Again, thanks for the patience. Been doing a lot of revising lately. Suggestions and critiques are welcome. Thanks and Enjoy;D

Chapter 10: Catching Up

Previously, on the New Threat:

"Not as much as you would think, unfortunately." Hank says earnestly. "Sentinels and the weapons used to hunt mutants have become far more potent over the years. I fear physical action will no longer be good enough if we are to protect ourselves." Hank leans forward, removing his glasses, and looks at us each in turn, his eyes lingering on Logan before he delivers one hell of a strange proclamation, "It's time to take political action."

Political?

….Seriously?

"You're kidding." Logan scoffs, but Azazel too leans forward, looking interested. There goes that tail again. Swish, swish, swish…

"How do you mean?" I ask, genuinely curious and trying hard to keep myself from getting distracted.

Becoming suddenly very excited, Hank rises, saying eagerly, "There is a Summit in the works; a gathering where Humans and Mutants alike will come together to speak out against the atrocities occurring right here in Bayville."

"Atrocities?" Inquires Azazel, sitting across the room from me, where I sit, stretched out languidly, on the gray love seat. I meet his eye vaguely but when he looks back, I can't quiet read him. I'm not even sure what to feel right now. Am I mad at him? Am I…not mad at him? Who knows? I certainly don't. Not with my eyelids drooping and my head growing heavier by the second.

"Raids, hunts, abductions," Hank lists, a haunted look flitting across his blue face. Age lines crease his forehead and his shoulders hunch slightly. I take it he's seen some shit. "Need I say more?"

"The Institute has volunteered to offer up a number of our brightest students to speak on our behalf. Warren has already publicly come out and our very own students have rallied for equality at school. It's—" Hank laughs to himself, a proud smile on his lips. "Really very inspiring."

"But will it be enough?" I ask, sitting up at last with a heavy groan. My face is pounding in spite of the meds Hank gave me. There's not much to be done about the lacerations on the inside of my cheek from where Iron Helm and Azazel both struck me, and my constant probing of the injury with my tongue certainly isn't helping. Where's the alcohol when you need it? For medicinal purposes, of course. "Change doesn't just happen, Doctor. African American's worked for centuries to gain their civil rights and homosexuals are still struggling to gain some recognition." Times may have changed but not as much as everyone likes to think. "Kelly won't wait for Mutant Pride before he launches his attack."

"I think you've been around Magneto for too long." States Logan in a low tone, and I narrow my eyes at him in response, to which he simply shrugs from where he stands, leaning against the doorframe—not unlike the first time we met. Maybe he's right. I've been around Erik and Mystique for so long, talking about how war is just around the corner and how we need to strike first, yadda, yadda, yadda, that it's practically become a reality for me. Even so…

"You can't deny there's some truth to it." I grumble, getting up and stretching my legs while I try to locate the booze. "These raids, these-these abductions." I shake my head when I try one of the cupboards only to find it full of files and other work-shit. "They won't stop. Kelly won't wait. And neither will Magneto. This Summit seems to me like the perfect place to launch an attack." The perfect chance for Kelly to cross a few Mutants of his List. I turn to Hank, tiredly, "How many of your students will be attending?"

"That remains to be determined." Is Dr. McCoy's reluctant response, watching me cross the room to rummage an intangible hand through several cabinets, to no avail. "But Myself, Storm, Warren, and Jean are definitely on their rosters." Jean, the friendly, red headed telepath who double majors in telekinesis...Yeah, that sounds about right.

"And the Professor?" Logan asks, moving to sit on the arm of the couch; the same one that Tony is currently snoozing on right now. But Hank flinches, looking increasingly uncomfortable. "I—" He says hesitantly. "Do not think that would be wise."

Uh-oh. I pause and rise slowly, recognizing that tone.

"What d'you mean, Hank?"Snaps Logan urgently, his dark grown eyes fastening on Hank like a predator zeroing in on its' pray. It's times like these that Logan reminds me, alarmingly, of his half-brother. Not a welcome thought. When Hank doesn't answer right away, Logan gets up and crosses to Dr. McCoy, saying, "Hank, what—where is the Professor?"

"He—Hasn't been in his right mind lately." Hank sighs tiredly while Azazel and I exchange uneasy glances. What's been going on since we've all been gone?! "His mind has steadily become…unstable. Emma thinks this may be the work of a telepath, trying to interfere with his abilities. Alas, our attempts to locate this telepath have been futile at best."

"Cerebro—" Logan begins but Hank intercedes immediately, saying dejectedly, "Cerebro has been on the fritz ever since the Professor has."

"Could it have something to do with the Summit?" I say, knowing I'm really pressing this but feeling like I must. "Maybe someone is trying to hide something."

"Whatever it is," Logan says sharply, running a hand through his ear-like hair. "It's gotta be something big." He starts toward the door, his boots making heavy thumping sounds against the carpet. "I wanna talk to Charles—"

"Please," Hank says urgently, moving to stop him from leaving the lounge. I get to my feet uneasily, but Azazel and Tony remain couch-bound. Hank dives in front of Logan—quite nimbly, I might add—and holds up his hands pleadingly. "He's been finding it increasingly difficult to get to sleep lately." Hank continues, shaking his head wearily with his hands on Logan's shoulders. His own shoulders hunched, Hank looks up at Logan through red-tinted, watery eyes, "Don't wake him up." He looks on the verge of tears! I didn't realize how exhausted he is. Even for the late hour!

It really is bad.

"A-alright," Logan relents, placing a firm hand on Hank's shoulder. "Alright. I—ah," He brings a hand up to his neck, glancing over at me once with a similar look of discomfort that I must have right now, "I think I'm gonna get some sleep."

"Perhaps we all should." Hank agrees, relieved, looking to Tony who continues to snore, undisturbed, on the couch. "He has the right idea."

An awkward silence passes between us before Hank finally offers to show Stark to our respective rooms, carrying Tony in his arms to one of the guest bedrooms. Following Logan's lead, I start to head up towards the last room I'd occupied during my stay nearly a year ago, but stop just short of the door when I realize it was Azazel's old room, too. I curse softly, and start to turn away to find my old, old room (from way back when), but am pulled up short by the sound of the door opening softly behind me.

"You—are welcome to stay here, if you wish."

I keep my back to him, trying to think of what to say before I finally settle for, "There are other rooms I can stay in. Thanks."

I start to leave again when I feel his hand on my shoulder. I turn around, looking him dead in his pale blue eyes and immediately feel a wave of guilt wash over me, though I'm not sure if it's for leaving when I did, for injuring him back on the ship, or—or what. Luckily, he speaks out for me, saying gravely, "You are afraid to sleep, aren't you?"

I glance away, caught, and cross my arms, saying softly, "What makes you say that?"

"I can see it—" Is Azazel's firm reply, catching my eye with the slight tilt of his head and the touch of his fingers on my chin. "In your eyes. " He pauses a moment, before saying gravely, " 'He still has your astral body, doesn't he?' "

My breath catches but I can't put words to my fears. Instead, I nod. Azazel straightens, lowering his voice to ask, "When do we leave?" I back away, moving his hand off my shoulder. This is exactly why I didn't say anything!

"You're not coming with me—" I start to argue, but he persists, getting that look, and saying, "You need me. Do not pretend otherwise."

I shake my head stubbornly , "Azazel, I really don't want to involve anyone else. I'm the one who has to deal with Erik. And besides, you have Stark to look after and your son—"

"They will manage without me." He says right off. "It is time to move on." My look just now must have been murderous because he quickly adds, "From Tony, I am meaning!" He sighs, putting a hand to his head and says tiredly, "Kurt is a big boy. Almost grown—"

"And he needs his father." I say sternly before muttering, "A lot more than I do."

Azazel purses his lips, crossing his arms over his chest, then asks haughtily, "And how will you be travelling to Genosha?"

"I—" Shit. "I'm sure I can figure something out…" Even as I say it, I know it's no use. I don't want to involve the X-Men in this. It's not their fight and they have bigger things to worry about than my misplacement of my own flesh and blood. But I can't very well snag the jet without anyone noticing. And I don't know Tony well enough to catch a ride with him either. "And just how do you propose to get me there?" I snap, grasping at straws at this point. "You're exhausted and you can only travel so far. Genosha is miles out in open water! Although," I murmur, thinking aloud as I say, "If I got caught or something happened, you could teleport us out…" I give a frustrated groan, pinching the bridge of my nose with my finger tips, but quickly recoil when he reaches for me, a look of vague concern on his prominent features.

"Stay for now." He says, dropping his hand. "Rest. He will not let you die in your sleep." He adds, as if reading my mind. Just another concern I've tried to sweep under the rug. To little avail, I see. "It is not his way. Tomorrow, we will go."

To be honest, the idea of going on a journey with him doesn't sound half-bad. Still, I can't help but feel reluctant nevertheless. The last time we did go on a "little adventure" together it didn't exactly end well. It never really does, come to think of it.

"And why would you want to help me?" I ask. When he gives me that look again (we all know the one), I roll my eyes and say exasperatedly. "Fine! Tomorrow then. But not a word to anyone else, got it?" I add as I start to turn away once more, but he just shakes his head, waving me off with a vague, "Da, da!" Before turn back to his room on a limp.

I hesitate, my eyes fixated on his calf, where I cut him back on Stark's boat, and I call out to him before I can stop myself, saying, "I'm sorry." He pauses, probably sensing that I'm apologizing for more than I'm willing to admit, and looks back at me, eyebrows slightly raised. I shift on my feet, the words caught in my throat before finally adding, "About your leg. " I blush, remembering the way I'd toyed with him on the ship. "I should've stopped once I knew it was you."

"I have been wondering where you learned to fight." Is his cheeky reply. A smirk tugs at his lips as he says, "I could have killed you."

"Yeah, that's what you think." I mutter right back, smirking myself. And, for a moment, we just sort of stare at each other, wondering who the other is; wondering what it is we see in each other; wondering why we're still smiling (at least, I am). And then he's stepping aside, nodding his head towards the room, and I'm following him inside.

And then we just—start talking.

We sit opposite each other on the floor, surrounded by pillows and blankets with an electric candle (what's that about?) between us, watching the sun rise just outside the window. It's getting colder and snow has begun to fall lightly outside, almost making me forget just how exhausted I am. Luckily, Azazel has a way of distracting me without even trying. When I'm not just staring at him, imagining just doing—awful, awful things with him, he's interrogating me, or side stepping my questions, forcing me to probe more insistently to get answers.

He asks about my newly acquired fighting skills, admitting (very, very vaguely) to being a little peeved at being matched by me (and nearly defeated by me, but I suppose neither of us knows who's the better swordsman just yet), and I tell him about Tarina and her Deadlocke tango; about the fighting classes, and how I got into the raids before finally asking what he was searching for when he met Stark.

He looks at me, his smirk fading, then reclines back against the bed, the light from the window casting a light, blue glow on his deep-red skin, and quietly admits, "I was doing as you said." He looks to me in all seriousness and says, "I was looking for the Psylocke." He says with unusual emphasis, his accent coming out even thicker than usual. Hot. "But—" He sighs, running a hand through his hair, nearly down to his shoulders now and still filled with sand and seawater, before saying, "Like I have told you, there was not enough information to find him."

"Her." I correct, with an apologetic smile. I really didn't leave him much to go off of…My bad? "And—maybe it was best that you didn't." I say truthfully. He gives me an inquisitive look and I inhale deeply, feeling there's an explanation that needs to be said here. "You—made it clear when we first—" I grapple for the appropriate word. "Met, I suppose…that….you didn't want to remember. You wanted to know. You wanted me to tell you. And I…" I shake my head slowly, at a loss.

" 'You what?' " At the hint of desperation in Azazel's mental urging, I feel a deep pang in my chest and say thickly, slowly, "I was so…angry and upset and-and—" I shake my head, sighing, "I just wanted things—between us at least—to be the way they were." Whatever that was. "And they just—" I stop, touching a hand to my chest as my heart continues to squeeze. "When you just appeared and-and didn't even know me…It hurt, Azazel. But it wasn't fair." I add firmly, looking out the window to escape his penetrating stare. "It-it wasn't fair for me to keep that information from you and then—" I laugh slightly, embarrassed at my own actions, "Blame you for not finding out yourself. And for that," I say earnestly, meeting his eye once more. "I am sorry. "

He takes a moment, mulling my words over for a moment, before he finally says honestly, "I have not changed, Elizabeth. I have no wish to remember the past," I avert my eyes, chewing on my lip, but he lifts a hand and lightly turns my face to him, lowering his head to say firmly and resolutely, "But I want to know. I do want you to tell me. It is—selfish, yes." He concedes, letting his hand fall. "But there are some things that…" He pauses, at a loss for words himself.

So, I speak for him, "You just don't want to remember." I nod gravely, my hand tracing my cheek, where thin scars would be if I were reunited with my body once more. "Yeah, I understand that."

A heavy silence follows, leaving us both to our private thoughts before another question finally—thankfully—surfaces, "What did you mean…when you said we are 'even now?'"

I raise my eyebrows with a slight, "Oh!" Then think about it, remembering back seventeen years—no, eighteen— years in the past to where we really first met, back in my Community College in Colorado. "The—ah, first time we actually met, you kind of attacked me." I explain everything, from the brawl in the hallway, to the deal with Magneto and the early Brother Hood, all the way to the first couple weeks I spent at Erik's mansion, learning from Emma, getting my ass kicked by Mystique, and even the small moments Azazel and I had together before the real shit went down.

"You fell through the ceiling." Azazel repeats, more as an incredulous statement than a question. "You with the ghost powers and the flying? The Ghostgirl fell through the ceiling."

"I wasn't as good at it then as I am now!" I object, giving him a light shove on the arm as an irritatingly adorable grin spreads across his face. We've gotten a bit more cozy now since the stories first began and we're both finding it more and more difficult to keep quiet as the sounds of kids getting up for school starts to fill the halls. He insists that he couldn't have been that "soft" and I insist that he was a right jerk from the start. Perspective, am I right? "Anyway," I articulate, getting back to my story. "I ended up falling through and—"

"I saved the day?" Azazel scoffs, tapping the tip of my nose with his finger. I roll my eyes, snapping, "You kept me from falling on my face, alright?" I reach up a hand, sweeping a bit of sand out of his hair. "Don't get too cocky. After that," I continue, noticing vaguely how touchy we've gotten with each other. Why was I mad again? "Things got a lot worse."

"Worse?" He repeats, his tone sharpening and the humor disappearing from his eyes at once. "How?" I take it this is probably the stuff he's been pondering over. The bad stuff.

"We—ah…" My own tone sobers, remembering exactly when "the bad stuff" first began. "We lost Donovan to the man you know as Sabretooth. It was part of a plot to kidnap Tarina, the Mutant Seeker."

"The one who teaches you?"

"Taught me," I correct automatically, noticing the way our hands are touching. Just slightly. Just enough. "And yes, the same. And that's how we found out what would have happened if we'd refused to join you." I hesitate ever so slightly before saying carefully, "There was a secret prison below the mansion, where people just like us were being held prisoner for refusing to cooperate with the Brother Hood. As you could probably guess, Glenn and I didn't take it too well."

Azazel reacts in a way much different than what I expected. He frowns slightly, then asks the absolute worst question, "Why?"

"Why?!" I exclaim, sitting up a little straighter in my incredulity, and, in doing so, move my hand away from his. "Because it-it was inhumane! They were being locked up like animals by their own kind. And Glenn and Donovan and I had joined the Brother Hood under false pretenses. All of you lied to us. If we had known people were being held prisoner—"

"You would have refused." Interrupts Azazel stoically, keeping his voice low and even as he carefully draws his hand closer to mine, his fingers resting lightly over mine. "I would have captured you and become your enemy. And you would have been taken prisoner just like the rest."

I purse my lips, my stomach doing tiny summersaults while my heart does its own little dance in my chest. I didn't realize he could still make me feel this way. A simple touch, a certain tone of voice, a faint smile. And then there's me, "And I would've kicked your ass." I grumble, greatly disliking the idea of being his or Emma's or Magneto's prisoner.

Azazel leans towards me, a knowing smirk on his lips and says teasingly, "I thought you were not as good as you are now."

I can't help it. I burst into a grin and prepare to hit him again, saying, "Oh, shut up, C—"

Oh, god.

I blink, my words caught in my throat, then say as my fingers twitch nervously under his, "No—you're right. I, ah," I give a breathy laugh, trying desperately to recover. "I was pretty bad." Oh, god. Oh, god. "We were attacked and I-I couldn't protect Tarina. She was taken, but we managed to save Donovan. But the trust…" I shake my head, still sweating from what my mind interprets as a near-confession. "It was just gone. The group split up after that." I say shortly, not wanting to get into too much detail on that. "Donovan, Glenn, and I joined the X-Men to try and save Tarina and the Brother Hood left."

This time, it's Azazel's hand that moves away, "I left."

I nod, avoiding his eye, "You were among them, yes." I say, placing both hands safely around my knees, drawn up to my chest, "But after that…things just started to fall apart. But," I say with a groan, getting up off the floor and stretching as the panic leaves my bones. I need to get out of here, stat. "All of that can wait. We need to leave before—."

Something explodes in the room before me, and I give a start and stumble back, tripping over—I don't know—something and I fall on one of the pillows nearby with a high-pitched, ooph! Azazel half-rises, looking concerned (and more than a little amused) and I'm just about to wave him off when we both hear, a distinctly German, pubescent voice call out, "Father?"

Azazel hurries to his feet, stammering, "I—" He looks to me as I slowly get up, but I merely shrug, not knowing what to say. It's your son! "We were—" But before he can even finish the hurried explanation, Kurt throws his arms around his father's waist and hugs him, before quickly stepping back, blushing furiously, "Sorry. I—I thought I heard your voice." I guess hugging your estranged father isn't exactly cool for a seventee—eighteen year old boy.

Azazel laughs, ruffling his sons' hair with a steady, scarlet hand, and says, "I did not want to wake you." He looks to me, saying, "We will not be staying long."

I watch, pain stricken, as Kurt's' face falls, and he looks between myself and his dad, asking, "So soon? But you just got here!"

"Actually," I interrupt before Azazel has the chance to say anything. "We were thinking about staying a while longer. Catching up with some old friends." Azazel looks to me, confused, but, after receiving my "just fucking go with it" glare, he nods then says something in Russian and (much to my surprise) Kurt responds in Russian right back before teleporting from the room with a most excited smile.

I'm about to make a comment when Kurt suddenly teleports back into the room and practically shouts, "Oh, and hello Ms. Hawthorne! It is good to see you again!" And then he's gone again. For a moment, we're both quiet, and then I say, "So, you're teaching him to speak Russian?"

"Mm." Azazel nods, readjusting the ridiculous work jacket with steady hands. "He learns quickly."

"What did you tell him?" I ask, curious.

Azazel smiles to himself, an uncharacteristically soft look, and says, "I told him to get dressed so that I could take him to school."

Trying to mask the "Aww Factor" creeping in, I scoff lightly and say, "You really have gone soft!" I turn to leave but he, predictably, stops me, asking, "What about your body? And Magneto?"

"It can wait." I say uneasily through a forced smile. "He won't just let me die, like you said. And besides," I add as I begin to step through the door (because who would want to just open one when they can phase through it?), "We're needed here."

There's been a lot of speculation as to what Nightshade actually looks like. Unfortunately I can't draw for shit and I find I can't exactly throw in a description without it seeming pretentious or forced so I'll just say that she's a healthy woman of a shorter stature with long-ish, thick, naturally curly hair, large, brown eyes, mocha-colored skin, and prominent Angelina Jolie lips (though less poofy if that makes sense). She looks like someone you'd see at your local supermarket but feel like she belongs on a movie screen. I hope that helps!

Until next time...

~THESCRIBE!;D