Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words and OC's.

Note: I like to think of chapters as episodes in a season, not so much a three act structure, if that wasn't obvious to begin with! Anyway, if anyone has questions concerning this season (heh heh) feel free to message me. Thank you and, as always, Enjoy! ;D

Chapter 14: There's Something About Jean

I'm seconds away from just collapsing with relief and exhaustion when my earlier suspicion is confirmed. All it takes is a snap of the Bastards' fingers for me to realize he didn't come alone after all. I just manage to whip around and throw up my hands before a woman with red and silver-streaked hair comes cart wheeling onto the stage with a look of murder in her sea green eyes and something sharp and heavy-looking in both hands.

She dives for me, a pair of spiked, brass knuckles on both fists and gives an overly-enthusiastic battle cry. I deflect both blows and land a cut across her cheek with my dagger while she goes staggering, peppering my own face with her blood while she falls to the floor, shrieking. I take her moment of recovery to look around, but the Bastard and anyone else who might have been with him are nowhere to be seen.

Time's up.

The woman leaps to her feet once more, swinging at me madly with a maniacal scream. I dodge her, moving into a Deadlocke stance in order to keep out of her reach and begin moving in swift circles. I dance around her, ducking and weaving away from those killer brass knuckles, but, in my fatigue, my left foot snags on my right and I fall back just as the woman brings her fist down.

The blow that might have bashed my head in lands on the wooden floor between my legs with enough force to splinter it, but before she can tug her hand out of the mess, I kick Knuckles hard in the face then roll to my feet and kick her a second time, the back of my heel making contact with the back of her head. Her face hits the wooden floor with a deafening bang! And I stagger away, trying to think of what to do next. She'll recover soon enough I'm sure and even if she doesn't, I need to get out of here.

Now. I need to find Azazel. If someone else hasn't already.

I back away from the stirring woman, then bring my fingers to my lips and, as a last ditch effort to get away from her, whistle, as high and loud as I can. The sound rings out, aided by the echo of the auditorium, but I'm not sure it's enough. I try calling out telepathically but I can't connect with him. The interference Emma was experiencing earlier must be prohibiting all telepathic communication still.

A long, drawn out groan catches my attention and I turn around, and—the bitch is getting back up!

She shouts something obviously profane at me in Russian, blood cascading from both her cheek and her mouth—where several teeth have been knocked out—then attacks me full on. Her fighting style is so erratic and just plain reckless that avoiding her is just too easy. I bring my fingers up to my lips again, ducking out of her reach, but just as I take a breath to whistle for him again, Azazel teleports before us, his back to the on-coming threat just behind him, a look of permanent irritation on his striking features. I take a running start for him, reaching him in three quick strides, and drape my arms around his shoulders whilst kicking up my legs to the fast moving murderess. I catch her in the weak spot, smashing her in the cheek with the toe of my foot with a quick snap!

"Let's move!" I shout, still holding onto Azazel as I straighten out, but his attention is on the bleeding woman, moaning before us, a look of grim recognition on his striking features.

"Jildara?"

"Azazel!" I snap, my hand appearing at my mouth faster than a whip, and whistle loudly, making him cringe and glare at me accusingly. But he doesn't argue. We teleport onto the roof of the building but he must be distracted because we land so close to the edge that I have to throw us back just to keep from going over.

"Nice going." I mutter, hoisting the Mutant to his feet. I've never seen him look so distorted before. If I weren't dragging the idiot to his feet he'd still be on the floor right now. Or worse, still staring at that Jildara woman. "We need to talk." I add grimly. If I'm going to have any chance of protecting him, Azazel needs to know what's going on.

I glance around, realizing we still haven't heard any word about Jean, yet. But when I ask him, he's still got that far away look and he doesn't respond. I don't even think he heard me. I lift my hand, about to abuse my new found power once more, when he suddenly snaps out of it and catches my wrist with a deathly glare.

"So, you were listening." I smirk, phasing my wrist out of his grasp. I study his face a moment longer, not liking the oddly distant look in his eyes, then ask, "Now, where's Jean?"

We both give a start when a sudden gust of what seems to be wind and dirt blows us over with the force of a small hurricane (I thought the weather report was slightly snowy!). A second gust, stronger than the first, sends us tumbling right over the edge. The horrific sensation of falling overwhelms me and I thrust out my arm, my finger already searching out the trigger of my cuff. My harpoon sinks into the concrete roof, a mere foot or so from the ground, and I throw out a hand, catching Azazel in a half cup of purple energy. I hit the side of the building with an Auh! And hold fast, while that mysterious wind continues to swirl about.

Finally waking the fuck up, Azazel teleports off of the platform and appears beside me, hanging in the air for a bit while his arms wrap around my waist. We teleport onto the soccer field and go stumbling as debris, fog, and snow swirls around us like a vortex. I throw up my wrists to block out the wind, retracting my harpoon back into place, and peer through the whirlwind to see a figure sailing towards us at an alarming, masked amidst the cyclone.

Logan?

"Look out!" I scream, tackling the big, red bimbo as Wolverine hits the soccer field like a meteor, creating a man-sized crater where we once stood. "The hell is going on?!" I shout as I hurry to Logan's side, offering a hand. So done with Azazel right now! Logan takes the hand, climbing out of the hole while splinters longer than my pinkie and cement chunks fall out of his rapidly healing flesh.

"It's Jean," Logan grunts, and I roll my eyes in response. I mean, obviously it's Jean. Unless Storm is having one hell of a menstrual cramp…"She's lost it," Logan adds. "Can't get anywhere near her without getting smashed."

"Maybe you can't." I mutter, trying to look for her amidst all this turmoil, wondering how in the hell she's creating a blizzard with just her mind. And more importantly: Why? "Where is she?" I ask. A sudden heat wave washes over us, a strange contrast to the snowy weather, and with it comes a flying specter in the shape of a teenage girl. She flies toward us slowly, still in her soccer uniform, but she's too high up for us to see her. Her arms are extended at her sides and she remains perfectly still in spite of the chaos around her.

Your regular berserker.

"Right." I breathe, then start heading towards her, trudging through the harsh wind to get to her. The two call after me, but the wind is too loud for me to hear and I need to concentrate to reach her. She levitates high in the air a few feet from us, her eyes are wide, glowing with an orange glare, unseeing. She appears possessed by something, but I can't tell from here. Her red hair gives the appearance of fire from this distance and there seems to be a red-hot glow about her, reminding me of that firebird that attacked me back at the mansion.

There's definitely a connection there.

My hand grazes the taser in the second pocket of my dagger holster and I turn off the safety with my thumb. If I can get close enough, I might be able to shock her out of it. Or at least subdue her enough to return her to the institute.

I lift my fingers to my temple and focus intently on levitation and intangibility. Unfortunately, even as I begin to climb high into the sky, I find myself beginning to waver. I don't think I even need to say why at this point. Two days without sleep, numerous battles, and non-stop intrigue. It's not healthy. I drop my concentration once but luckily the wind picks me up, and, after a second, I'm able to regain my bearings.

"Jean!" I scream over the din, approaching her with increasing caution. If she attacks my psychically it'd be a fifty foot drop from here. "Jean, it's me: Elizabeth Hawthorne!"

She turns her head to me slowly, only just now taking an interest in me, but her face remains placid, emotionless. "Come on, Jean. You're in danger here." I plead, lifting both hands to my temples in an attempt to keep myself aloft. "The MRD will be here any second!"

The winds around us start to calm, and my hope begins to lift. That is, until she slowly lifts a hand, her fingers extended, and grabs me in a telekinetic hold. It feels like a hand has wrapped around my mid section and my arms and legs are being stretched out and held in place by some invisible force. It also feel like, at any second, I could be quartered with the flick of a wrist; a highly unsettling thought.

" 'Elizabeth Hawthorne,' '" Jean says telepathically, her voice sounding different somehow in my head, it's so…detached and otherworldly, like she's an entirely different being altogether. " 'Nightshade…Ghostgirl…' "

…Yeahhh, that's me…

" 'Yes Jean,' " I reply back, keeping my voice low and earnest while I struggle to relax my body, in case she thinks I'm trying to escape. Something is very wrong about her right now but we just don't have time to work it out. We need to leave right now. " 'It's me. Please…' " I attempt to reach out a hand, " 'Let me help you.' "

The placid look on Jean's face contorts with sudden discomfort and she nearly drops me when she squeezes her eyes shut and presses her hands against her forehead. "Jean?" I cry aloud, noticing the wind begin to pick up with more ferocity. Only now the white and blue color scheme of the whirlwind has taken on a more reddish color, like we're on fire. She's losing it. "Jean, what's wrong?!"

She peers up at me through bleary, bright green eyes, and for a brief moment, she appears to be back to normal. Her eyes are pleading, fearful, "Help…me—"

The world stops.

I mean, it literally stops. The wind, the snow, the sound, everything. I peer down, down, down at the others to find Logan and Azazel, frozen, and about to be snuck up on by a group of MRD's hiding behind the main building, ready to shoot. Angel and Tony are still nowhere to be seen. Only myself and Jean are the ones still moving, as we have steadily begun to descend back onto the trashed soccer field at a nice and slow pace. Snow flakes, stuck fast in time, fall against my cheeks like I'm moving through a chilly curtain and every now and again, pieces of debris bounce against my skin and go sailing through the air, seemingly without end. It's…incredible, to say the least.

"Jean," I whisper, too awed to be afraid at the moment. "What—?"

But when I look to her, her eyes are glowing once more and that same serene look as before. Her next words couldn't be more cryptic, "You are bound. As am I. But one day," She lifts her arms out to her sides, releasing her hold on me, and we touch down on the ground lightly. Her hair falls around her face; a blanket of fire on flesh and the hollows of her eyes deepen to black. "We will both be free."

And then time itself resumes.

The next sequence of events happens so quickly, so sporadically, that I can't quite tell if Jean is still manipulating time or not because suddenly Jean is collapsing, the wind is dying, the boys are yelling, and we're running and fighting to get away from the MRD. It's only after Angel arrives, with his seared wing and busted ankle, to take Jean from my arms that I finally zone back in to what's happening.

To find that I'm in the infirmary back at the Mansion.

"What do you mean, she's gone?!" I hear Logan shouting in the distance. I look across the way and see Tony sitting on one of the beds, a hand at his head, seeming to be in deep though while Storm hands him an ice pack for the welt pushing its way past his hair. Warren must be in another room. Jean is nowhere to be seen but I'm sure she's fine. "She was just here!"

"You are awake." Azazel observes. I didn't realize he was here. His hair is wind-blown—if that even describes it accurately—and his suit must have been tattered to all hell because he now wears plain black pants and a simple t—shirt to match, making me wonder how long we've been here. I sit up, blinking for what feels like the first time in hours, and touch a hand to my head, asking hoarsely, "How long have I been like this?"

"She must be with the Brotherhood," I hear Hank saying across the way, catching both of our attention. "But there's nothing we can do about that now. It's Rogue's choice—"

"No!" Logan shouts, his voice carrying down that hall, moving further away. "Someone needs to talk some sense into that girl…"

I blink, still too numb to let the worry sink in right now. Rogues' gone AWOL. Perfect. Just what I need. Just what we all need. So much for our little heart to heart I was planning on later...

Getting back to my question, Azazel turns his eye back to me. His gaze is tired, reminding me that he's probably gotten about as much asleep as I have, and he runs a hand through his snow-soaked hair, saying, "Not long."

I examine his face, his posture, noticing the slump in his shoulders, the crescents under his eyes, and the scratch marks he's received from Jean's little wind fiasco. Nothing too serious. But the man's got to get some sleep. "What happened?" I ask, a little unnerved by the idea of me being so zoned out for so long. Especially with Russian Norman Bates still on the loose.

"I cannot say for certain."

Wow, big help you are…

"Azazel…" He looks at me questioningly but I'm staring at the wall, my hands knitted before my lips in thought. "What the hell is going on around here?" Everything's so messed up. The MRD gaining power, Magneto slipping more and more into the Extremist life style, Kelly rising to the challenge, Jean and Xavier losing their minds, Seth… And then there's me and my dumb ass getting caught in the middle. "It's like the world's gone insane."

He stands up and crosses over to me, stopping to stand right in front of me. He offers his hand. I sigh, but take it, getting to my feet, but he doesn't let go of my hand. I look up at him curiously, intrigued. His eyes are still tired but there's an alertness to them that quickens my breath. "What?" I whisper, my eyes flicking over to where Tony, Storm and Angel continue to chat, but they're too involved in their conversation to notice.

He lowers his own voice, saying quietly, "There is something I must tell you."

Interesting, "I was just thinking the same thing." I say gravely. This is long overdue. "We need to talk. Privately."

His hand tightens around mine, "I know a place."

I give a small gasp, looking up at him with excitement as we enter the small church attic, "Oh…" I laugh, gazing around fondly at the stained glass windows, the wooden pews padded with red cushions, the candles flickering in the shadows, as if they've never been blown out since the last time I was here. The air still holds a mystical feel to it, making me feel welcome and intrusive at the same time. "I haven't been here in ages!"

Azazel follows silently behind me, a scarlet shadow, "You know this place?"

"Warren took me here once, about a year ago." I murmur absently, stepping right up to the Virgin Mary, standing tall and welcoming as ever before the largest stained glass window, bearing an ominous cross that makes me feel very small in comparison. I reach out a hand to one of her outstretched ones and run my fingers over the dusty, porcelain palm.

I turn to Azazel and he straightens up as I address him, asking, "How do you know this place?"

"The same," He replies aloofly, his hands clasped behind his back, but his twitching tail and short responses betray his anxiety. "Warren is nice guy. Very friendly. Very…" He grapples for the word for a painfully long time until he finally gives up and advances on me, taking hold of my arms, "There is something I must tell you."

"I think we've established that." I observe, tilting my head to the side, "What is it? What's going on?" I doubt it'll top my news but let's see what this is about.

"I—have not been truthful with you." He opens his mouth, fighting to maintain eye contact with me, but fails miserably, and moves away, turning his back to me as he says, "When Mr. Stark found me, I was not searching for the Psylocke. I had given up on this long ago."

"Then..." I may already know the answer, but I feel obligated to ask anyway. "Who were you looking for?"

"He is called the Bastard," Bingo. "He is new head of the Russian Mafia and…" He keeps his back to me, tail making nervous flicking movements behind him. He runs a tremulous hand through his hair, his profile outlined just…perfectly in the dim light (not that I'm looking), and says, "He is the bastard son of Grigori Vahkrov. I have been followed by his men, but never attacked. I knew he would find us. I was to find him before this could happen."

I give it a good pause, nodding my head along silently, then, when I'm sure he's finished, I say, "It already did."

He turns to me, shocked, but I'm glad. Now I don't have to explain quite so much, and Azazel already understands what a threat this is. He probably already has more information that can help me learn more about this freak show! It also confirms the suspicion that Azazel isn't the main target here but he's definitely being tailed. Which means I am, too. Which means everyone else is, too.

…Fuck.

I take a reluctant seat in one of the pews and gesture for him to sit. Then, I tell him about the attack, about my suspicions about the Bastard and my own little hunt to find out who he was. Then finally, I tell him about the Bastards' most recent visit.

"He must have been investigating the kids today," I say, my stomach going queasy at the thought. "People who are close to us." I touch a hand my chin. "He probably wasn't even expecting us to show up. God…you wouldn't believe how excited he was to meet me! The man was completely psychotic."

"I can believe." Azazel replies, looking deeply unsettled. "He was raised by a mad man. Grew up on tough streets and fought every day of his life just to stay alive. Somewhere along the way, he grew bored of it. He was reckless. Looking for trouble. But it was never enough. He is psychopath. And a bored one. Very dangerous." He surmises with a shrug.

"Good to know." I lean back against the pews, all of a sudden feeling very, very tired. "So what do we do? We can't kill him. At least, I can't." I add with a look that says, 'do with that what you will.' "And I have the feeling he's too smart to outrun." The only alternative is death. The death of him, or the death of me. Neither one sounds very good at the moment. I groan, frustrated, "And then this thing with Jean and Charles…"

"What did she say to you?" Azazel asks abruptly. "While you were up there?"

"Hmm," I think back, her words echoing in my head, then repeat them, "'You are bound. As am I. But one day, we will both be free.'" I run a finger across my lips in thought. "There's something about Jean that's definitely wrong. There's no way this was just some mental lapse. Someone is attacking her. Something has attached itself to her." Just like Emma way back when we were still working for Erik and Warwick was setting a trap for us. "And now…" I realize I'm thinking aloud again and look up to find you-know-who staring at me, an eye brow raised and a smirk planted firmly on his lips. He has his arm resting on the back of the pew and his tilted head resting o his knuckles, like he's studying some strange creature in its natural habitat.

"What?" I ask with a slight laugh, a little embarrassed. Always catching me at my worst. Some things never change.

He scoffs lightly, lifting his other hand to move a strand of hair from my face, but, as he does so, I notice the smirk fade from his face, and a hard look take its place. He drops his arm and straightens up, saying, "You frightened me earlier. You seemed not as yourself. Like in Vanhouven."

"You act like we never left." I reply sagely. I can't believe I was so out of it! Did Jean really send me back to that state? The events of Vanhouven after what happened with Grigori are pretty much a blur to me now. I remember vague things but…I prefer not to think about that. I was way out of control back then. Suicidal. I've got things more under my control now. All I need to do is wrap this shit up with Erik, get my body back, and see about forging a new foundation like Warren suggested so long ago; maybe right here in Bayville, who knows?

"It feels this way, yes," Azazel admits, shifting uncomfortably. "But…perhaps is time to move on."

"I was just thinking the same thing." I nod in agreement. "And besides, we've got new problems to deal with at the moment. After all," I smirk mischievously. "We still need to make that overseas trip of ours."

" 'Yeah, I'm still holding you to that.' " I add telepathically.

He shakes his head, cursing playfully in Russian, "If I am one more night without sleep, I will die."

I roll my eyes and get to my feet, offering my hand with a scoff, "Pfft, you big baby."

Thanks for reading. More to come soon, I hope. Until Next Time…

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