DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING BUT MY WORDS. NOTHING! Thank you and Enjoy! ;D

Chapter 10: Weak

"C'mon guys, we're leaving," Is all I say when I leave the class room. The teenagers crowd around me asking questions like, "What happened?" "Are we in trouble?" "What did he say?" "Do we really have to do community service?"

"No," reply to the last one, but say nothing else. I'm debating on whether or not to tell them that it was actually Mystique in there. But what would be the point? And besides, that would lead to some uncomfortable questions. One's I don't have the time or energy to answer. I suddenly feel more tired than I did when I couldn't get to sleep.

"Wait, what?" Scott is saying as we all head to the parking lot. "Why not? What did you say?"

"Did you, like, threaten him or something?" Kitty asks, looking as if she's really hoping that's the answer. I smirk and say, "Something like that."

It's a complete lie, but it's better than the complicated truth.

"Hey," I say once we're all jammed in the car. "What do you guys think about Starbucks?"

My question is met by excited chatter, "I'll take that as a yes."

I reach for the wheel and Kitty, who had leapt into the passenger seat when we left, catches sight on my new nail polish, "Oh, Nightshade!"

"Oh, yeah," I say absently, forgetting I even had it on. "I like it. Purple's my favorite color." Though it's more of a purple-blue if you really look at it…

"I noticed," Kitty comments with a smirk as we pull out of the school parking lot. Where's the Starbucks, again? "It suits you, Nightshade."

I look at her, meeting her smiling eyes and I feel a slow smirk pull at the corner of my mouth. "It does, doesn't it?" I mumble, returning my gaze to the road.

Nightshade…

I've been sitting here for hours, my leg bouncing up and down like some kind of drug addict. Too much coffee, I suppose.

No, in truth…I'm fighting.

I'm fighting to keep from doing something really, really, really stupid right now.

I want to go.

I know it's probably the worst idea in the world, but I want to go so badly. I have to see him. He's alive. He's alive and I can see him. I can take a jet, can't I? I could fly it, I'm sure. All I need to do is figure out the autopilot. I can look up the location online and-and program it into the jet's navigation systems.

If I can even figure it out.

Or maybe I don't need to. Forge (the weird guy who works on all the mechanics in the Danger Room, but I'll get to him later) isn't the sharpest tool in the shed. Not common sense-wise. If I can trick him into doing it for me somehow….

I suddenly jump up from the couch and begin pacing the room.

What am I even saying? I can't go! I made a promise to myself that I would stay here; let it go. Build a foundation, find a sanctuary. Things haven't even settled down yet and I want to go chasing what could very well be a clever lie from Mystique.

No. I can't go. I won't go.

It's not worth it.

I'm staying.

"…And so," Continues the man at the podium, his hands sweeping out dramatically, a faint smile touching his thin, snake-like lips. "It is our job…no it is our moral obligation to seek out these monsters among us." The man's sharp eyes sweeping over the crowd of humans, hanging onto his every word. I feel my mouth twist with anger and disgust, both at him, and these idiotic people watching him through glossy eyes and appreciative smiles. His voice slows, taking long, dramatic pauses as he concludes his speech, "And keep our cities…our homes…our children…safe….from all who mean them harm...Thank you."

The crowd erupts in appreciative applause (much to my abhorrence) as Senator Kelly steps off the podium to grasp the hand of a man with graying-blonde hair and a goatee; about the same age as him. I recognize the man to be Worthington II. I lean over to Angel and murmur, "Your father seems to have a pretty strong influence here."

Angel sighs deep in his throat as his father starts over, followed by the Senator himself, "That he does…" He agrees. "Ah, hello, father!" Warren greets the man, his entire demeanor changing from dark and brooding to bright and proud in a second. Impressive. He turns to Kelly, the man who gave the speech and says politely, "Senator, it's great to see you!"

"And you, my boy," The political activist returns, nodding his head as stiffly as he takes Warrens' hand somewhat reluctantly. Could it be he suspects Warren to be a Mutant? His searching eyes turn to me and they seem to lighten, "And who is this lovely young woman?"

"I don't know," Says Worthington II, though the question wasn't directed towards him. His eyes turn to Angel and I feel shocked at the pure hostility behind his own father's gaze as he asks tensely, "Who is she, Warren?"

"My name is Elizabeth, Sir," I speak up for myself (I know an argument-to-be when I see one), offering my hand and he takes it without hesitation, laying his other hand on top of mine in a two-handed handshake."Elizabeth Hawthorne," I withdraw my hand, feeling as if I've stuck my hand in a vat of grease. "It's a pleasure to meet you both." I say, taking Worthington's hand as well. He watches me apprehensively but returns the handshake.

"I don't believe I've ever seen you around Bayville before." Senator Kelly says, a smile on his face. But something in his tone is not so pleasant. He's probing; trying to figure me out. I've faced down some pretty scary Mutants in my day, but this human…there's something so threatening about his eyes. Like he can see right through me. I feel a cold sweat break out in the palms of my hands and I wipe them on my pants absentmindedly before saying with a forced smile, "I'm new here."

"Now, why on earth would you move to a place like this?" Is Kelly's next question and I give pause at this. He tilts his head to the side; questioning. I was right, he is testing me.

"I grew up in the desert." I explain, trying to sound as believable as possible but I think he knows that I know he's testing me. Oh god, he just had to be a politician, didn't he? "Back in Colorado. I—came here once when I was little and I fell in love with the Bayville area." I add, looking around at the park, where this little anti-mutant rally was held, with a big smile. "As soon as I got the chance, I moved down here."

"And where, perchance," Asks Kelly, turning to Warrens' father with that same, penetrating gaze. "Is this young lady living, Mr. Worthington?"

Worthington II turns to his son uncertainly, "I—Well, I'm not sure…son?"

"Why, at the Xavier Institute, of course!" Angel replies as if this is common knowledge. I don't like where this is going.

"What would you be doing there, Ms. Hawthorne?" Asks Kelly softly and I resist the urge to look away from those stormy eyes. He can see right through me, I know it. "You are not…gifted, as they say. Are you?" The force and hidden meaning behind that last sentence renders me silent. He knows. Or at least suspects that we are Mutants. And even worse...that the Institute harbors Mutants.

"Actually…" Warren speaks up on my behalf before my silence can stretch too far into the danger zone. "Ms. Hawthorne's correct title is Professor."

I look up at him sharply and he winks at me, "Yeah, I talked to Xavier, Elizabeth. He's accepted your application! You're a teacher now!"

I exhale, my eyes wide as Warren throws his arms around me, and I start to laugh. Genius. Why didn't I think of that? My eyes shift to Senator Kelly and the breathy laugh freezes in my throat. He's not smiling. He's not buying it. Warren pulls back and I plaster on another fake smile, my breath coming out a bit shaky. I chance a glance over at Kelly to see the smile has returned to his face as well. Oh, you're good...

He moves over to me and I move back, but not fast enough. He reaches a hand across my shoulders and claps a hand on my left shoulder, trapping me under his arm. "Congratulations!" Kelly booms, squeezing my shoulder almost to the point of pain. "Let's celebrate, on me!"

I'd rather not. I wriggle out of his grasp, running into Angel as I do so, and start sputtering excuses, "It would be an honor, Senator. But I'm afraid I've got some errands to run. What with Christmas being four days away and all…"

"Nonsense," Kelly says, keeping his distance this time though his eyes are stuck to me like glue. "I insist."

"Let the kids go, Robert." Says Worthington II uneasily. "No doubt they have some catching up to do, eh?"

I find myself nodding, and Angel opens his mouth to say something but Kelly cuts him off, "Actually, Mr. Worthington, I was hoping to speak with you and your son, for a moment. Concerning a problem with a certain—" He grapples for the word. "Investment."

Warren and I exchange a glance and he takes my hand for a brief moment and leans down to whisper something only I can hear, "There's a package waiting for you at Barbara's Antiquity." He moves back, taking with him the scent of pine and a faint trace of cologne, to look me in the eye as he says loudly and with a broad smile, "I'll meet up with you at the Mansion, alright?"

I nod, pulling my coat tighter around me as the cold look in Kelly's eye scans me over. I wonder if he heard…

"So," Warren says nonchalantly when no one makes a move to leave, Worthington II waiting for a motionless Kelly to take the lead. "We going?"

"Mr. Worthington," Kelly says, giving the other man the "go ahead," and Worthington II takes my hand in both of his, mimicking Kelly's movements, and saying flatly, "It was a pleasure, Ms. Hawthorne."

I nod and thank him quickly, hoping to get away from Kelly as soon as possible. No such luck. The Senator takes my hand and ups the ante that much more when he brings me in for a brief hug, which I involuntarily resist, fidgeting when his breath brushes by my ear, "Beware," He whispers threateningly. "the company you keep."

Then he lets go. And just as quickly as they'd come, the two powerful men—and a rather confused Angel—leave me on my own with nothing but a task in mind and a pit in my stomach.

I turn around, realizing most people have dispersed leaving only a few stragglers, talking in the snow and…my breath catches and I turn away quickly. An MRD truck sits on the curb, nearest the podium, a mere three yards or so away. And standing around it are a number of armed guards; all staring at me. I walk briskly away, nearly crying out in shock when another MRD truck passes right by me as I prepare to cross the street. I hadn't even been paying attention! That's what I get for J-Walking…

Ignoring the odd looks I get, I pull my coat around me and cross the street; only to become lost when I realize I don't know where Barbara's Antiquity is.

I enter a thrift shop where I ask for directions. Armed with a napkin (detailing the location of the antique shop) and a random pocket knife I'd picked up at the thrift shop, I head out. It doesn't take long for me to feel a bit self conscious and more than a little paranoid as I find myself passing by more and more MRD cars and officers. It's making me nervous.

They're everywhere!

Ten minutes later, I'm stumbling into Barbara's Antiquity, my legs stiff as boards and hands aching from the cold. I remove my gloves and blow on my hands as I go to the front. At the register is a short man wearing a painfully obvious toupee and a set of teeth that appear to be trying to get away from him, splaying out almost horizontally in his jaw.

I approach him, bearing as friendly a smile as I can manage, "Hello, I was hoping to pick up a package?" The man simply stares at me. One of his eyes drifts off in another direction. "From Worthington III?"

He suddenly turns his head a quarter to the right and says, "Oh, sorry! I didn't see you there." He gestures above my left shoulder and I turn around to see a plasma screen TV on the wall as he says, "Good game, this one."

"Oh, yeah," I agree, turning my gaze away from the Football game. "Um, so I was wondering—"

My words drift off abruptly when, out of the corner of my eye, I see the front door open and in step a group of MRD officers—three of them, all armed and relatively large in stature. I feel my heart plunge into my stomach and quickly turn back to the clerk when one of them catches my eye. My pulse races and my fists clench at my sides as I shift on my feet, anxious to get away.

"Yes, you were saying?" The clerk is prompting, snapping his fingers irritably at me. "Right!" I gasp, moving the hair from my face so I can get a good peripheral of the MRD's, now lingering nearby, pretending to check out the merchandise. They're here for me. I know it. "Um…a package. My friend—Worthington the Third—left me a-a package."

"Oooohhh," The guy says slowly as I bounce on my heels nervously. I chance a glance behind me just in time to see one of the MRD's nudge his buddy and nod his head towards me. I turn away. "You have to pick it up back there." He points over my head, and I duck, narrowly avoiding a punctured eye. There, in the far back of the store (roughly the size of your average Walmart) is a sign that says: Pick Up/Drop Off.

"Right," I say again in a loud whisper. I can't stop looking at them. They're not here to shop that's for sure, though they linger idly at the shelves nearby. But how could they know I'm a Mutant? I'm so used to people constantly telling me that I look so normal, that it's weird that two times in one day I've already been discovered. Is it that obvious now?

I start heading toward the Pick Up/Drop Off area, and, as I predicted, the MRD guys start following a ways behind me. I try to lose them, my breathing quickening as I duck behind shelves lined with snow globes, mirrors, old painting and other trinkets. I keep this up for a while and by the time I reach the front desk, I see that I've lost them. Out of breath but feeling slightly relieved, I find myself in the presence of another man; taller and gangly with long, greasy, brown hair, "I'm guessing you're not Barbara." I say stupidly and he stares at me, looking bored out of his mind before he speaks in an impossibly low voice, responding with a dull, "Ha, Ha."

I clear my throat and try again, "Actually I was hoping to pick up a package from Warren Worthington III, please."

"One minute," Is his slurred response and he disappears to look for my package. I chance a glance over my shoulder but only an older lady with long fingernails peers at some dusty books in a shelf nearby. I stare at her nails. So long…Long like Creeds' only not as sharp. I shiver and turn away just as the guy returns with my package, "You Hawthorne?"

"Yes," I say and just barely manage to catch the small box as the guy drops it in my hands, saying in a dull, monotonous voice, "Thank you, have a nice day…"

"Thanks." Is all I say and start to head towards the front of the store, but think better of it. They could still be waiting for me.

"Do you have a back door?" I ask. The guy points, looking as if he'd love nothing more than to be left alone and I follow his slightly crooked finger to an ancient-looking door to the right of me. I thank him again and, with one last glance behind me, step through the back door—

And right into the chest of an MRD officer.

Before I can even assess the situation, I'm swung around by the shoulders and shoved back into an alley where I hit the dirty wall, my package falling to the ground. I hope there isn't glass in there… I press myself back against the wall, wide-eyed and panting heavily as one of the MRD's closes the door, and positions himself directly in front of it. The two other guys flank me on either side; not that it was necessary on the left (since it's a dead end).

"What do you want?" I ask feebly, weighing my options immediately. The guys on either side of me have their guns drawn but they're aimed at the ground. That means they're not here to kill me, right? The third guy blocking the door—a brute of a man with scars raking his face where he must have been clawed by something (or someone)—approaches me. I read the name, Col. Trask, printed on his uniform.

"Johnson?" The scarred man, Trask, says to the guy on the right, ignoring me. The man (Johnson, I'm assuming) straightens up with a, "Yes, sir?"

Trask's mustache twitches as he holds out a hand, saying, "Your scanner."

"Yes, Sir." The man holsters his gun and removes a square device from his utility belt. It looks almost like the ones from the grocery store that scan items. The man, Trask, moves in on me on heavy footsteps. They're going to scan me, to see if I'm a Mutant. And then, when it reads positive, they'll hunt me down and take me to one of those prisons everyone tells me about; warns me about.

I can't let them scan me.

I dive to the right in an attempt to bulldoze Trasks' subordinate (Johnson, as his name tag states) but he's quicker than I thought, and catches me easily, shoving me back against the wall before stepping back and training his gun on me, his entire body becoming supercharged with adrenaline. This guy's probably seen some shit. I could phase through them but if I do they'll know for certain what I am. If I could just get away...

"Hold still, please, Ms. Hawthorne." Says Trask, his voice as cruel as the thin line that makes his mouth. "I'd hate to have to restrain you."

I freeze, my hand going to my pocket where my long-forgotten pocket knife sits, just waiting to be whipped out…But they're still part of law enforcement. Attacking the MRD would be like punching a police officer...at the police department. It's no use. Trask runs the scanner down the length of my body, his eyes boring into mine as if daring me to make another break for it. Then we wait for ten tense seconds before the screen lights up, glowing in bright red. Trask looks down on me, and the second that cruel smile breaks into a smirk, I know I'm busted.

"Cuff 'er." Trask commands and his men start toward me. Nothing's holding me back now. I send Trask hurtling into the door with an energy blast the side of a soccer ball and turn on Johnson, as his partner seems to have frozen in fear to the left of me.

I fire another energy blast at Johnson this time, but he narrowly dodges it, reaching for his gun once more. I put up a shield in front of me and knock the gun out of his hand. I'm about to blast him clear down the alley way, when someone tackles me from the side and pins me to the wall with strong arms, twisting my left wrist painfully to the side while his barrel chest presses against my front. I feel like I've been hit by a car and I fight to catch my breath as I cry out, my arm bent close to breaking.

"Don't fight or I will break your arm." Trask hisses in my ear, as I fight to regain my concentration, the pain clouding my thoughts. "Michaels!" He barks suddenly. "Get the collar!"

Michaels, the guy on the left who froze earlier, miraculously comes alive and fumbles for something at his own belt. He withdraws it and approaches cautiously as I continue to struggle. Whatever that collar is, I don't want it anywhere near me. If I could just get my arm loose...

"Now, Michaels!" Trask shouts into my ear, not budging an inch when I try pushing him off with my shoulders, screaming, "Get off me!" Over and over. He's so heavy...

Michaels lunges forward and with a faint, click, I feel the collar clasp tightly around my throat. To my surprise, the second the collar is on, Trask let's go of me and Michaels and Johnson back off as well (Michaels much faster than his partner). They don't raise their guns and they seem to relax considerably. I stumble to get my bearings, gripping my aching wrist with murder in my eyes. I've had my wrist broken before. It's not fun. Though my wrist isn't broken—or sprained—it still hurt. A lot.

I lift both hands above my head and bring them down, fuelled by my anger but when I do—

Nothing happens.

"What?" I gasp, my breath coming in short as I look down at my hands expectantly. Why don't I feel anything? I should be lighting up by now, feeling some sort of buzz or heat; something! I throw a punch, but Trask side steps me and I only end up stumbling into the opposite wall, shuddering in the cold. My knees feel weak and my head light with disbelief. Have I lost my powers?

"What did you do to me?" I hear myself asking, turning to face them with an accusatory glare.

"That collar you're wearing is the future of mutant stabilization," Trask replies, catching his breath. At least I gave him a run for his money. "You should be proud, Ms. Hawthorne, to be our first successful test subject."

"I am not a test subject!" I scream at him and whip around, fist raised. I manage to land one good hit on Trasks' jaw, my hand pounding from the blow, before Johnson tackles me to the ground with a heavy crash, his full weight coming down on my chest. We wrestle in the snow-slicked ground, the sludge staining my clothes and speckling my face and I turn on my stomach, trying to get enough distance to kick the bastard in the face. Then I see the pocket knife; the one I'd bought at the thrift store on my way over.

I'd forgotten all about it. It must have fallen out of my pocket!

I reach for it, clawing at the ground as someone tries to get a grip on my legs, but before my hand can clasp around it, Michaels kicks the knife out of reach and, in one quick move, Johnson turns me over, pushing down on my chest with one hand, and lands a jarring blow on my right cheek with the other. My entire skull seems to rattle and I abruptly halt my struggling, my head falling to the side as my ears begin to ring and my vision blurs.

For a while, I'm motionless.

I haven't been knocked out but I feel like I have. I can't move despite all of my senses screaming at me to get up. The pain is a numb one and my nose feels like my sinuses have just burst. I can feel my cheek heating up like it's on fire. I hear Trask barking orders above me and I can feel Johnson turning me over, yanking my arms behind my back, but I don't lift a hand to stop it.

I open my eyes to see Angel's package lying a few feet away, lying motionless in the snow; just like me. I feel tears sting my eyes. I might as well be back in my body, I'm so weak. Without my powers I'm nothing. Maybe it's better if I didn't try to find my body. Whoever is taking care of it, must know what they're doing. More than me. So useless...

I feel a pair of hand cuffs snap around my wrists.

" 'Professor...' " My mind whispers as I'm lifted off the ground. We start walking towards the entrance/exit of the alley way. An MRD van pulls into the opening, blocking out my view of the street beyond. Freedom.

" 'Azazel…' "

More chapters coming up soon! Until then...

~THESCRIBE!;D