In which Trask is drugged, Kitty and Clarice get hammered, more wrong conclusions are made, and Marie and Logan get some answers they don't like.
Since Kitty was completely unwilling to spy on Hank and his lab, Clarice had taken it upon herself to do it. For the greater good, of course.
Portaling into the air duct wasn't easy - she'd done it pretty far down, to avoid detection, which meant she had to do quite a bit of crawling to reach the grate looking down on the room. She wound up dusty as hell, and spent half an hour suppressing a sneeze.
Unfortunately, there wasn't much to see. Raven left fairly early on, and Hank just puttered around with weird liquids. It continued to stink like rotten eggs, but nothing exploded, or even caught on fire. Eventually, bored, she gave up, and portaled herself out into the kitchen.
She found the sink full of dishes, assumed they were Logan's, and sighed. She was an almost pathologically tidy creature, so she put them on to soak and went to dig through the Professor's liquor cabinet.
It was a huge thing, and it looked like nobody else had broken into it yet. It had been years since Clarice had had a real drink - even if alcohol had been available in the future, she wouldn't have dared do anything that might dull her senses. Sure, it was only one in the afternoon, but it was beer o'clock somewhere. Bourbon o'clock. Whatever.
None of it was labeled, which meant it was all probably expensive as hell, and ought to be savored by people who actually knew how to do that. Clarice, being a total plebe, just started knocking back shots in between scrubbing pans and plates covered in dried fried egg remains. Would it have killed anyone to use some damn butter?
She was half done with both dishes and bottle when Kitty scampered in, hopped up on the counter, and started rummaging through the cupboard. "Are there any Tupperware kind of things in here?" she asked.
"Try the cupboard next to the fridge," Clarice said, chiseling at a particularly stubborn bit of egg with a butter knife. "Why?"
"I have plans," Kitty said darkly. "I need something to hold the spiders."
Clarice paused, and turned to look at her. "I don't know if I want to ask why, but I'm going to anyway," she said.
Kitty scooted across the counter and started digging through the next cupboard. "Let's just say crouton warfare has escalated. Retribution must be had."
Shaking her head, Clarice said, "You're going to get yourself murdered before the weekend's over. You know that, right?"
"Only if I get caught," Kitty growled. "I can run through walls. As long as I don't wear any metal jewelry, I'm golden."
"Why don't you have a drink instead?" Clarice shoved the bottle down the length of the counter. "It's good stuff, and probably more fun than catching spiders."
Kitty, who had piled a worrying number of plastic containers around her, grabbed the bottle and sniffed. The fumes made her recoil a little. "How about I have some of this and we both go spider hunting? It's for a worthy cause."
"Your war isn't my war," Clarice said firmly, grabbing a glass. "Don't chug this stuff. It probably cost more than that van we stole."
"That's not exactly saying much," Kitty said, pouring probably more than she ought to. "And why isn't my war your war? Come on, I'm doing everyone a favor keeping him so constantly pissed off. He's probably not planning anybody's murder but mine, and I can handle that."
Yeah, right up until you can't, Clarice thought, attacking the dishes once more. Well, no, Magneto probably wouldn't actually kill her, since the Professor would go medieval on his brain if he did, but still. When it came to psychological warfare, Clarice highly doubted Kitty could win against goddamn Magneto. Honestly, she was starting to wonder about those two, and was reaching some conclusions that sort of creeped her out.
"Your funeral," she said aloud, taking another sip of her own drink. You had to sip this stuff - anything more and you'd choke. "Anyway, I thought you were scared of spiders."
"I am," Kitty said, unwisely taking a full swig. Her eyes widened, and she coughed so violently she fell off the counter. "Jesus, this stuff is supposed to be expensive? It's like paint thinner!" She wheezed a little more, and shuddered, but that didn't stop her from taking another, more cautious sip. "And I am, but so is he. And you bet your ass I'm going to use that."
It occurred to Clarice that this exercise in insanity might just be Kitty's way of dealing with being hurled so unexpectedly into the past. Certainly, in the future she was nowhere near this vicious, unless she was dealing with a Sentinel. Baiting Hank would be like kicking a puppy, and of course the Professor was the Professor, no matter how 70's his hair looked, but tormenting Magneto was like poking a tiger with a stick. Clarice really didn't want to be around when the tiger snapped back with something worse than a spider.
"Fine," she sighed. "But you have to help me finish these dishes first."
"Square deal. Who the hell cooked last? Logan?"
Marie seemed incapable of answering Logan's dozens of questions - she just handed him the newspaper, shivering a little.
The press of the 1970's was a very different animal than it had been immediately before the world went to hell in the future, and not just because it tried to blame everything on the Communists. It freely speculated about the fail-ninjas and the strange equipment they'd been carrying - the inner pages contained grainy photos of what looked very much like a modern cell phone, as well as a few other gadgets that seemed too advanced to be even from their future.
The criminals, they said, spoke extremely convoluted French, peppered with unknown colloquialisms that were assumed to be used as some kind of Soviet code. The worst part, the bit that had surely been what freaked out Marie so much, was the fact that one of them kept babbling about Sentinel War Two.
There wasn't much else - at least, not much of any use. The article said they were being "held for questioning", but of course it didn't mention where. The papers might like to blab, but they weren't going to give everything.
"Motherfucker," he muttered. "We've gotta tell the Professor. Trask isn't our biggest problem anymore." He paused. "Still wanna give the little shit acid, though."
Marie burst out laughing, the tension visibly draining from her. "Can't blame you, sugar, but if we've gotta release him soon, I don't know if that's a great idea."
"Sure it is," he said, handing the paper back to her and picking up the grocery bag. "If he's trippin' balls when we shove him out somewhere, he won't be able to describe anythin' useful until it's too late for him to remember."
"If you say it like that to the Professor, he just might go for it," she said. "It's just - Sentinel War Two? Have we somehow gone and made it worse since we got here?"
"Doubt it," he grunted. "It's only been two days. They mighta been back here even before we were. What I'm wonderin' is if maybe them comin' here's what dragged all of you. Some kinda - what's the term? Ripple effect?"
"If that's the case, how come it's just been us women so far?" Marie asked, fanning herself with the newspaper.
"For all we know, it's not." Which, if all the men were back here too, was even more unsettling to him personally - if that was the case, who the hell was guarding his body? Was it even alive in the future anymore? "For now, we need to work on gettin' those idiots outta prison. Once we figure out where they're bein' held."
Marie was quiet a moment. "You think we oughtta actually tell everyone about this?" she asked. "I mean, the Professor, sure, but anybody else? If Raven or Magneto found out, they might try to do somethin' stupid, and everybody else...well, they'd wanna help, but you know well that would probably end."
He did. He could picture it with unfortunate clarity. "Just the Professor," he said. "Rip out the important parts and chuck the rest of the paper, will you? I can stuff what's left in my pocket."
"How're you gonna explain the groceries?" she asked, trying to keep all the text intact as she ripped.
"I'm not. Gonna hide 'em in the garden until everyone's gone to bed. We'll talk to the Professor after dinner, plan...whatever, and then I'll cook this shit up. Won't dose Trask until we're ready to set him loose."
"That doesn't mean somebody else won't have done somethin' first," Marie pointed out. "I mean, Magneto and Raven would be the most likely, but I wouldn't put anythin' past Kitty and Clarice, either. First time they've had time on their hands since before the Sentinels, right?"
Logan hadn't even thought of that. Trying to figure out what Hank was doing probably wouldn't distract them for very long. He hoped like hell that Ororo had better sense than him, and hadn't left them alone for long.
Unfortunately, he was wrong. So very, very wrong.
Long before Logan and Rogue came back into the house, Kitty and Clarice were truly, gloriously crocked. They'd cleaned up the kitchen, and immediately made it filthy again fixing lunch for Trask. Fortunately for him, Clarice could have produced a gourmet meal even if she was half-dead.
It was Kitty, naturally, who suggested spiking it with something - in addition to giving him a plastic cup full of the Professor's expensive whiskey. Accordingly, she'd left the drinks to Clarice, and scurried off to the main bathroom for some of the painkillers she'd had so much fun with the night before.
She almost slammed right into Magneto on her way, and his expression sent her into a fit of cackling laughter. "Don't worry," she said. "You're not my target right now."
"Somehow," he said, a little imperiously, "I don't find that terribly reassuring."
"You shouldn't. Get out of my way."
Fortunately for him, he did, and she rifled through the medicine cabinet with a glee that was almost obscene. While she couldn't read French, she knew what Hank had given her the night before. She'd have to be damn careful with the dose - not only was Trask a little person, Clarice was giving him booze. They couldn't afford to poison him, no matter how much they'd probably all like to.
So she took a single pill out of the bottle Hank had given her the night before, and carefully broke off a quarter of it. She kept the rest of it for herself, because she knew that once the alcohol wore off, her leg and head were going to hurt like a bitch again.
"What, exactly, are you doing?"
Kitty jumped, and almost screamed. She turned to glare at Magneto, who had stuck his head in the door. "Don't do that," she said. "And for your information, Clarice and I just made Trask lunch. It's just missing an ingredient." She held up the tiny chunk of pill, gesturing with her other hand like a tiny drunken Vanna White.
To her great surprise, he laughed, in an understated way that was frankly rather creepy. "I see. I suppose you'll need a guard, to make sure he doesn't try to run when you open the door?"
"Sure, why not?" That honestly hadn't even occurred to her, though she knew that either she or Clarice alone could have taken him down without breaking a sweat. At least, unlike her, he was no longer covered in vacuum dust: even if she put on the ski mask, she looked a little bit like a walking dustbunny. "Just don't talk, or he'll know you're the one who tried to shoot him. He might not eat if he knows it's you, and that'd ruin the whole thing."
He didn't agree, but he didn't disagree either, which was probably the best she could hope for. In fact, miraculously, he actually kept his trap shut all the way to the kitchen - which Kitty, even drunk as she was, found rather ominous.
Clarice had someone managed to kill the rest of the bottle by the time they got back to the kitchen, and cracked open another. She raised her glass to Kitty, and shoved the tray with Trask's lunch on it toward her.
It smelled amazing. She'd knocked together something that had started as beef stew, but had wound up something damn near an art form, with potatoes and herbs and who knew what else. The important thing was that it would mask any bitterness the pill might add.
Kitty pulled a butter knife out of the drawer, and used it to very carefully pulverize the pill into a fine dust in her palm. She sprinkled the dust over the stew, and stirred it up enough to dissolve it. "Let's do this."
Magneto looked from one to the other, and then to the tray. Clarice had made toast as well, and added a glass of ice water alongside the large cup of whiskey. He must have thought it was as ridiculous as it looked, because he rolled his eyes. "Ski masks," he said. "I can't believe you're giving him food like this."
"Shhh," Clarice said, and burst into a fit of giggling. "Go, guys. Feed the prisoner." She herself dove under the kitchen table, hiding amid the chairs.
Something about the sight struck Kitty as hysterically funny, but she choked back her laughter, schooling her expression into something approaching sober before she pulled on her mask. She didn't dare look at Magneto, or she'd lose it all over again.
"Lunch," she said, after he'd opened the door.
Trask scowled at her, but there was still uncertainty behind his eyes. She could tell he was calculating, wondering if it would be worth it to try to rush her. Fortunately, he decided against it, and she set the tray down with a small flourish. He might not know they were mutants, but she wondered just what the hell he must think of them, this insane group of kidnappers who screamed about spiders and cooked him gourmet meals.
"Are you really planning to let me go?" he asked, eyeing her as though he expected a sneak attack any second.
"In a couple days, yeah," Kitty said, praying Magneto wouldn't open his fool mouth. "Once it's safe."
"You're American," he said, and she could practically see the wheels turning in his head.
"Duh," she muttered. "You have a multinational coalition of kidnappers. You should feel special. Now eat up."
They left before he could respond, securely bolting the door. As soon as she'd moved far enough away, she collapsed into a fit of almost hysterical laughter. Clarice, who had just got hold of herself, immediately followed suit. Magneto just rolled his eyes again, and reached for the booze.
"Can I trust you enough to make the rest of us food?" he asked, when they'd finally calmed down again.
"Of course you can," Clarice said, visibly offended. "I'm drunk, not stupid. Her, on the other hand..."
"Shut your pie-hole," Kitty retorted. "I can still peel potatoes."
"Try not to bleed on them when you cut your finger off," Magneto said helpfully.
"I'm starting to wonder if you like having spiders thrown at you," she snapped, and couldn't quite mask her vicious glee when he twitched.
Logan, who somehow had the ability to creep like a cat even while stomping, yanked the sliding-glass door open and stalked into the kitchen. "Who's throwin' spiders?"
"Crouton warfare has escalated," Clarice informed him. Any further words were lost in a wave of giggling.
Logan took in the kitchen - the counters were piled high with cooking pots and pans, one area holding potato peels and assorted herbs. It also held two extremely drunk women, and a Magneto who looked like he'd swallowed half a lemon. "Not gonna ask," he muttered. "You two do anythin' especially stupid while Marie and I were out?"
"Not especially, no," Magneto said, before either could launch into a rambling account of their activities. "Still quite stupid, though. Trask's been drugged, and spiders have indeed been thrown." Even through the haze of alcohol, Kitty could recognize his inflection - it promised revenge later, and she figured it would be smart to find another room, lest she wake up surrounded by the things.
"Spiders?" Rogue asked, unfortunately coming through the door at exactly the wrong moment. "What's this about spiders?"
"Nothin'," Logan hedged. "Just these two actin' like ten-year-olds."
Kitty briefly considered being outraged by that, but realized that she didn't have a leg to stand on. Her only comfort was that she really hadn't started the whole mess.
"I don't wanna ask," Rogue said. "I really, really don't. Where's the Professor?"
"In his room, making some calls," Magneto said. "I wouldn't tell him about this. Not yet, anyway."
"I'll let you explain it yourselves," Logan snorted. "C'mon, Marie. Doubt any spiders would go near the Professor."
Rogue shuddered. "I hope you're right."
Marie really was quite freaked out by the thought of spiders in the house. Having grown up in Mississippi, a state stuffed with dozens of different types of spiders, she'd developed a terror of the things quite early in her life. Small spiders wouldn't make very effective weapons, so she couldn't help but picture the kind of monstrosity Kitty and Magneto must have found. Considering Kitty was almost as afraid of them as Marie herself, she could only wonder just what Magneto had done now that was bad enough to make Kitty willing to actually throw them at him.
She kept a watchful eye out as they traversed the hallways to the Professor's room - Logan only knew where it was because he could track the Professor's scent - half-expecting to see a giant web stretched across their path. While she sensed Logan's faint amusement, he was smart enough not to say anything.
The room the Professor had taken might well have been his when he was a boy. The walls were lined with dark wooden bookshelves stuffed with books, and there were several model airplanes hanging on strings from the ceiling. The windows were very large, looking out over the yard and the green fields beyond.
He sat in front of the window now, telephone at his ear, looking rather harassed. Under any other circumstances, Marie would have left him to it and come back later, but this couldn't wait.
She glanced at Logan, who pulled the pieces of newspaper out of his pocket and held the biggest one up - it was the picture on the front page, with the little one of Trask beneath it.
The Professor's eyes widened, and he hung up abruptly. "It made the news," he said, and he almost sounded helpless. "God damn it."
There was something wrong - so very wrong - about hearing the Professor swear, no matter how young he was. "Wait, did you already know about this?" Logan demanded, incredulous. "How?"
The Professor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "In the future, I've never told you what my father did?"
They both shook their heads.
"His official position was 'cabinet investigator'. He died when I was very young, and I didn't find out until I was at University just what he'd actually done - mind you, I wasn't supposed to. Telepathy uncovers a lot of things by accident. He wasn't anything like James Bond, but he was, essentially, a spy. He had quite a few contacts, and some of them are still active. I haven't found out much, but I don't like what I have discovered."
"They really are from the future, aren't they?" Marie asked.
"They are." The Professor sighed. "Of course, right now almost no one actually believes that - most of those I talked to think it's some sort of elaborate Soviet code - but one isn't so sure. He said their technology is far too advanced to be anything out of Russia - or anywhere, for that matter."
"Newspaper said they were talkin' about Sentinel War Two," Marie said. "Just how far from the future do you think they are?"
"I don't know. Far enough for their language to have evolved almost beyond comprehensibility. Evidently they too realized Trask was the starting point."
"So what do we do?" Marie asked. They had to do something.
"I need to find out where they're being held. Once we know, we can release Trask somewhere far away, and go rescue the prisoners. If they really are from some distance into the future, it would explain why they were so very inept."
"You know," Marie said, thoughtful, "maybe they're why some many more of us came back than were supposed to. Maybe they already changed the future before we got here."
"I hate time travel," Logan grumbled. "Makes sense. Professor, you really wanna take all these yahoos with us?"
He smiled, slightly lopsided and very dry. "If they're with us, at least I know where they are, and what they're doing."
"Good point. Fine. As if things weren't shitty enough already."
Marie winced. "Don't say that, sugar, it's temptin' fate. Things can always get worse."
Rogue is very right. Things can, in fact, always get worse, and by the end of the weekend, they're going to.