Forge murmured.
A lithe figure in a white labcoat, bearing what looked to be a clipboard, glided in. From the movement alone it was simple to tell it was female, and the easy way she carried herself denoted a core of inner confidence as well as physical strength.
She breezed past the two bound mutants and began tapping at a variety of buttons and blinking coloured lights on the opposite wall, where they assumed a computer console of some description resided. The sound of her footsteps as she moved echoed hollowly around the room, but otherwise she made no sound.
Jubilee glanced over at Forge. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and she hissed at him, "What do you suppose she's up to?"
"Got me," he replied, missing the irony of the statement. He craned his neck yet further back, until his forehead was virtually pressed against the flat of the table. "Nothing good, I'll bet."
She wasn't entirely enthusiastic about making such a wager, and bit her lip. More tapping ensued, and the sound of paper spewing from a printer. She couldn't help but wonder whether they had anything to do with what the woman was doing, or whether they were just being stored in a room that had other uses apart from a prison. It was something she and Forge had discussed, though not at any great length, being more preoccupied with the identity of this place in its entirety, rather than of just the one room.
All at once, the strange woman stopped, and they heard her utter a low murmur as she perused the printout. "Interesting," she said at length. Her voice was clipped, and held just the traces of an accent. Not that she was any great expert, but Jubilee hazarded a guess at it being French.
Forge righted his head as the woman hove into view at his side. She was youngish, probably not more than thirty or so, and her skin was as pale as the grave. The colour of her hair was difficult to tell, since it had been scraped back into a tight bun on the back of her skull, and her angular face was severe. A pair of square-framed glasses perched on her nose completed the look, and she stared austerely through them at the two captives.
"I never would've guessed it," she said to herself, glancing at the sheet of paper in her hand. Attaching it to her clipboard, she proceeded to extract a pen from the pocket of her labcoat and scribe something in hasty scrawl. Then she turned and began walking away.
"Hey," Forge called out suddenly. "Hang on a second, who are you? What are we doing here? We'd like some answers."
She blatantly ignored him, going back to the console and pulling out a drawer neither mutant had noticed before. She retrieved something out of it, and they heard the sound of plastic gloves being pulled on with an almost wet slap.
Jubilee looked fearful, and Forge caught the look. Since he was the elder, he subconsciously took it upon himself to comfort her, and flashed what he hoped was a soothing smile her way. Spending twenty years cooped up in a dimension on your own doesn't exactly do wonders for your social skills, and he couldn't be sure it'd have the desired effect until she caught his eye.
"Don't worry. We'll be fine. I'm sure they wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of capturing and holding us here if they were gonna do anything ... y'know."
She didn't seem convinced, and looked between him and where the woman had gone. "I suppose so, but ..."
"Look, it'll be OK. Trust me," he smiled again. "I know these things."
She still seemed dubious. None more so than when the labcoated female reappeared, sans clipboard but in possession of a rather large, nasty-looking syringe. Not that it was ever possible for there to be a nice-looking syringe, but this one looked particularly unpleasant. The metal gleamed dully, and she showed no emotion as she lowered it to Forge's exposed left arm.
"Hey," he said indignantly, but the rest of his words were swallowed up in a hiss as she quickly found a vein and slid the needle in. In seconds the body had filled up with blood, and she held it up, flicking the sides with her fingers and nodding to herself. Then she vanished again, and they heard the sounds of her fetching another syringe before she came back, this time to Jubilee's side.
Now, Jubilee was by no means a coward. In Danger Room sessions she was often at the forefront of assaults, and not because she was ordered to, either. As Logan sometimes put it, she had guts. However, these same guts were now turning over in panic at the sight of the long needle, and despite all earlier warning, she started to buck against her restraints. For you see, Jubilee, like so many people, had one great fear in the world. And that fear was of needles.
The woman frowned as she tried to grab hold of the oriental girl's arm and failed, and homed in to grip her wrist like an iron band. Jubilee's eyes went wide, and she squeaked in pure terror as the syringe lowered toward her.
"Hey!" said Forge loudly. Loud enough to make it pause in its descent. "Leave her alone! She's just a kid!"
For a moment, silence reigned, and Jubilee risked a glance away from the needle at the woman's face. She was surprised to see nothing written there but mild surprise, and the woman blinked a few times before deigning to reply.
"Hmmm, interesting."
Forge was astounded at the pithiness of the answer, and his features twisted into a mask of rising anger. He seemed about to say more, but was distracted by the cry of mixed pain and fear Jubilee emitted as the metal pierced her skin.
It was over quickly, and the labcoated female remained only long enough to dispose of her gloves and gather up her meagre things. She left without another word, and the door swished shut in her wake.
Forge leaned across, ignoring the dull throbbing in his own arm. "You OK?"
Jubilee sniffled. "I ... I hate needles. Dr. McCoy called it a ... a phobia."
He nodded grimly. "Aichmophobia or belonephobia," he said, quoting a textbook he'd been reading not so long ago for his biology class. There had been several medical leaps since his incapacitation, and both he and his home-tutor had been eager that he catch up as soon and completely as possible.
"Something like that." She sniffed again, and then quietly began to cry. "I'm sorry," she said through her tears. "You must think I'm an idiot. I manage to hold it together through all this place, being captured and everything, and then crack at a bit of plastic and metal."
"Not at all," Forge replied, trying another soothing smile and being rewarded with a slight nod. "Hell, I'm scared of enough things I'd rather people didn't know about."
"Yeah, right," she said scornfully. "Name one."
"Well, I have chronic musophobia."
"Moose what what?"
"Musophobia. It's a fear of mice."
"Mice? You?"
He bobbed his head. "Can't stand the things. All small and squeaky, and ... urgh." He shuddered, then jerked as he realised that she was giggling through her tears. "What's so funny?"
"You," she snorted, not unkindly. "Big strong tough guy, taking on those dog things to come rescue me. And you're afraid of *mice*. Big girl's blouse."
"Hey, it's a medical condition, I'll have you know." But he was grinning as he said it.
"Suuuure."
*
At some point in the middle of the flight, Betsy rose from her position next to Rogue and claimed the seat across the aisle from Victoria. Tabby had finished her rant, and was now listening to her Walkman with eyes closed.
Betsy sat for a while, thinking things over. Then: "How did Healer die?"
Victoria looked up from her lap. "Healer?"
"The girl in your memories ..."
Victoria nodded. "Burnout."
"Pardon?"
"She used her powers too much."
_That can happen?_ Betsy thought worriedly. _I'm always using my powers ..._
Seeing the expression on the telepath's face, Victoria explained, "Healing powers tend to come at enormous cost to the user. The girl I knew ... it came out of her own energy. The government had her constantly working, healing mutants with powers useful in the field."
Betsy nodded, understanding the unspoken, "Like me."
"Officially," Victoria continued, "she killed herself. She would get headaches ... the worse off her patient was, the stronger her headache. The records say she went crazy and stabbed herself. Only problem is, there was nothing sharp in the infirmary."
"Seatbelts on!" Scott called from the cockpit. "Approaching Muir Island."
"Long story short," Victoria said, securing herself, "one day she just passed out and didn't wake up. Government planted the evidence, took some pictures and whatever, case closed. And then ..." She glanced out the window, sighed. "Well, it doesn't matter right now."
"Hm." Betsy filed the new information away as the jet began to descend.
*
All those assembled looked up with blatant curiosity when the armrest of Xavier's wheelchair suddenly gave up a series of staccato bleeps, and a small red light blinked insistently at them.
"Wuzzat?" asked Rahne, brushing a lock of stray red hair from her face and stifling a yawn. A quick glance at her watch informed her that it was nearing one in the morning. No wonder she was tired.
Xavier tapped a few buttons on the control panel of his chair, and said to the empty air, "Xavier here."
"Professor." Scott's voice crackled through. "We're about five minutes away from landing on Muir. Can you alert Dr. MacTaggart to keep the runway clear?"
A quick glance sent Rahne scampering off to tell her foster mother just that, and Xavier nodded needlessly. He could've contacted her telepathically, of course, but after their earlier tete-a-tete, he was in no mood to touch upon Moira's irksome psyche again.
"Done. Scott, do you have the girl with you?"
"Betsy? Yeah, we got her right here. I'd better warn you guys, she's prickly as a cactus and has a terrible temper."
Susan bobbed her head, satisfied in her own information when another, female voice snapped over the intercom. "Oi! I heard that!"
"Um, be there in a second, Professor. X-Jet out." The link terminated with a faint pop.
Beast and Xavier exchanged glances. "Why do I suddenly have the feeling," Hank ventured cautiously, "that things aren't going to go as smoothly as we might've liked?"
The telepath rubbed at the sore spot between
his eyes and sighed deeply, saying in a very un-Professor-like manner,
"What was your first clue?"
[1] Taken from 'Bridget Jones' Diary'.
Shazzer, the rampant feminist does this a *lot*.
[2] Blame the fact that I saw 'Harry Potter
2' last night and love Alan Rickman. This is lifted from the Snape vs.
Gilderoy fight sequence: "Weasley's wand causes so much damage, we'll be
sending Potter to the infirmary in a matchbox", or something to that effect.