1x10

Requiem

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Act I

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They gathered around a television that had been brought into the lounge and set up on one of the tables, while work crews swept up the shattered fragments of glass spread across the floor and put everything back in order. Plastic had been stretched over the gaping windows to keep out the chill until they could be replaced, and most of the tables had been turned upright again. Julian clenched his jaw so tightly the muscles ached, and his knuckles were white as he balled his fists.

Santo stood quietly beside him, an unreadable expression on his stony face (and ugh was that observation a horrible pun), and Victor was with him, his eyes downcast. Sofia huddled close to him with her head leaning against his shoulder, and tears streamed down her cheeks. They also darkened the fabric of Sooraya's niqab, and they practically had to drag her from her prayers to join the rest of them. At times her glance drifted to Jay Guthrie, trapped with his sister and hemmed in on all sides by Melody's circle of friends. Had Cessily been physically capable of it, he had no doubt tears would be flooding from her eyes, as well.

Foley and Laurie stood somewhat apart from the group crowding around the television, and how the latter managed to keep control of herself under the flood of grief rolling off their classmates Julian didn't know. Alleyne and Ashida watched from opposite sides of the crowd, the latter deliberately avoiding the former. Somewhere near the back of the crowd was Laura Kinney, who after being brought inside by Laurie and Josh seemed to be walking about in a daze, and Kevin, who kept as always to the fringe of a gathering in fear of accidentally touching someone.

Tears flowed, people sniffled, and the sounds of weeping and crying pervaded the school along with a thick cloud of despair, confusion, and fear. And anger. Most of it triggered by what was on the television.

William Stryker was giving an interview.

Melita Garner, her expression neutral but not quite able to mask a tremor in her voice when she spoke, sat in a conversation circle in his private office, both of them seated in a manner that allowed them to face the camera. The timing of it was much too much of a coincidence for Julian, and to judge from the angry murmuring of the others crowding for a view of the television, it was for them, as well.

"Reverend Stryker," Garner was saying, "For months you have been evading a candid dialogue in response to your position. What has led you to break your silence?"

If Stryker was put off by the bluntness of the question, he didn't show it, and remained calm and serene. "When I heard of the horrible tragedy which struck in Westchester yesterday morning, I felt that in light of this event it would irresponsible not to come forward," he said.

"Your many prepared statements and manifests have routinely warned of the dangers presented by the Xavier School and its student body, calling them, and I quote, 'A fundamental threat to the stability of this nation and the survival of our species.'"

"That, Ms. Garner, is a misunderstanding taken entirely out of context."

Garner looked at him in disbelief. "Out of context?"

"The source of the danger is not the presence of the mutant community in of itself, but its secrecy. Most of my life was spent working with mutants, and I fought alongside them in service of this country. There are few people outside that community who have a better understanding of mutant capabilities than myself, and this incident underscores the danger presented by their decision to hide themselves away.

"For all we know, this incident, however tragic, may have been nothing more than one of these children losing control of their powers."

The lounge all but exploded at that. "Oh that is bullshit!" Julian snapped, a sentiment mirrored by everyone, and it took some time for them to quiet down enough again so they could hear the television.

Garner, for her part, seemed similarly shocked. "Reverend Stryker, are you actually saying that what is being called one of the worst acts of domestic terrorism since the Boston Marathon Bombing, if not 9/11, was an accident?"

"I am saying, Ms. Garner, that we simply don't know the facts. We are all aware of the danger presented by the so-called 'No-Go Zones' and their bolstering of radical Islam movement. And yet here in the United States, Christians, Jews, and Muslims live together in relative peace, because this nation was founded to be a melting pot of cultures and beliefs. By assimilating newcomers into the larger American culture, we have established a peaceful coexistence between disparate races and religions that is unprecedented in the rest of the world. Oh, we are not without our troubles, of course, but where in the United States do we live with the daily fear that a Mosque will be bombed? Or that a Synagogue will be burned to the ground?

"By sequestering themselves from the rest of the nation, the mutant community is creating a breeding ground for extremist behavior: both within their community like the mutant terrorist Magneto, and by those who fear their motives in setting themselves apart."

"So you are suggesting, then, that the mutant community is calling down prejudice by their own actions," Garner said, making it a statement of fact.

"I believe that it is a contributing factor, yes."

Julian scowled. "Someone turn this shit off," he said. "I don't think I can stand to listen to any more of this."

Sofia socked him in the arm. "Sh! Quiet!"

"I can't believe you want to hear this! It's all a bunch of crap!"

Nonetheless, Julian returned his attention to the television set.

"The Xavier School for the Gifted is only one small part of the mutant community, Reverend," Garner said pointedly. "There are many more living and working peaceably among the rest of the general population. There is, for example, the case of a young mutant woman living in Hunts Point who vanished recently, and the outbreak of violence against several other mutants in the same area shortly thereafter. This was not an isolated community, or what you have likened to a 'No-Go Zone,' but a diverse section of New York City itself."

"People of all races disappear, Ms. Garner, yet that does not suggest a systemic persecution of that race exists. Would we be having this same conversation if the young woman in Hunts Point — a neighborhood which I might add is already noteworthy for its high crime rate — had been black or Hispanic?

"The problem, Ms. Garner, is what is being taught to the younger generation that will define the future of relations between mutants and the rest of the world," Stryker said. "And these children are being taught to separate themselves from the rest of society."

"And you believe that it is this separation that foments violence against mutants?"

Stryker nodded. "The basic foundation of the Civil Rights movement is that separate is not equal. By willfully sequestering themselves — removing themselves from public schools and participation within the community — they are placing themselves apart from society, and stating that they are not equal."

"There are those who would say that the Xavier school functions as it does specifically because of the prejudice mutant children would face within the public school systems. Not to mention that this nation has a history of private schools who operate little differently. How is it that the Xavier school could pose a threat, yet not a private Catholic school?"

"Do bear in mind a critical difference, Ms. Garner: A Catholic school doesn't deny enrollment to a non-Catholic student, nor can secular private schools discriminate enrollment based on race. Yet the Xavier School is permitted to restrict enrollment to mutants. The threat is that the Xavier School teaches its students that they are set apart from the rest of society, and that breeds a feeling of superiority.

"They may be very well raising the next Magneto and not even realize it."

That was all Julian could bear to hear. As he finally lost his grip on his temper, his hands began to glow green, and he lashed out with a bolt of coherent telekinetic energy that flung the television from the table and blasted it across the lounge. Almost at once the rest of the gathered students rounded on him with a chorus of angry "Hey's!" and "I was watching that's!" Sofia turned on him as well.

"Julian!" she said sharply with admonishment.

"What?" he said. "I couldn't listen to another word of that shit!"

"Some of us wanted to hear the rest of it!" Mercury said, her own face twisted with annoyance.

Julian scowled at her. "Why? He's full of it!"

"Are we sure about that?" Jay asked from across the room, and the rest of the crowd fell into silence. "I mean, he's not all wrong, is he?"

"Tell me you're not serious."

"What have we really done for people outside of Salem? I mean all we ever do is hang around here."

"Yeah, because when we go anywhere outside Salem all we get are gangs and mobs."

"Maybe because we haven't done anything to change their minds about us."

Julian gawked at him incredulously. "Are you actually defending him?"

"No, b—"

"Because I don't know about the rest of you, but I think he did it!"

Parts of the crowd rumbled softly among themselves, while others gasped in shock at the accusation.

"You can't know that," Jay said.

"I know all that I need to know!" he said, and balled his hands into fists again. "All those pamphlets talking about how we're the spawn of Satan and all that crap? What do you think that meant, Hayseed?"

"Julian!" Sofia said, aghast.

"Woah," Santo said, grinning like an idiot as he watched the confrontation unfold.

"Calm down, Julian," Victor said.

"Why should I?" he snapped. "Stryker did it! And you just know he's planning to kill even more of us, and by sitting around here denying it we're just rolling over for him to do it."

Sofia gripped his arm. "Julian, Jay's right, you don't know that."

He spun on her and tore his arm from her grasp. "And he does?"

"No one's saying that," Victor said. "But you can't just go around accusing him without proof."

"Well then who do you think did it?"

"I don't know."

"Well someone better find out. Professor Xavier is supposed to be protecting us, and he's doing a real hell of a job."

A collective gasp filled the room at that, but Julian didn't care what they thought. It was the truth, and someone needed to say it.

"The Professor is a telepath, not omniscient," Sooraya said. "He can't know everything."

"He should have known something!"

"What do you want the Professor to do, Keller?" Jay said. "Go around pokin' through other folks minds? If he did that it would make all the ones who hate us right!"

"Someone needs to do something!" Julian said. His hands were balled so tight he could feel his nails cutting into his palms, and his whole body was shaking. Around him, small pieces of debris started to rise off the floor as he lost control and began to project his power.

He swept his gaze across the crowd. "These were our friends!" From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Jessica Vale. "These were our family, and someone killed them!"

"Julian," Sofia said, in an effort to calm him.

Julian, however, had had enough, and stormed away. "Someone needs to do something!" he snapped over his shoulder, and left the crowd behind.

###

Melita tapped a few notes into her iPad while she waited in Stryker's outer office for the technicians to finish packing up their equipment. She wasn't sure whether or not to be disappointed that there was little truly groundbreaking news, despite being one of his few candid interviews since the Alkali Lake incident a decade ago. In fact she wasn't even sure how truly candid he had been, as every word seemed carefully rehearsed to deflect even the hint that his pamphlets and statements might have encouraged the bombing. But it was a live exclusive, and she could not help but dryly think the station manager would be pleased.

"Hey Mel, we're all done here," the cameraman said. "Meet you outside at the truck."

"Right," she said absently, and looked about. Once they all had left the inner office, Stryker had shut the door behind them, and now they were alone with Ms. Braddock, who was busy flirting with the sound technician (and distracting him from following the rest of the techs out the door). She finished her notes and tucked her iPad away, then made her way towards the secretary.

"Get going, Jim, we're needed back at the station," she said. "I'm sure Ms. Braddock has work to do. If you could call it work."

"As much as I enjoy our little sparring matches, Ms. Garner," Braddock said, as Jim reluctantly tore himself away, gathered up his gear, and retreated. "I really don't have time for one today."

"Hm, I'll bet. I'm sure the Reverend has some spinning to do. I didn't have the chance to tell him myself before we were shown the door, but do pass along my thanks for his time, and if he does have any further comments he has my contact information."

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled. Now if you will excuse me, Ms. Garner, I really must get back to work."

"Right, I'm sure it takes a lot of work to keep those lashes fluttering."

And with that, she was out the door.

###

Act II

###

"That's all of them," Scott said from his customary seat next to Jean.

The entire senior faculty was gathered once again in Xavier's office. Little had changed over the past few days, though the thunderstorms brought on by Storm's grief had passed as she regained control of herself, and it was what should have been a beautiful sunny morning. Scott sympathized with her; all of them had found it difficult to keep themselves under control in the aftermath, but none worse than the students. Powers had been going off uncontrolled throughout the building, though nothing so severe as to place the lives of the children at risk.

Jean's face was drawn and tired, and Scott automatically laid his hand on hers and gave it a squeeze. The expression was mirrored by the Professor's features as he stared at the monitor in front of him. For the school's telepaths and empaths the hours following the bombing were the worst, as they were bombarded by the collective fear and grief of dozens of children in mourning. The adults weathered it as best they could, but Scott couldn't begin to understand just how the children managed it.

"The rest of the families will be coming here," Scott added. "They felt that their children would wish to remain at the school with their friends."

Xavier gave a nod and sighed. "Very well, please make arrangements for those who will be returning home. We'll then need to arrange for a service here for the rest."

"I've already spoken with Kurt," Ororo said from the far side of the office. There was still a slight tremor in her voice. "He's willing to perform it himself."

"Good. I can imagine no better choice."

"I think the survivors will appreciate it. It will help them find a more constructive outlet for their grief." Jean said, and her eyes grew distant in that way that told him she was reaching out to their minds. "But there's a great deal of lingering fear and anger that we need to address. We'll need to look into a new television set for the lounge, as well. Mr. Keller wasn't very happy with Stryker's interview."

"I can't say I blame him," Jubilee said with a scowl. She leaned against a bookshelf with her Oakley's in their customary place atop her artfully mussed and spiked black hair, and her arms folded under her breast. "I'm sorry for saying it, Professor, but I'd really love to paf that son of a bitch."

"Calm down, Jubes," Marie said. "That's not goin' to solve anything!"

Jubilee glared at her. "That's easy for you to say. You and Bobby didn't get a front-row seat for what Stryker wanted to do to us. And now it's happening again!"

"We don't know for sure that it was Stryker," Kitty said, from where she was standing with Peter Rasputin towering over her and making her look even tinier than she really was.

"Like hell we don't, if you don't think—"

"That's enough!" Xavier said in stern rebuke. "Until we have facts I cannot and will not make any accusations."

"Yes, Professor," the three girls mumbled together.

"Jubilee, I'd like you to take the children in hand. Please be available for anyone who needs to talk about what happened. But I need you to be able to listen with a clear head. Can I trust you to do this?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good. They are our foremost responsibility." He sighed. "But that no one has come forward to claim credit yet is nonetheless a concern." Xavier turned his attention on Scott. "Have we learned anything more?"

Scott sighed. The past few days had been spent working closely with local and federal law enforcement to try and piece together the moments leading up to the explosion, and he was beginning to chafe under the inaction. "No, Professor," he said. "The device was definitely military-grade..."

Jubilee was about to chime in again, but a glare from the Professor quickly shut her down, and she instead fumed silently. Nonetheless no one in the room needed to be a psychic to know what she thought that meant.

"...but where it came from we don't know," Scott continued. "It certainly didn't come from any manufacturer we can trace through Freedom of Information Act."

"But it wasn't an improvised explosive," Xavier said, making it a statement of fact.

"I must admit to being rather impressed," Hank said, and adjusted his glasses as he reviewed a tablet with the schematics he was able to reconstruct. "It was small but quite powerful, and definitely of professional manufacture. Factory manufacture, if I might add."

Jean frowned. "Do you mean someone has more of these?"

He sighed. "I'm afraid I cannot be completely sure; if there was a serial number or maker's mark those particular fragments didn't survive."

"Logan hasn't had much luck so far, either," Scott said. "He's got a few contacts he hasn't heard back from yet, but nothing concrete enough to take to the authorities or for us to act on ourselves."

Xavier sighed. "Well, then, I supposed there's nothing to do but wait until something turns up. In the meantime, we have a very unpleasant task remaining before us. I suggest we see to it."

###

Melita sat slumped on her stool at the bar and stared at her drink. There were a few other patrons around, most of them occupied by the football game on the television, but Melita herself found little interest in such distractions. Jack watched her closely while he dried and stowed away a few empty glasses, and as he finished cleaning up he flipped his towel across his shoulder in a very TV barman sort of way, and made his way over to her seat.

"You just going to admire that drink all night, or are you going to actually have it?" he asked.

Melita looked up from her contemplation of the glass and the deep amber concoction within. She had asked him for the strongest stuff he had, and her first tentative sip had nearly knocked her right off the stool.

"Actually, I'd like to drown in it," she said.

"Rough day?"

"Horrible day."

"I caught your interview this morning, honey. Work got you down?"

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Christ, Jack, they were just children. I don't care if they were mutants, or black, or white, or Muslim, or gay, or what. They were children! It makes me sick inside just thinking about it."

Jack leaned against the bar and glanced towards a group in the corner that were laughing loudly over some private joke, while others cried out their dismay over some play or other in the game. "You know as well as I do there's people who don't care if it's a kid or an adult. Some people just like to hurt others."

"Yeah, but ..." she trailed off and took a swallow of her drink. She grimaced as it did its best to eat a hole through her esophagus on its way down. "When you were overseas, did you ever see anything like this?"

"Hon' I've seen more than I even want to remember. Some villages we passed through on patrol, we'd find kids, women, grandparents, the lot of them strung up by their own guts by the NVA or VC. Others it was our own boys who did it. That was a disgusting and dirty business, and we did it because we were ordered to. I still wake up at nights seeing the faces of the ones who didn't make it home again." He sighed. "And for what? A few scraps of jungle?"

Melita considered that for a moment. "It's not a jungle this time, Jack. This is our own back yards. We're supposed to be better than this. Beyond this. America is the god damned land of the free, but now we have children being blown up because all they want is to be free to be what they were born.

"I've talked to some of these kids. None of them asked to be born this way, but men like Stryker don't care." Melita let out another frustrated sigh, and took another drink. "Stryker. The nerve of that man! To sit there and blame the school for this? Thirty kids died and he wants to play blame the victim."

"Sounds like you don't like his story."

"I don't. I know, I know, fair and impartial, but god damn it! That man has avoided me like the plague for years, and now all of the sudden he comes forward. It's too damn convenient for me and I don't like it."

"Look, hon', it's not your place to step in and do the FBI's job for them."

"Oh please. I can't believe no one has come forward to claim responsibility. No mysterious tapes to the evening news, nothing on the internet. Nothing!"

"So what do you think?"

"What does it matter what I think? I report facts, babe, not theories." She sighed and tossed back the rest of her lethal cocktail, and fought off a cough as it battled her digestive track on its way down.

Jack rolled his eyes and shook his head, and tapped pointedly on the bar. "Don't give me that crap, Melita, I know you better than that."

She eyed him for a moment, then mopped her brow and shook her head. "I think that bastard had something to do with it is what I think. And I think whatever happens next, it's only going to get worse."

He considered that a moment. "Makes sense, I guess. No one's claimed responsibility which means they're trying to keep a low profile. Which means they wanted to make a statement, but they didn't want to bring the authorities down on them like a sledgehammer."

Melita nodded at his assessment. "Which means whoever it is has something else planned."

"Great, hon'," he said dryly, "you've cracked the case."

"Oh please. If the two of us can sit here and hammer that out do you really think the FBI couldn't?"

"So what are you going to do?"

She sighed. "I think I need to go home and get some sleep. You're right, it's not my place to do their job for them. I just hope they do figure it out before this all explodes into a full-blown war. This is just the sort of thing a terrorist like Magneto needs."

Jack nodded. "Men like that; Magneto and Stryker, they don't need much. Smart guys. Scary smart. They remind me of this one VC group we dealt with. You see, one of our AirCav platoons got wind they were holed up in a particular village, so they went in and leveled the place. Turns out it was a false report. A hundred men, women and children were killed by some overzealous Airborne kids so desperate to dig those guys out they didn't care how innocent they were.

"The very next day the same VC group they'd been hunting got every other village for 20 miles gunning for that squad. Most until that day wanted nothing to do with them. Changed their minds the minute their neighbors were slaughtered."

"Thanks, Jack," she said as she gathered up her belongings. "As if I didn't have enough to worry about."

Jack just chuckled. "You good to drive, or do I need to call you a cab."

She waved him off. "I'll be fine, I walked, anyway."

"Your big surly friend ain't around to see you get home, is he?"

Melita laughed. She hadn't seen Logan — and his bizarre young friend — since the night she was attacked months ago. But she had little doubt he would be knee-deep in whatever off the record investigation Xavier had undoubtedly ordered in the wake of the attack. "No, but don't worry. Good night, Jack," she said.

"Night, Mel."

She hung her purse on her shoulder, and started for the door. Just as she reached for the handle to let herself out she heard her phone beep, and with a mutter of annoyance under her breath she dug it out of her purse and checked it. There was a single text message from an anonymous number on the screen, and Melita frowned as she unlocked her phone to read it:

We need to talk. Meet me here — your regular stool — at 9:00pm the day after tomorrow.

Melita blinked at the message. There was nothing more, and the number was blocked.

She swept her eyes across the bar, but Jack had gone back to work and had his back turned, and none of the other patrons paid her any attention. Melita opened the door and stepped outside, but she saw nothing more than the usual pedestrian and vehicle traffic under the light of the City's street lamps. She frowned; none of her contacts would have sent her such a cryptic message, and she little liked the thought of someone watching her habits that closely. Ok, so I come here a lot, but do I really have a regular stool?

Any further deliberation was cut off when the phone began to ring, and Melita jumped in spite of herself. Still troubled by the mysterious message, she settled her Bluetooth over her ear as she started back up the street.

"Garner," she said.

"Melita, it's Bob," her station manager said.

"What do you have for me?"

"I'd like you to head over to the mutie school tomorrow morning and get Xavier's reaction to the Stryker interview."

Melita scowled uselessly at the phone in her hand. "'Mutie school,' Bob? Really?"

"Whatever, look, the phones have been ringing off the hook all day wanting to know Xavier's reaction to Stryker's comments. They seem to like you over there, so just take care of it."

She eyed the text message on her phone as she walked. "All right, I'll head over first thing tomorrow."

"You're beautiful Mel, thanks."

"And Bob," she added, "I don't know for sure yet, but something came up tonight I think could be big. I won't know yet for a couple days, but be ready to run with it if it pays out."

###

The hollow feeling just wouldn't go away.

Jay sat on the edge of his bed, his wings hanging dejectedly as he stared across the room at Mark's empty bed. There were a few cardboard boxes on the floor next to it, but somehow he just hadn't worked up the motivation to start packing up his belongings. He didn't really know why he even volunteered when the staff were completely willing to do it themselves.

They'd certainly gotten along well enough, and Mark's deep love of music was certainly something he could appreciate. Now he and so many others were gone.

He clutched the crucifix tucked beneath his shirt, closed his eyes, and listened.

God, tell me what to do. Please, tell me why?

But he heard nothing. No answer was forthcoming. Nothing to fill the silence. Nothing to fill the fresh void ripped into his soul. All he felt was the cold metal of the crucifix pressing against his breastbone.

It was late, but he couldn't stand to sit alone in an empty room any longer.

He quickly dressed and grabbed his jacket, and approached the door to his room. From the sound of things there was no one out in the hall, and a quick peek as he cracked the door confirmed it, so he slipped out and made his way to the window at the end. A few moments later he was on the ledge outside, weathering the bite of the late-fall cold. There was no moon or stars that night, at least not to his eyes, but the skyglow of New York City was clearly visible to the southwest.

Jay leapt into the air, and with a few powerful beats of his wings he ascended skyward, the chill wind rushing past him as he circled the school, gained his bearings, and started off towards the City.

#

Unknown to Jay his departure was marked by a pair of thoughtful green eyes watching him from the roof.

#

Stryker watched the news feed on the monitor in his office, and scowled. Though he had expected the deluge of calls in the wake of his interview, that was a minor nuisance Elizabeth had handled with her own peculiar blend of efficiency and apathy. What truly displeased him was the reaction to the attack.

Men, women and children bundled in their coats and hats demonstrated in front of the Xavier School.

Demonstrated for the school.

Signs and placards with slogans ranging from "We Are the Xavier School" to "Mutant Lives Matter" were held aloft while people chanted, and candles and flowers were laid before the gates under the watchful eyes of Xavier's militant faculty members.

"In the hours since the attack," the field reporter was saying, "we have seen an unprecedented rise in support from residents in the Salem area, and we've just begun to see the first out-of-state arrivals. Some we believe are relations and friends of the student population, but others have come to lend their voices in support of equal protection for all citizens."

The camera then cut to a trendy-looking woman working the counter of a café. "They're just kids," the woman, identified by the newsfeed's graphics as one Luna DePaula, said. "I mean they just want to live their lives like the rest of us. My girlfriend and I can both sympathize over what it's like to be persecuted just for being born, so it's easy to see where they're coming from."

Another cut, and another voice giving the same message: "This is America, man. I mean, we're supposed to be the Land of the Free, right? How free can we be if kids are getting blown up just for being born different?"

Stryker clenched his fists and ground his teeth as soundbite after soundbite brought voice after voice forward in support of the abominations. His great blow struck for the good of his species subverted and twisted into an act of terror. He shut off the report and mopped his face in frustration. It was his fault, of course. He might have taken a firmer stance against the school during his interview, but no, the war of words required a subtler touch.

He was about to pick up his phone to make a call to deal with this situation, when he was interrupted by a knock at the door. It opened a crack and Elizabeth poked her head around the frame.

"Pardon the interruption, sir, but Jay Guthrie is here and asked to see you," she said.

Stryker held back a sigh of frustration and disgust, and nodded. "Yes, I thought he might come. Do show him in, thank you."

Elizabeth disappeared, and a moment later Jay slipped through the door and shut it behind him. His jacket was thrown about his wings, and the expression on his face looked positively miserable.

"Come in, my son, come in," Stryker said, rising from his desk and motioning to the conversation circle. "Please, have a seat."

"Thank you, sir," he said. "I know it's a bit late, but thank you for seein' me."

"Say nothing of it. Please, I wish to express my sincerest condolences for this horrible, horrible tragedy."

Jay nodded and sunk heavily in one of the chairs while Stryker joined him.

"How are you doing?" he continued. "Is your family all right?"

"They're shaken up like the rest of us, but ok otherwise. Everyone is scared and upset, and some folks are just mad."

"Completely understandable."

"There's some that blame you."

Stryker hesitated a moment. He was confident he had covered his involvement well enough, and with his people shielded from telepaths there shouldn't have been any way for them to trace the attack back to him, but...

"Do they?" he asked.

Jay nodded. "Mostly Julian Keller, an' I think Ms. Lee. She says she was one of the kids at Alkali Lake ten years ago."

He made an exaggerated sigh for Jay's benefit. "I see. Old prejudices, then."

The mutant sniffed, and tears welled up in his eyes. Stryker dug a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to him to dry his eyes. "I just don't understand why! We're all just kids an' weren't hurtin' nobody!"

"Hate, my son, is seldom rational. You can even see that for yourself with those levelling accusations without evidence."

"I just can't help but think that maybe you were right. About what you said with Ms. Garner that hidin' away from everyone else is just makin' it worse."

"People do fear what they don't understand, and that has, perhaps, been a failure of Xavier's policies."

"It's just ..." he trailed off for a moment and choked out a sob. "I mean they were my friends! An' now they're gone. It's like ..."

Stryker reached out and laid a hand on his arm. "Go on."

"It's like with Julia," he said, and sunk deeper into his chair. "When she died I felt like my heart had been tore out. It's the same feelin' now. And what if one of my sisters had been on that bus? One of the Vale sisters was, an' Jess hasn't hardly come out of their room since. What if Soo—" he caught himself at that thought and stopped suddenly, conflicting emotions warring for prominence in his mind. Clearly, this Sooraya Qadir meant a great deal to him, and Stryker gave that a brief and careful moment of consideration while he waited for Jay to continue.

"I just can't understand why God would let this happen," Jay finally said after a moment to collect himself.

You really don't see?

"Perhaps it is a part of God's test," Stryker said instead of giving voice to his thought. "Perhaps it is a part of His plan. Perhaps it was even meant as a warning that the current course is unsustainable, and the nature of the relationship between man and mutant must change, lest this horrible violence spread."

"It's just we're supposed to be safe, there!" Jay said, and the frustration in his voice was palpable.

"And that may be why it was targeted; just as happened on 9/11, terror is never more effective than when it strikes in a place where you feel the safest."

"What should I do?"

"Have faith in God, my son. When He is ready, He will reveal His purpose to you. And perhaps He had reason to call the souls of those who were lost to His side."

Jay nodded glumly, and Stryker smiled.

Well done, my son. You were of more help to God's plan than you know. The time will come for the righteous to strike in earnest, and you will have paved the way for the crusade.

###

Act III

###

Storm made her way along the drive towards the gates. The biting autumn breeze stirred her short and spiked white hair, but the skies were bright and clear. It was rapidly growing colder as winter approached, but much like Bobby Drake, though her breath misted in the chill of late New York autumn, the cold had no effect on her.

It took all of her discipline to keep her anger, frustration, and grief from influencing her power and calling down a tempest on the school, and it was not at all helped by the rapidly-spreading news of Stryker's interview on the aftermath of the attack. She, however, didn't have the luxury of expressing her opinion in front of the student body, so forced it down deep and tried not to dwell. Unlike Jubilee, Ororo was not so quick to cast blame on Stryker for the attack, but she had to admit it made a certain amount of sense. Unfortunately opinion alone wasn't enough to convict him, and they could only hope Hank would turn up something.

She sighed heavily. Not that that understanding made it any easier.

As she reached the gate she was astonished by the size of the crowd outside. Ever since the first news reports of the attack people had been approaching the school, starting with their neighbors in Salem, with a few more filtering in from surrounding communities. Now they were seeing the first visitors from out of state — some were the families of the children who had been killed or had already been coming up to visit for the holiday before it was so cruelly disrupted, but still others had no connection to them at all. And all of them had come for the same purpose: To express their support and solidarity.

It was a sentiment to which she was unaccustomed, but times had changed in the past decade, and despite all of the hardships and tragedies, a part of Ororo held hope that Xavier's long dream was indeed finally coming to fruition.

She paused and watched the demonstrations, and was soon aware that there was nonetheless a new division that hadn't been there before: A smaller group demanding the school's closure and the ouster of its residents, spoken with the same undercurrent of hatred and fear she found most familiar. Ororo scowled as the two sides shouted at one another — their supporters doing their best to drown out the hateful vitriol of those who despised her kind. The last thing they or their students wished was to become the center of this battleground.

A fresh disturbance drew her attention, and a car slowly made its way up the drive towards the gate and sought a path through the crowds on either side of the road. Ororo carefully scrutinized the vehicle as it approached; a large white van with a satellite dish on top, and "Fox News" printed in bold letters on the side. She sighed and rolled her eyes. Another reporter.

She made her way over to the gate and opened it as the van came to a stop. The driver revved his engine and pushed through, though fortunately none of the crowd tried to follow. Ororo closed the gate again once the van was clear and made her way to the driver's side door. As she reached it, a woman poked her head out leaning over the driver, and Ororo managed a smile.

"Hello, 'Ro," Melita Garner said, in her peculiar blend of African-American and Mexican accents. "How's my favorite weather goddess this morning?"

"Good morning," Ororo said. "It's been a rough couple days."

"I'll bet. Logan isn't around, is he?"

She shook her head, and folded her arms beneath her breast. "No, he's out right now."

"I'm not surprised. Quite a show you've got going out there."

"You're a little late for that one, so what brings you here?"

"I was hoping I could talk to the Professor, my producer is wanting a response to the Stryker interview," Melita said.

Ororo sighed and nodded. "Oh, I'm sure he does. Go on up, I think if the Professor has any time for the media right now, he'll be glad to give you a few minutes."

"Thanks, 'Ro." Melita sobered as she craned her neck to look up the drive towards the school. The spot where the bus had stood was cordoned off with police tape, and was a still clearly-visible as a black scar on the ground. "Look, I'm really sorry about what happened. I hope the police catch whoever did this."

She accepted the condolence with a small nod. "Thank you. I really mean that."

"Look, I've got to go to work, so I'll catch up with you and Jean later? Take care."

Ororo waved her goodbye, and stepped clear of the van as the driver started on again and made his way towards the school, leaving her behind to watch.

She sighed heavily and turned back to the gates, and nearly jumped out of her boots when with a bamf! and a black cloud of smoke, Kurt Wagner appeared in front of her, dressed in a long overcoat over his eclectic choice of wardrobe, and smelling strongly of sulfur. But as frightening as his appearance was to those who didn't know him better, Ororo found it comforting to see him again.

"Guten morgen, 'Ro!" he said, his English colored by a mild German accent. Ororo willed her heart back down into her chest where it belonged, and a troubled look passed across his blue features. "I hope I didn't startle you, but with all the commotion out front this was the easiest way to get in."

"Good morning, Kurt," Ororo said, and gathered the demonic-looking mutant into an embrace. His long, prehensile tail twined around them both as he pulled her close, and he gave her a friendly peck on the cheek. "It's ok, really. We've all kind of been on edge the last few days."

They parted, and Kurt's three-clawed hands clasped hers. "I can imagine. When you called and told me what happened, I ..." he trailed off, his voice choking up. "I knew I should come right away."

"Thank you for getting here so quickly," she said. "We've missed you, here. And I'm sure Jubilee will appreciate having someone to help her, too."

Kurt offered her his arm, and Ororo smiled and accepted it as they started back up the drive. His tail twitched back and forth as they walked, and his mood was somewhat more subdued than she could ever recall from him. "Such a horrible thing. After all the hard work to make things better with the outside world, to see it come to this."

She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. "They were just children," she said, and couldn't keep the anger from her voice. "They murdered children, and they didn't even have the courage to take credit for it."

He stopped and took hold of her by her shoulders. "Don't let this happen," he said sternly. "You've come so far with all the anger I saw in you when we first met. This was the work of devils and they will be punished."

Ororo scowled at him. "This wasn't a mob throwing garbage, Kurt. Someone murdered these babies, and I can't just stand by and not want justice."

"Justice, or vengeance?" Kurt asked pointedly, and his golden eyes gazed deeply into hers for a few long moments as if searching to pull her answer from them

She sighed. "You know me too well."

Kurt offered her a smile. To any who didn't know him his yellow eyes, ritually scarred and tattooed features, and sharp teeth would present a ferocious visage, but despite all he'd been through in his life, Kurt may have been the gentlest soul she knew. One of his clawed hands lifted, and he gently brushed her cheek. "I do. And I also have faith that there will be justice if we place it in the hands of God."

They resumed their walk back to the mansion. "I can't help wanting to do something. These were my kids, we were supposed to protect them."

"And perhaps in time you will, but don't let anger drive you to it. That's Logan's way. Someone has to keep a level head when the Wolverine is around, after all."

Ororo managed a soft laugh at that. "I know, and thank you." She sighed. "I'm glad you're back, Kurt, even if just for a few days. We've missed you here."

"I have, too. Now let us look to the task for today."

They made the rest of the walk back in silence, and soon passed the black scar in the earth where the bus had stood, and on into the school.

###

Jubilee was just about to knock on the door when she heard the Professor's voice from the other side.

"Come in," he said.

She sighed — not really in the mood to be amused by his awareness of visitors before they even arrived — and stepped into the Professor's private office. He was working at his terminal and had his Bluetooth on his ear, so she quietly made her way to the desk.

"Yes," Xavier said, to whomever he was speaking with. "Thank you, Mr. Osbourne, I'll be sure to tell them." Xavier gave a small, impatient smile. "Oh, we'll let you know, I assure you, and I know the children will appreciate your kind words, thank you. All my best to Sharon. Good bye."

Jubilee frowned and lowered herself into one of the seats across from his desk as he disconnected the call. "What was that about?" she asked.

Xavier removed his earpiece and set it aside. "Oh, I was just having a conversation with an old acquaintance who wished to give me advanced warning that, in solidarity with the attack on the school, he intends to call a press conference to publicly come out as a mutant."

"Who is it?"

"Ozzy Osbourne," Xavier said, a hint of amusement appearing on his weary features.

She blinked. "Wait, you're telling me Ozzy Osbourne is one of us?"

"Of course! While not quite as impressive as Logan's healing abilities, Mr. Osbourne was born with a uniquely powerful metabolism that allows him to break down toxins better than any normal human."

"That...actually makes a lot of sense," she said, rather dumbstruck at the notion.

Xavier chuckled in amusement. "Indeed. It seems he's just the latest, as well." He folded his hands in front of him and considered them for a moment. "If whoever planned the attack was hoping to spark a reaction from the public, I have to imagine this isn't what they intended. You have looked out your window?"

She nodded. It had been hard to miss the demonstrations going on outside the school's grounds. After everything that had happened over the past decade, to see people — normal people — come forward in outrage over assaults against mutants did give her a warm feeling. It couldn't quite dull the pain of the past few days, but in a strange way it helped.

Jubilee sighed. "Maybe that's what the kids need to see," she said wearily, and mopped her face.

Xavier frowned at her. "Are you alright?"

"I'm really not," she admitted, and fought back the tears threatening to well up in her eyes. "I mean, I was there when Stryker attacked us. And I got the all-expenses-paid trip to his Alkali Lake lab. You know that I had nightmares for weeks afterwards! But that was nothing like this. This ..."

"Is beyond comprehension," Xavier finished for her.

She nodded.

"They're all frightened," he continued. "I can feel it. Even now when I try to close my mind off I can still feel it tugging at me."

"I'm trying, Professor," she said, and this time she couldn't hold back her tears. "I know I'm supposed to talk to them and help them through this, but I don't know if I can do it. Not when I'm barely holding it together myself!"

She mopped her face, and heard the quiet squeak of his wheelchair as he came around the desk to lay a hand on her shoulder. "Someone once told me, a long time ago, that the strongest gift I have is the ability to bear the pain of others."

"Who said that one?"

He gave her an odd smile. "That is a very, very complicated answer, and a very long story. But I have dedicated my life to taking on others' pain, and helping them build on it and find the strength to endure. And I do that by teaching them that they have a place to belong, and that what they are is unique and special."

"Yeah, but you can just ..." She placed her index fingers against her temples for emphasis. "Poof! You know? Reach in there and make them feel good. I can't do that!"

"Oh, I wouldn't say it's that easy," he said. "The hardest thing I ever had to learn was when not to use my power, and to let the ones I try to help find their own answers. You see, it's one thing to share another's pain, but something else entirely to go in and try to take it away entirely.

"I am proud of what you've chosen to do with your life, and I can think of no one better-equipped to help these children through what they are experiencing now."

Jubilee ran a hand through her spiked hair. "Because of Alkali Lake?"

He nodded. "You understand their fear and anger at this attack."

"But I'm not a licensed therapist, I'm not even trained for crisis management. I was just a caseworker."

"What you are," Xavier said, "is a good listener. The students feel comfortable coming to you because, since you're not a teacher they see you as one of them. It certainly helps that you've fought the desire to grow up with every fiber of your being."

Jubilee looked at him, and she managed a small laugh at the small smirk of amusement on his lips. "Yeah, well, when you didn't have much of a childhood it's kind of hard to let go of what you did have."

Xavier took her by the hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "All I ask of you is to do the best you can. If you feel any of the children need more help than what you can provide let me or Jean know and we can make those sorts of arrangements. That is, after all, what your responsibilities were at home."

She thought back to the long hours going between the kids and the system, making the arrangements for them to visit therapists or doctors, or whatever other assistance they needed. He was right, of course. No matter how much she wished she could, there were some kids that she just couldn't help herself, and had to call in the professionals. "They were," she admitted. "I guess I just don't know what I can do when I'm needing someone, too."

He smiled. "That, Jubilee, is what you have me for. I'm here for all of you, even my children that should have grown up a long time ago."

"Well, thanks, I guess." Before she could say anything else there was a knock at the door, and Jubilee twisted around in her chair to see who the visitor was.

"Come," Xavier said.

The door opened, and Melita Garner stepped inside. "Good morning, Professor Xavier," she said.

"Ah, hello, Melita," he said, and turned his attention to Jubilee. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but if you need a few more moments ..."

"No, it's ok," Jubilee said, and rose from her seat. "I guess I actually need to get back to work. Thank you, Professor."

He met her hand for another gentle squeeze, and offered her a last parting smile. "Any time, Jubilee."

She took a moment to straighten up a bit as she left the Professor and made her way out the door. The reporter stepped aside and nodded to her politely, and the rest of her crew waited for her to leave Xavier's office and step into the library before hauling their cameras, microphones, and other equipment inside. Jubilee sighed as she turned for her own office, and mentally braced herself for the afternoon to come.

###

Cessily hugged her knees hugged tightly against her chest, and watched the television hung up in the lounge (the replacement for the replacement Julian had smashed, though fortunately he had spared this one), while workmen busied themselves measuring and replacing the glass windows along the western wall. With everyone confined to the grounds for now there was nowhere else for them to go, and none of the staff wanted to ban the students from their only source of relaxation, so the maintenance crews did their best to keep the noise down rather than shoo them away from the lounge.

She glanced towards the other end of the couch, and Sofia curled up and looking as dejected as she could remember. Julian had all but disappeared after his tantrum the other day, and he hadn't even talked to her, Sofia, Sooraya, or even Victor or Santo since. Cessily sighed. She could understand he was angry about what happened, but it wasn't right for him to take it out on his friends.

Cessily returned her attention to the television. "Can you believe this?" she said and pointed to the latest news report, more out of a desire just to hear Sofia say something than any real need for conversation.

The news helicopters were still hovering over the school, only their attention had shifted from the center of the explosion to outside the privacy wall. Hundreds of people were gathered on either side of Graymalkin, with the road neatly dividing them into two distinct camps; on one side, those who had come forward from Salem and the neighboring communities, and now even as far as China to demonstrate in support of mutants. Some of whom she suspected a decade ago might even have been on the other side of the street. There stood those who came to protest the school. Some were total Westboro-lite douchebags with their "God Hates Mutants" and other vitriol. More had appeared since Stryker's comments, bearing signs and placards supporting his criticism of the school, if not quite as hostile as the more extreme protestors. So far things had been relatively peaceful, but she could still see (if not hear) the shouting matches across the lines.

Cessily glanced at Sofia again when she didn't respond, and found her staring at her phone.

"Earth to Sofia," Cessily said. "Come in, Sofia!"

Again there was no response, so she rolled her eyes, dug into her hip pocket for her own phone, and typed in a quick message. Sofia's phone beeped and she jumped a little, but that was enough to rouse her from whatever daze she was in.

"Oh, sorry, Cess," Sofia said, when she saw her message. "Yeah, I know, it's crazy. I keep expecting a fight to break out."

Cessily frowned at her. "Are you ok? You've been spacing out all morning."

She sighed. "It's nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing? Look, I know Julian's been avoiding everyone, but believe me when I say that's totally normal for him when he's in a bad mood. I know Santo follows him around like a big puppy, but Julian's always had that same macho 'I'm too big to feel' thing going."

Sofia glanced sidelong at her. "It's not that ..."

She trailed off, but Cessily wasn't about to let her escape without whatever was bothering her unsaid.

"Then what is it?"

At first the other girl didn't respond, and just returned her attention to her phone. But just as Cessily was about to prod her again she let it spill. "It's my father," she said. "He called me this morning and asked me to come home."

Cessily blinked. Sofia's rough relationship with her father wasn't exactly a secret (as much as anything could be a secret with Quentin Quire poking around in everyone's brains when he got bored. Which as it turned out was pretty much all the time). For a moment, that revelation left Cessily at a loss for words. "That's...uh...that's great, right?" she finally asked after a moment to find her voice.

"It's wonderful," Sofia said, but the strain in her voice betrayed her misgivings.

"But?"

She sighed. "But the last time I saw him we didn't exactly part on the best terms. He didn't even say a word to me; he just loaded me up in the car and had Derrick drop me off. And we haven't said a word to each other since.

"And then he calls me. Just like that, he calls me and says he wants me to come home."

Cessily frowned. "Have you talked to Julian, yet?"

Sofia shook her head. "No, I haven't even seen him."

"Oh," Cessily said, and worked her jaw thoughtfully for a moment. "So what are you going to do?"

Sofia sniffed, and wiped a tear that escaped the corner of one brown eye from her cheek. "I don't know. Ever since my mother died, all I wanted was to have a family again. For a time I had it here, but what's going to happen now?"

"I don't know," Cessily admitted. It was a thought that had been weighing on her as well; David Alleyne was considering his Harvard application, and there was a question over whether the school would even reopen in the wake of the bombing. Jessica Vale would be going home as she couldn't bear to stay in Westchester after her sister's death, and she wouldn't be the only one to go. "You ought to talk to Julian, though."

"I know! But what do I even say? Oh, sure, he's got his own family to go to..." Cessily almost opened her mouth to interject, but thought better of it. Julian's business is Julian's business. "...but things between my father and I were never very comfortable. He didn't believe I was even his daughter, at first! Can you imagine just how humiliating it was to have to go through multiple paternity tests before he finally accepted me?"

"No, I can't," Cessily admitted. "I mean, people can change, right?"

"I suppose. Santo is as big of an idiot as he's ever been, but Julian is almost a decent human being now." The last Sofia added with a small smile, and Cessily laughed a bit in spite of herself.

"Oh come on, he was never that bad. But yeah, you've done a pretty good job training him." She paused for a moment to share a giggled over the joke, before continuing. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

"Look, Sofia, Julian loves you. He's also a big boy, and knows you have to live your own life. And besides, it's not like if you go home you'll be all that far from Salem anyway, right?"

"I suppose so," she said glumly, and then sighed. "One way or another, I really do need to talk to him, especially before he smashes another TV."

They both shared a laugh at that, and for the rest of the day at least things seemed more at ease.

###

Jubilee buried her face in her hands and mopped her face. The rest of the day had been exceptionally difficult as one by one she was visited by the student body. All of them were asking the same questions: Why us? What did we do? Why did it have to be so-and-so? What happens now?

She was exhausted. She wished she had answers for them all. She wanted nothing more than to be able to tell them all it was just a bad dream and when they woke up again everything would be all right. But it wasn't. And it wouldn't. Jubilee had lived that dream before, and she knew that there was no waking from the nightmare they shared now. Their friends had gone, and someone had stolen them. The more she listened, the harder and harder it was to keep going on. She wanted to lock her office door, curl up in a corner, and hide, but the words of the Professor continued to echo in her ears: She had a job to do, and the children were looking to her for help. Jubilee wasn't sure whether it was just the memory of his advice acting like an anchor to keep her from being swept away by their grief, or if there was some slight touch of his power he projected to give her strength, but she made it through the day.

Now she could close her office and have a good cry.

Jubilee sighed. Well, she could if she had any tears left to shed after the last few days.

She was just getting up to leave when there came a hesitant knock at the door. For a moment Jubilee was tempted not to say a word; to pretend like she was already gone, but she knew she couldn't do that. They needed her. Even if she couldn't make the pain go away, even if she couldn't share it like the Professor, she was their rock, just like the Professor was hers.

"Come in," she said.

The door opened, and Julian Keller edged uncertainly inside, and shut the door behind him.

"Mr. Keller," she said, and leaned her hip against her desk. "I wasn't expecting ..."

Her words died in her throat as Julian's legs collapsed beneath him and he flopped down with his back supported by the wall, and began to cry in rivers. Jubilee immediately cross her office and lowered herself beside him, gathering him into her arms as the anger he had been projecting ever since the attack failed in a torrent of anguish and sorrow.

###

Act IV

###

Melita made her way across the bar and settled herself in what she guessed would be her usual spot. The place was rather crowded tonight, but none of the patrons were faces she recognized from the other night, and she felt an uneasy flutter in her belly over the message. Jack greeted her by pouring her usual and setting it down in front of her.

"Hey babe," he said. "Saw your interview with Xavier yesterday."

"Hey, Jack," she said. Melita took a quick drink and sloshed it around her mouth for a moment before swallowing. "You know if anyone could tell off the Devil himself and still have the diplomacy of a saint, I swear it would be Charles Xavier."

Jack chuckled. "Well, I'm sure it will give Stryker a thing or two to think about next time he chimes in. So what brings you by tonight?"

She leaned in and lowered her voice conspiratorially "Has anyone been looking for me?"

"Looking for you?" He frowned and shook his head. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"As I was leaving the other night someone sent me a message asking to meet me here tonight. Weirdest damn thing."

"Sorry hon', but no one's asked about you, not even hoping for an autograph."

She shrugged. "Maybe it's nothing, but it kind of freaks me out a bit, you know?"

Jack didn't answer, and just stared absently at the countertop between them. "Jack?" she said in a vain attempt to get is attention, and she quickly waved her hand in front of his eyes in confusion. "Hey, you in there?"

Again Jack said nothing, and didn't even seem to be aware of her presence. The flutter in her belly grew more intense, and as Melita swept her eyes around the bar she was suddenly aware that everything seemed to have stopped – drinks were half-raised to lips, a falling napkin hovered a foot above the floor, faces froze in smiles or sneezes or in the midst of conversations, the clocks had stopped, and even the pictures on the televisions were still.

"Ok, this isn't funny," she said, a nervous tremor in her voice.

She heard the sound of footsteps behind her — the sharp clack of heels on the hard floor — and a familiar figure drew up beside her.

"Good evening, Ms. Garner," Ms. Braddock said, and appropriated Melita's glass to take a drink.

Melita blinked as much in surprise to see her there — and mobile when the rest of the world had frozen — as in indignation at stealing her drink. "Ms. Braddock," she murmured.

"Please, we're off the clock now, darling. Call me Betsy. I see you got my message."

"That was your message?"

Betsy smiled and responded with a grunt of affirmation.

"What's going on, here?"

"Let's see, how does Charles put it ... Do you really think that his school is the only place to find people with gifts?"

"You're a mutant!"

"Very good! I'm glad to see you're keeping your journalistic skills sharp."

"But you're working for Stryker."

Betsy took another drink. "You and I have a mutual friend who asked me to keep a close eye on the good Reverend," she said.

Understanding slowly started to work its way through her brain as she processed this particular surprise. "Logan ... Are you one of Xavier's people, then?"

"Not precisely, no. We're not at cross-purposes, but I'm something more of an independent player in these little games. You see, Logan thought it would be a better idea to have someone not associated with the school observing him and his church than one of Xavier's people, so he called me. Well, it would be doing a friend a favor, and I have plenty of experience with these sorts of things. Unfortunately, I've run into a bit of a problem I need your assistance with."

Melita narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Betsy avoided eye contact and instead focused her attention on one of the stilled TV screens. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Somehow Stryker has found a way to shield himself from my telepathy. His whole office is a bloody dead zone; the moment I walk in it feels like suddenly going blind. More than that, even away from the office I can't read him or any of the other members of the church hierarchy. Oh, I'm aware of individuals developing means of shielding themselves from prying minds — Magneto's helmet comes to mind — but I've never heard of anything on this scale. That sounds rather suspicious to me, don't you agree?"

She nodded idly, not entirely understanding her meaning.

"Well," Betsy continued, "I thought no great loss I'll just do it all the old-fashioned way. And what better way to do it than as Reverend Stryker's secretary?" She grunted a short laugh. "Well, the good Reverend is a right paranoid bastard. Every bug I place on his phone or in the office is neutralized, and if there's incriminating files they're not stored on any computer at the office, or in the daily filing which is the mind-numbing balance of my day. He's being very, very careful to separate whatever he has going on from the day-to-day operations of his church."

"What is going on?"

"I'm not entirely certain, but I have reason to believe that it's connected to the rash of recent mutant disappearances in New York, and that Stryker was behind the bombing at the school."

A hollow feeling filled Melita's gut at that pronouncement. "Stryker killed those children?"

Betsy twisted her face into a scowl. "I believe so. I can't prove it yet, but there's enough circumstantial evidence there. There's a folder with some background on several key members of the church next to your stool. Quite interesting reading, actually. Most of them are former military personnel — including several with black ops experience.

"There's more: Stryker is in close contact with a man named Adam Harkins. Unfortunately I've not been able to find out just what their many conversations are about, but I can also find no record the man even exists."

Melita considered that for a moment. "Ok, you've got me interested, but you have to know I can't run anything like this. Not without solid facts to back it up. Why do you need me?"

"Because as I said, Stryker is a right paranoid bastard. I'm not part of his church or his inner circle, just a hired hand to keep up the public office, so he doesn't exactly trust me. In fact I spotted one of his tails as I was on my way here."

Melita cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, but all she could see were the frozen faces and bodies of the patrons. "Aren't you taking a big risk coming here, then? Stryker doesn't exactly like me, and I wouldn't be surprised if he's the one who tried to have me killed a couple months ago."

"Yes, Logan told me about that, and I agree. But don't worry, this is all in your head."

Melita blinked in confusion, but didn't press her.

"As for why I need you, I'd like you to take a look into Stryker's associates. As you're not being watched every hour of the day — and I do hope the idiots he has following me around are enjoying the nightly show when I'm getting ready for bed — I think you'll have a better chance to dig deeper without arousing suspicion."

"Let's say I find something; what do you expect for me to do with it?"

Betsy swirled her appropriate glass, smiled, and tossed back the last of Melita's drink. "Use your best journalistic judgment. I'll be checking in on you to see if you've found anything. But do keep in mind, I can't believe Stryker would blow up a bus full of children and there not be something more to come."

"Right."

"Good girl. Now, if you'll excuse me I really must dash before my friends outside get suspicious. Thank you for the drink!"

Before Melita could say anything else the bar around her began moving again.

"Mel! Hey!" Jack said, and snapped his fingers in her face.

Melita shook off the fog around her head and quickly looked about, but Betsy was gone.

"You ok, kid?" Jack asked.

"Hm? What?"

"You zoned out there staring at that drink for a few minutes," he said.

Melita looked down, and realized her drink — untouched but for her own brief swallow when she first sat down — was still in her hands. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," she said. "Sorry, it's been a weird few days. Excuse me a moment."

She twisted a bit on her barstool and looked down at the floor. Sure enough, there was a manila envelope propped against her chair.

###

Santo sat on a bench with his rocky bulk squeezed into the custom-tailored suit the school had arranged for him for formal occasions. He didn't have shoes, but frankly he didn't need them, either. His tie was loosened and his top collar was unbuttoned (quite a feat for his massive fingers, of which in other circumstances he might have been proud). He hated playing dress-up, and it had just gotten even more uncomfortable since he manifested, but this time he had no choice.

He drew a heavy sigh and stared at his hands. There wasn't a formal chapel on the grounds, so instead a make-shift one had been erected in the memorial garden tucked away in a grassy area bordered by trees. It was early, still, and the service wasn't due to begin for some time yet, but Santo couldn't stay away. A few space heaters warmed the area and drove away the late-autumn chill. Eighteen caskets were arranged in a neat block behind a podium. Flowers, pictures, and other mementos had been laid atop them by students who came to say their last goodbyes in private before the ceremony. Santo didn't have any words for them. For his friends. Nothing sounded right. Nothing fit. Except maybe to say, "I'm sorry."

He fought back a tear threatening to slip from one eye. He didn't cry. He was a rock. The biggest, toughest, strongest kid in school. Heck, maybe the biggest, toughest, strongest period, though Mr. Rasputin always declined his challenges to a wrestling match to prove it. So he couldn't and wouldn't cry, because he was too strong for that.

But it still didn't keep the hollow, empty feeling from spreading through his gut as, again and again, he saw the flames burning as he helplessly threw aside twisted metal to dig his friends out of the wreckage.

A shadow appeared out of the corner of his eye, in the grassy aisle between the rows of chairs and benches brought out for seating. He already wasn't in the mood for company, but when he saw who it was his rocky lips twisted into a scowl.

Laura hesitated at the back of the aisle, before slowly and cautiously making her way towards the rows of wooden coffins with something clutched in her hands. She was dressed more or less somberly in a knee-length black skirt and shoulder-baring top, with her locket in its usual place. He didn't know what she was looking for, but he certainly didn't like her being there right now.

"What are you doing here, Ice Queen?" he said, grumbling his annoyance.

Laura flinched reflexively at his tone, and tried to shrink into herself. "I thought that Mark would want this ..." she said haltingly, as if not entirely understanding whatever had brought her, and looked at whatever it was she was holding.

Santo looked more closely at it, and recognized Mark's iPod, or the charred and melted bit of plastic that was all that remained of it, and felt a fresh blow to the gut at the sight.

She slowly passed down the rest of the aisle, and easily found her way right to Mark's casket. It was already covered in flowers (almost all of them from the heartbroken girls he left behind), and Laura regarded them for a moment, looking between the ruined iPod and the other offerings with confusion and uncertainty for a few moments, before placing it prominently on top of the pile. She then retreated, and found a seat on the opposite end of Santo's bench (much to his growing annoyance).

"What do you care, anyway," he said.

Laura cocked her head as if she wasn't sure how to answer. "He was kind to me," she said hesitantly, and in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

Santo blinked in surprise at her response. Julian had said he'd actually seen her angry, but Santo hadn't believed it when he said she was actually capable of emotion. Her expression was blank, now, but there was no mistaking the subtle but clear pain in her voice. He tried to say something, but words failed him as a healthy amount of guilt washed over him.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed, and felt incredibly stupid saying it. Laura's expression never changed as she huddled in a not-exactly-dignified manner on the seat, and stared blankly at the ground in front of her.

For some minutes they sat in silence, before Laura finally spoke.

"Mark asked me to go with him," she said, and Santo looked at her in surprise. "I do not understand why."

Laura rubbed one arm as her features bunched in thought, and she struggled through piecing together whatever was on her mind. Santo felt the scowl return to his face in annoyance. He didn't want to talk to her. He didn't want to learn she felt. Or hurt. She was supposed to be an emotionless freak!

"Well I don't either, so I don't know why you're telling me," he snapped.

Laura didn't flinch at the sharpness of his tone this time. She just blinked those big green eyes and gave him a wounded puppy sort of look. "You are angry," she said, a statement of fact.

"No I'm not! I just want to be left alone!" he protested, and Laura sniffed the air in response.

"Why?"

The simplicity and pointedness of the question caught Santo off-guard, and he sputtered for a moment as he tried to think of an answer. Who was she to come out here and invade his privacy, anyway? "What do you mean, 'why?'" he asked when he found his voice again.

She pulled her feet up onto the bench and hugged her legs close against her chest. "I am accustomed to being alone," she said, a bit of hesitation returning to her voice as she reasoned out what she wished to say. "I know I am unwelcome around most of the others, and I find it difficult being around people, anyway."

There wasn't any accusation in her voice, but even Santo had no doubts which group he fell in.

"You do not," she continued. "I find it anathema to your behavior."

"Ana-what?"

Her features scrunched once more in concentration, whatever she was thinking clearly so far from her experience she was finding it difficult to explain. It reminded him of pretty much every time he was called on in class. "You enjoy the company of the others. But now you are avoiding them."

Santo folded his massive arms across his chest and slumped on the bench in a huff. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Why?"

"Because I don't!" he snapped angrily. "Especially not with you. Goth freak."

After everything she had said so far Santo felt a little guilty adding that last part, but a part of him didn't care. He didn't want her there pestering him, and just wanted to be left in peace.

"I am sorry," she said quietly, and just hugged her legs tighter to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. She didn't say another word, and for another long, awkward few minutes let the silence hang between them.

Finally Santo couldn't take it anymore.

"It doesn't matter," he said, not exactly sure why he was talking to her about it at all.

"What does not matter?"

"Talking won't change anything." He hesitated, the memories of the twisted mass of burning metal etched in the back of his mind. "I ..."

He trailed off, and he felt the tears he promised he wouldn't shed well up again. Laura didn't say anything to fill the silence. She didn't even look towards him.

"They were my friends, ok?" he said, ashamed as heard his voice crack. "And now they're all dead and I couldn't do anything about it!"

"The probability of survival for anyone on board the bus lacking enhanced healing or durability was less than one-thousandth of a percent. There was nothing to do."

"I'm the biggest and strongest and toughest guy here!" he snapped. "I should have been there!"

"Your presence would have changed nothing."

"You don't know that!"

Laura finally looked at him again, and while he couldn't put a name to whatever she was feeling, there was clearly something there, and it took him aback to see it so plainly. "I do."

"Look, I don't know where you came from, and I don't care. But they were my friends and I let them down!" Tears began to fall and left dark stains down his rocky cheeks.

"Strength would have done nothing," she said, and hesitated a moment as she once again fought to put her thoughts into words. "This was not your fault."

"Well what do you know about it, anyway?"

"I know failure." This time there was no mistaking the bitterness in her voice, and that gave him pause. "You were not there. I was. I was inattentive."

"Of what?" he asked sullenly.

"I will not be again," Laura said instead, clearly coming to decision about something she had been wrestling over. Santo just blinked in confusion, but she declined to elaborate further.

"So what am I supposed to do?" he asked after several more long moments.

"I do not know." She hesitated again. "I am not good with feelings."

"No duh."

"I do understand culpability, and you are not."

"Then who is?"

"Whoever planted the explosive device." The matter-of-factness of Laura's tone as she said that made Santo's skin crawl.

"Yeah, well, everyone knows it was Stryker. So no big mystery, there."

Laura seemed to consider that for a moment, but said nothing. Not like there was anything to argue. Julian was right. It was Stryker. That's all Santo needed to know about it.

"I just wish I could have done something," he continued.

Laura's cheek twitched, and she shifted a bit on the bench. "Sometimes no matter how you wish, you can do nothing," she said, her voice suddenly going very quiet. Santo glanced sidelong at her, but Laura shrunk into herself and it was clear she would say nothing more.

He wiped the tears from his face with the sound of stone rasping against stone, and for a time they sat quietly and alone with the dead.

###

Josh knocked on Laurie's door. There was no response at first from within, so he knocked a second time.

The hall was filled with people making their way towards the stairs leading down to the main floor. As he left his room and started for Laurie's door, Sofia emerged and gathered Julian into a lingering embrace before the two of them started together down the hall, where they were soon joined by Cessily and Sooraya; Sooraya's form was lost in her voluminous abaya, Cessily in a plain black dress and Sofia in a fashionable suit-dress, and Julian in a typically pretentious suit and jacket. Suits and dresses were the order for the day, and everyone had their own particular spin. Quentin Quire was the most dressed-down of the group, and made his way up the hall in a pair of plaid shorts, a white tee, and a black blazer thrown over all of it. A very prominent button reading, "Magneto Was Right" was fastened to the lapel, and Josh rolled his eyes at the sight of it.

He sighed and leaned against the door frame when his second knock drew no response from within. "Laurie?" he called.

"What's going on?" a voice behind him called, and Josh turned to find Kevin standing there dressed all in black, and with his gloved hands in the pockets of a faux-wool overcoat that reached to his knees. Kevin's expression was distinctly uncomfortable, and Josh wasn't much happier talking to him.

"I came to get Laurie, but she's not answering."

Kevin pushed past him, and Josh scowled at the contact. With his skin completely covered there was no real danger that Kevin's powers would hurt him, but he couldn't prevent the instinctive flinch. For his part Kevin just ignored it and knocked heavily on the door. "Laurie!" he said. "It's Kevin, are you ok?"

"Go away!" came a distant response from the other side of the door. "I'm not going!"

Josh glared at Kevin as he forced him aside again. "Laurie, its Josh. What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm not going!" Though muted by the door between them, Josh could hear the strain in her voice.

"Look, babe, can you open the door?" he said, and ignored the dark look that passed across Kevin's eyes at the endearment. Ford's feelings for Laurie weren't exactly a secret, and Josh chaffed a bit that they existed at all.

"Just go without me!"

"It's your powers, isn't it," Kevin said, and made it a statement of fact. For a few moments she didn't respond, and Josh and Kevin were left standing about awkwardly, each trying to shoulder the other out of the way. "Laurie?"

The lock clicked, and as the door opened a crack Laurie's face appeared. The rims of her blue eyes were red, and her cheeks were stained with tears. Josh wanted nothing more than to wipe them away, but even without Ford in the way he wouldn't have been able to reach her through the narrow opening. "I can't do it."

"Everyone's going to be there," Josh said quietly.

"That's why I can't do it!" she wailed. "I've tried! I've really, really tried! But it's too much."

Josh sighed in frustration and leaned against the doorframe. "Will you at least talk to me? Please?"

Kevin scowled at him. "Look, if she's not feeling up to it and wants to be left alone maybe you should," he said.

"You stay out of this!" Josh said, and wagged a finger in his face.

"Both of you stop it!" Laurie snapped angrily, and Josh and Kevin both staggered as she let loose a barrage of pheromones, laced with her annoyance over their bickering.

"Laurie," Josh began, but she cut him off.

"Just stop it! It's hard enough right now. You don't know what it's like to feel what I've felt from everybody. I've tried to block it out, but it's too much! Julian is angry, Sofia is upset that he hasn't talked to her about what happened, Laura ..." she trailed off, and her voice broke. "Oh god. I can't want to feel what she's feeling again, I don't know how she hasn't tried ..."

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. "I just can't. All of those people there, all of that hurt and anger and sadness." Laurie sniffed. "It's just too much, and feeling how I do about what happened, nobody will want me there."

"That's not true," Josh said.

"You don't understand what it's like to affect others and not be able to stop it."

"Laurie ..."

"Think about it, Golden Boy," Kevin said. "You touch someone you make them all better again, and when's the last time you lost control?"

Josh glared. "Shut up, Kevin! Do you really think you're helping?"

"I said both of you shut up!" Laurie snapped. "After everything else that's happened, you two fighting over me is just making it worse!"

"I'm sorry," he said. "Look, I just know that if you don't go you're going to regret not being there. They were your friends, too, and I think everyone will understand if things get a little extra weepy."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. Both of you. I just can't do it."

"If that's what you want," Kevin said, "no one can force you."

"I just need to be alone. Please."

Josh looked deep into her eyes, wanting nothing more than to hold her and make the emotional overload she was experiencing up and go away. But as much as he hated to admit it, Kevin was right; he couldn't force her to go, and it wouldn't be fair to her. He sighed and nodded.

"Ok," he said. "I understand."

"I'm sorry. Tell everyone I wished I could be there, but I just couldn't handle it."

"All right. But don't blame me if Sofia comes to drag you down," he said, and quirked a sad and lopsided smile.

She managed a small smile herself. "I'll try."

Josh glanced at Kevin, who had turned away and now stood with his back against the wall and fumed darkly. "I'll come see you after the service, ok?"

"Ok."

And with that her face disappeared back into her room, and she shut the door behind her. Josh leaned against the doorframe for a few moments, and heaved a sigh. With nothing more to say, Kevin gave him a last dark look and started off down the hall, his head bowed and his hands stuffed in his coat pockets. Josh watched him go, and resisted the urge to chase him down and give him a solid punch to the face as he followed after to join the others gathering outside. He paused every few steps to glance over his shoulder to see if she might have changed her mind, but the door remained close, so Josh turned his back and hurried on his way.

###

Act V

###

"I am the resurrection and the life," Kurt said, his rosary clutched in one clawed hand, and a bible spread open on the makeshift pulpit that had been erected in the memorial garden. Behind him stood eighteen caskets in solemn rows, and in front of him the students and staff of the school, and the families of the deceased intermingled among them. Humans and mutants, gathered together peaceably in shared mourning for their loved ones. The skies were leaden, and out of the corner of his golden eyes Kurt saw Ororo standing to one side with the Professor, Jean, Scott, Henry, and Jubilee. Her expression was neutral, but he could see the subtle trembling of her features as she held back her grief, and fought to maintain control over her powers.

"He who believes in me, though he die, yet shall live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die," he continued, and swept his gaze across the crowd to take in the rest of the faculty. Kitty and Peter, Marie and Bobby, both couples standing hand-in-hand, such a simple expression of the love they each found here.

"For this slight momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comprehension, because we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient. The things that are unseen are eternal."

He paused, and searched the crowd for the faces of the families; those normal humans who, rather than reject their children for what they were, supported, embraced, and loved them. Who understood them.

"We have come together to honor those lives that have touched many of us. All of us who knew them, we were blessed to be a part of their journey."

His eyes settled on Cessily Kincaid. Had she been capable of tears Kurt knew they would be running in rivers.

"Today we must remember the lives, not the deaths of our fallen friends, for our memories are what keep our loved ones with us, long after they have left our side."

Noriko Ashida sat near the front, her metal gauntlets gleaming. Her jaw was clenched in anger; she was so young, but to see such rage broke his heart. Beside her sat David Alleyne, and Kurt could see that some argument between them had been laid aside for the service. David reached out and took one of her gauntleted hands in his, and for a moment Noriko looked towards him, then turned her attention back to the proceedings and leaned her head against his shoulder as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"The value of life is not judged by its length, but rather by how it is lived. It is what we do with the time we are given that matters. Did we do more good than harm? Did we make more friends than enemies? Did we do all that we could for those we love? Those are the questions we should ask ourselves."

Santo Vaccaro sat quietly at the end of one bench with his head bowed, and his stony (how did his classmates not struggle to think such a description with a straight face?) features unreadable. Victor was beside him, a small green figure next to the mountain of rock. Santo raised one blocky hand to his face, and his shoulders began to shudder as he wept into his palm, and Victor laid a hand on his shoulder.

Kurt continued: "As I look around at the sad faces gathered here today, I can see what a deep impact these lives made on all of us. Today we must say goodbye to our dear friends."

His eye was caught by Julian Keller, who sat with Cessily on one side, and Sofia Mantega on the other, with her arm through his. Julian clasped her hand, and a single tear fell from his eye he hastily flicked away before anyone else could see it.

"I know I speak for everyone when I say, we love and miss you all."

Kurt shifted a bit at his podium, and his tail twitched. "Such friendships are what we live for," he continued. They are not to be cast aside, but rather honored as we move forward in our own journey."

He motioned briefly at the caskets lined up behind him. "They will always be part of us. For these are the very bonds that make us human."

Laura Kinney sat in a back corner of the proceedings, as far as she could place herself from everyone else, with her legs drawn to her chest and her pale arms wrapped tightly about them. At times her green eyes turned towards Jay Guthrie sandwiched between his sisters. There was something thoughtful in the look, but her expression was blank in a way that sent a chill down his spine.

"At times like these it is easy to focus on our anger. At the injustice. At our own failures," he said. As he spoke, his attention was drawn to the back of the aisle, where a new figure appeared; Laurie Collins hesitantly approached the gathering, and made her way toward where Josh Foley was seated. He looked up as she arrived, gave her a small smile, and put his arm around her shoulder to pull her close. She shuddered and tears began to flow in rivers, but a brief gust of wind rolled across the congregation, radiating out from where Sofia was seated. Kevin Ford, as far from Josh as he could get, lowered his head.

"But we must have faith that from darkness, light will come," Kurt continued, and last his eyes settled on Sooraya Qadir, her head masked by her niqab, and her abaya stirring in Sofia's breeze as she murmured a silent prayer of her own.

Kurt quietly closed his bible. "May god have mercy on our souls. Amen."

He then stepped away from the podium, and joined the rest of the faculty as the Professor was brought forward by Jean in the silence that followed. Kurt slid next to Ororo, and she smiled with a small nod. "That was beautiful, Kurt," she whispered.

"Thank you," he said. "Would that I need not have spoken here today at all. But God works in mysterious ways, and perhaps there is a measure of hope to be seen in this tragedy."

Ororo raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you mean?"

"Look around," he said. "Mutants. Normal people. All gathered together for a common purpose. They loved their children for who they were, not in spite of it, and so here they are to grieve alongside that which their kind has long feared.

"Whoever did this terrible thing has already lost. Not just in the next life, but in this one: the Professor's Dream, our Dream, is alive, and enduring."

She followed his gaze, and tears came to her eyes. Kurt reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

###

Jean stopped the Professor in front of the gathering. He sighed heavily. There was a sense of peace in the wake of Kurt's words. He could feel the sorrow, and as his eyes sought out Nori and Julian, the lingering anger. But for the moment, there was peace.

"All of us lost someone here today," Xavier said, and it took great force of will to keep his voice even. "Friends. Family. I don't know what more I can say that Kurt did not already say so eloquently." He glanced towards the blue mutant, dressed in an uncharacteristically fine suit. Then turned his eyes back to the rest of the crowd, and the students in particular.

"As we all know," he continued, "Mark Sheppard had two particular loves; one was, oh, about half the student body." He quirked a grin. "And I think some of the staff as well, not to mention a good portion of the population of Salem Center." A small laugh over Mark Sheppard's well-known teenage fondness for the female gender spread across the gathering.

"The other," he continued more somberly, "was music. Mrs. Sheppard was kind enough to visit me upon her arrival in Westchester, and made a request on Mark's behalf, that this ceremony should be one of celebrating the lives of all those we have lost, and that we shouldn't spend it in solemn silence in the cherished memory of that love."

Xavier nodded to Jubilee, who made her way to the sound system set up in one corner. She pressed a button, and soon the garden was alive with the sound of music as the rhythmic opening of Ozzy Osbourne's "See You on the Other Side" began to play.

"I thought it most fitting," Xavier said, "that rather than any one of us eulogize out friends, our students, and our children, that all of us should share our memories in turn. At this time, I wish to open the podium to any of you who wish to speak."

And as Jean returned him to his place among the staff, one by one the students, the staff, and the families came forward, as the music played.


A Note From The Author

Another difficult chapter to write. I think the hardest thing about writing is to strike the emotional chords, and I can only hope that I succeeded in doing so as we watch the cast react to the previous issue.

As with Stryker's address to the Purifiers, I knew from the start I wanted to use the entirety of Nightcrawler's eulogy from the original books. So I chose to reproduce it here in its entirety — this is an adaptation of the original story, of course — so I give full credit to Yost and Kyle for that bit of writing. I even went so far as to focus on the individual cast members at the same places the book did (with some minor tweaks, of course). I'd already been toying with the idea of having Nightcrawler deliver the eulogy, so decided to go ahead and do it, though in an actual TV series Kurt is probably one of the more problematic characters to have appear due to the makeup and effects involved.

I'd also like to credit an anonymous reviewer with Quentin Quire's "Magneto Was Right" button, as that's very much something I could see that troll doing.

I really couldn't resist the Ozzy Osbourne joke, especially after the JFK gag in Days of Future Past. Osbourne actually does have a genetic mutation that allows him to metabolize some drugs better than a normal person. I kind of see it like the Michael Jackson gag in Men In Black 2. And if this were to be an actual episode, I would absolutely want "See You on the Other Side" to play as part of the soundtrack over the end of the episode.

So we come to the deep breath before the plunge, as we prepare to build up to the "season finale." Stay tuned!