Truth is Overrated: I was a late bloomer. An old man swooped in and then dropped me into the crazy world of his School for Mutants my senior year of high school. To the surprise of everyone else, I turned out all right. It's been a long time since I called the Institute home, but now I'm back and I think I might be here to stay. Sequel to Normalcy is Overrated.

Disclaimer: The X-Men, SHIELD, the Avengers, the Brotherhood of Mutants, and any other familiar characters are not my property. I claim no ownership of them. They are the creation and property of their creators and the rich assholes that control their every movement. I simply like to toy with them.

Author's Note: Another apology is probably in order, but I'm not going to bother to offer an excuse for the long wait between updates. Instead, I just want to thank you readers for your encouragement and I hope you'll all consider leaving more feedback to help feed yummies to my muse! As a reminder, the previous chapter left off during the middle of the wedding reception. An unknown group appeared and our heroine was rendered powerless…


"The truth is overrated." – Paul Westerberg

~Chapter Twenty-Eight~

The confusion fell away for a split second as I dove behind an overturned table. My side ached from the impact of my earlier fall, but, all in all, I was in good shape. Most of the guests had been safely ushered inside, and only a dozen or so remained. The few X-Men that had dared to remain outside were mostly well hidden, with only the Wolverine and Sabretooth taking up visible positions against the unknown force.

With a sharp breath, I rose up slightly and looked over the table and took a quick survey. A shot rang out and I ducked my head, cursing myself mentally at the realization that the shot had gone wide – but purposely. My location wasn't hidden, nor was it safe, but I didn't feel as though that was a complete disadvantage.

Try to stay between them and Jean, I reminded myself, gritting my teeth as the roar of a helicopter grew fainter. It appeared that the aerial cavalry was slowly moving away, if the sound was any real indication. I listened intently, but could hear nothing out of the ordinary over the sound of random gunfire, grunts from one of the feral mutants, and shouts of terror.

The geneticists and scientists were, I assumed, secured in the building. Hank might be lurking around somewhere, but I doubted he was willing to give a brief synopsis of his theory as to why our mutant powers had suddenly failed us. I certainly had a theory, but I wasn't willing to bank everything on it.

"You are all well aware why we are here!" The voice was deep, a rich baritone laced with a European accent I couldn't even begin to place. But, for some reason, the voice was almost soothing. "You are to hand over the woman. If you do so now, we will leave you all peacefully."

A roar of outrage echoed through the courtyard, but it was cut off with the sound of gunfire. My quick glance had allowed me to scope out their basic group, and I hadn't been surprised by the sight of at least eighteen armed men. They were all dressed meticulously in black garb, they were also all armed and appeared skilled. I risked another glance over the table and realized that the source of the voice came from a man standing in the middle of all of the chaos.

Unlike the men wearing black professional gear, he wore tailored slacks, a crisp shirt and tie and a jacket. His shoes looked like alligator skin and it was all set off by his rich mahogany skin. Though his head was completely bald, the skin shone brightly. A patch of hair on his chin, a soul patch of sorts, was made even stranger by the smooth tilt of his lips.

He had his hands steepled in front of him in a thoughtful manner, as though he thought he had all of the time in the world. And maybe he did. I couldn't judge his height from the distance, but the tailored suit led me to believe that beneath the polish he had a trim and capable body. There were no obvious bulges caused by a hidden pistol, but I had to figure that he was armed.

"Hand her over!" he ordered.

I gritted my teeth and shook my head. In spite of myself, I glanced toward the large planter ten feet away where Jean hid and ignored the cramp in my side. If any single person or group was so determined to capture one woman, then there was a good reason to ensure that it didn't happen.

No matter the cost.

"Not going to happen!" I shouted, gun clutched in one hand and knife in the other. The feral growls had disappeared completely and I silently wished for the telepathic network we had used on more than one occasion. It would be safer, and easier, to communicate without the use of our com-links. "How about, instead, you walk away and I won't hunt you down and shove my boot up your ass?"

The man's laughter sent a tingle of cold fear down my spine. It was cultured and elegant and so cold that I clutched the knife a bit more tightly. "The fearless and dangerous X-Men," he responded, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You will hand over the woman, or I will walk over your corpses to take her."

"Don't make promises you can't keep!" I taunted, grimacing at his harsh bark of laughter. "She's one of ours; we'll die before you get your hands on her!"

"Then you will die," he agreed, voice booming. "You will die, and Jean Grey will be ours. You will all suffer for your stupidity. Without your gifts, you are nothing."

It clicked into place in my head and I smirked. I wasn't sure if he'd meant to imply anything or not, but it all made sense. One of them was able to negate the ability of other mutants – there was simply no other explanation.

And I was willing to bet the tags tucked into my bra that it was the suit-wearing asshole shouting orders.

A calm reverie settled over me as I gripped the blade of the knife between my teeth, careful not to knick my skin by keeping the sharpened side pointed away. I listened to the man give orders to the others, trying to make sense of the strange tactical words he used. It was a code, but codes could be broken. Meanwhile, I pulled the tags out of my bra and looped them around my neck so that they rested on my chest – where they belonged.

Strength and familiarity oozed into my pores as I gripped the knife with my hand again, licking my lips at the taste of the strange metal. I wouldn't have my strength, my flight, or my healing ability to rely on it would seem. But, I still had an edge.

"Keep their focus off of Jean," I ordered through the com-link, well aware of the fact that they could hear me. Once I focused, I could hear the three men breathing and murmuring to the people around them, but they all agreed with gruff acknowledgement. "This is going to get messy, boys."

I cracked my neck, homage to the Wolverine, and lunged to my feet with a grace that belied my tense muscles. The gun felt like an extension of my body as I took aim and fired, adjusting and firing another two times before I had even taken a step. Two men fell, their guns useless, but the gunfire erupted again.

A grim smile curled my lips as I ran, relying on the adrenaline surging within me to give me an extra boost of energy. My ears rang – the gunfire and the three men shouting nearly deafening me – but I ran. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of hours spent at the firing range seemed to ease back into me as I moved on autopilot, moving and firing with calm movements.

It wasn't a breeze; men fired at me and several came close to actually striking me. By the time I had ran the fifteen feet to another stone bench. I was thankful for its relative safety as I kicked it over and ducked behind it. Chunks of concrete pinged off of it and I sank closer to the ground as I ejected the mag to take count. I had four shots left, and only two extra mags tucked into my boots. I hadn't counted on not being able to rely on my God-given mutant abilities.

I got at least four of them, I decided as I slammed the magazine back into place. "Summers, what's our status?" I shouted, grimacing when a chunk of concrete smacked me in the face. They've got good aim, too good.

"I tossed a sat phone at Warren with orders to contact Morgan." A shout bled through the coms and I grimaced as Scott wheezed out a breath. "Goddamn glasses."

"Take them off, dumb shit!" Logan howled. The sound of flesh tearing made my jaw clench, but he didn't say anything for another long moment. "Worse comes to worst, you'll blast a hole in that asshole."

"I'll get you a gun, Summers." It was easier said than done, but ideal. When I asked for his location, however, I grunted. "Why the fuck are you all the way over there? You're in enemy territory!"

"Tell me about it."

"Shit. Stay down." I peered over the stone bench and was nearly blinded by yet another chunk of concrete as it was blasted by a gunshot. If there hadn't been so much on the line, I might have soiled my pants. "I'll get something close to you if I can."

Logan and Victor were mowing down the men as quickly as they could, teaming up to help the other avoid any dangerous gunfire. They couldn't simply swoop in and tear flesh from limb and kill the men without any consideration for their own safety. Like me, they were suddenly vulnerable.

I didn't want to know how much damage they had already taken, as the two brothers were often a little wild when it came to combat. In fact, I couldn't afford to think about Victor or I might hesitate – and then I might end up dead.

With a sharp exhale, I jumped to my feet and lunged over the bench in one smooth motion. I fired as a man ran toward me, missing with the first shot. The second, however, found its way to his leg and he went down with a shout, his weapon aimed in my direction. I kept running, boots barely making any noise against the ground as I skidded on broken china and glass.

Shit. I dove to the side when the man got me in his sights, but it wasn't quick enough. The lack of a healing ability was immediately obvious when a shocking white surge of unexpected pain ripped through me. My grip on both my gun and knife weakened, and I nearly dropped both before I regained my senses and. A moment later, I slammed into the man and heard the breath wheeze from his lungs at the impact.

He fumbled with his gun and we rolled once, his body weight pinning me to the ground before his knee pressed against my side. The white hot pain erupted again and I screeched shrilly as I brought my right hand up and fired. At the last possible second, he slapped my wrist and the shot went wide. My ears rang at the sound, but I fought like a hellcat as he brought his fist down on my temple.

My side hissed and I realized that the bullet had only grazed my side, but it still hurt as he pinned his knee against it knowingly. With a growl, I swung my left hand up and sank the blade of the knife into the gunshot wound on his thigh. The howl of pain that erupted from his lips was overshadowed when he swung his rifle down at me.

"Fuck!"

The butt of his rifle cracked against my face and I tasted blood in my mouth almost immediately. I grunted and did my best to ignore the pain as I twisted the knife in his wound, angling it deeper for further penetration. When he fumbled, I used his hesitation against him. My gun was pressed against his chin and I didn't hesitate when I pulled the trigger, but I still flinched.

Blood splattered all over me, warm and sticky, and I ignored the eruption of something dark inside of me when his body jerked and trembled before he toppled over sideways. The sharp rush of adrenaline was a welcome feeling as I pushed myself into a sitting position, the blood oozing from my mouth forgotten as I yanked his rifle out of his hands.

"M14," I announced, slurring slightly. I ran my tongue over my lip as I forced myself onto my feet, nearly tumbling sideways as I clutched the knife and the strap of the rifle in my left hand. "Fucker tore my lip in half."

"Woman." A growl echoed over the coms before I once again was distracted.

I moved on automatic, searching my surroundings and moving toward the fray with my senses on high alert. To my surprise, the man in the suit was right in the middle of things – three men surrounded him, attempting to snipe off anyone that got close – and he looked pissed. I was still between them and Jean and the feral brothers had nearly swung around enough so that they were, too.

My handgun clicked as I fired another shot, making me realize that the mag was empty. A man smiled deviously at me as he caught me in his sights and fired from no more than ten feet away. Instincts humming, I was shocked when something struck my left shoulder, rendering my entire arm almost useless. The strap of the M14 and the knife clattered to the ground instantly, leaving me helpless.

"Bitch," he snarled as he took a step toward me. I saw my death, saw him firing and taking me away to a place I wasn't yet ready to see.

I don't think so.

Though my body protested, I drew back my right hand and threw my gun like a heavy disc, surprising the man long enough for it to strike him in the shoulder. He fell back a step and I took advantage, dropping to a crouch long enough to snatch up the knife and strap before he fired again. I rolled, tumbling forward and springing up onto my feet in one motion, strap around my neck and gun slapping against my back as I wielded my knife with my right hand.

He has the prettiest blue eyes I've ever seen, I realized with a start as he fired, the bullet finding purchase in my left arm. The pain was astounding, and I bit down on the inside of my mouth as I ducked down under his next shot, preempting him to swing his weapon down. When he did, my knife raked across his forearm and he released a shocked gasp of pain.

"You shot me!" I accused as I drew my left foot back and planted my boot in his gut. He doubled over from the combination of shock and pain and I gritted my teeth as I brought my knife up and buried it into his jugular. Blood sprayed against my hand, and I ignored it as I used my burning left shoulder to shove his body away.

He fell to the ground, dead, and I simply breathed in as much fresh air as my lungs could possibly contain.

I pushed the pain down as much as I could and ignored the man's weapon and the blood pool around him as I forced myself to move into action. Glass and porcelain and flowers crunched under my boots, but my ears were ringing too much to pay anything much attention. In the back of my mind, I wondered why in the hell I hadn't been more prepared. My legs were covered in cuts and scratches and my arms were in no better shape – I should have had clothes ready to pull on in case of an emergency.

Getting shot really fucking hurts, I realized as I tried to shrug my shoulder to ease out the tightness. But, I could barely lift my fucking hand, let alone move the entire arm. With a grimace, I jumped over a bench and fell into an immediate crouch.

"Nice of you to show up."

If he was surprised by my battered – let alone sudden – appearance, he didn't show it. Scott Summers, still dressed in his fine tuxedo, crouched no more than ten feet away behind the deejay's equipment. Briefly, I wondered what had happened to the man, but decided it wouldn't do me any good to worry about him.

I tucked the knife into my boot and grimaced as I grabbed the strap around my neck, fumbling slightly when the bench beside me vibrated from gunfire. Risking a quick assessing glance, I cursed under my breath at the realization that two men were moving toward the stone bench where I had left Jean. A few more feet and I would no longer be the barrier between her and them.

Wordlessly, I tossed the rifle at the leader of the dangerous X-Men. His ruby shades were gone, and I was surprised to realize that he had rich brown eyes. He gripped the weapon with an odd familiarity that bespoke of the military training the man had expected of himself and his fellow X-Men. The nod he offered me was one of understanding and acceptance for whatever was to come.

"Think you can take out the suit?"

Surprised by the question, I hesitated a beat before I nodded. "But, Jean –"

"I'm going for my wife," he interrupted, his face taking on an even more serious expression. "I want you to take out the suit, Danielle. Your arm alright?"

I glanced down at my left arm in surprise and furrowed my brows at the blood oozing from the wounds only briefly. "Small caliber weapon," I offered dryly, my torn lower lip preventing me from smirking. "Pain sucks. I don't know how you mere mortals deal."

He chuckled, but the sound seemed morphed given our circumstances. When he crab walked toward me, I watched his progression thoughtfully. When he reached my side, he tore off his jacket and tugged his sleeves up so that they wouldn't hinder him whatsoever.

One of the men moving toward Jean glanced in our direction when I peeked over the bench. He swung his gun around and Scott jumped to his feet at the same instant. My mouth fell open in shock when the man beside me fired several shots; his opponent took one to the leg and one to the vest before he took one to the neck and went down. The second man fared no better. Without a word, Scott leapt over the bench and ran to his wife and unborn child.

Take out the suit, he says. I slid the knife out of my boot and tested the weight in my hand before I adjusted my grip. Why don't you take out the suit, Summers? I jumped over the bench, left hand dead at my side. I ran gracefully, breaths evenly spaced in spite of the pain and the adrenaline still surging through my body. It's only been a few minutes, I realized as I jumped over a table like it was a hurdle.

My legs and ass scraped across the table and its contents scattered. The back of my thigh burned as I scraped across the surface, but I ignored the tingle as I landed on my feet and swung my attention away from the feral brothers scrambling with several armed men and focused on the suit.

Yeah, that's right, I thought, smiling when his eyes landed on me. I'm coming for you, pretty boy. The three men around him took up a triangle formation and placed their backs to him. Two fired at me while the third continued to pepper the area where Logan and Victor worked with bullets. I'm going to enjoy this.

I kicked over a chair as I ran and it slid ahead of me, scraping across the ground before it rolled to a stop in front of one of the men. He was a bad shot, they all were it seemed, and didn't look overjoyed by the fact that I was nearly within melee range. When he pulled an extra magazine from his belt, I dove into a roll.

It was a jerky and ungraceful motion, my body protesting as my back slammed into the hard and unrelenting ground. But, inertia and practice kept me moving. When I rolled back onto my feet, my body and motion flowed as I extended my right arm and hand.

Gotcha.

The knife struck the gunman in the gut, just below his vest. To my surprise, he fell backwards and the second gunman firing at me paused in confusion. Still moving, I pulled the second knife from my boot and closed the distance between myself and the three men still standing quickly.

The gunman ducked under my arcing attack, and I ignored the shouts from the suit as I jumped over a leg sweep. Something smashed into the back of my head and the world around me swam as I crashed to the ground before I could even brace myself. Shock was dull, lost under the pain, as my left shoulder took the brunt of my fall. Searing heat raced through my nerve endings as I howled, training and instinct still in the forefront of my mind as I threw myself onto my back so that I could defend myself.

While the suit seemed pleased, the two gunmen looked overwhelmed as they stared down at me. I smiled, blood oozing from my torn lower lip, and offered one a wink. Their weapons looked far more intimidating from the ground, and their fingers poised over triggers in anticipation.

Kick it into high gear and floor it, I ordered myself, muscles humming in anticipation.

I writhed, my body squirming in motion as I used my legs to spin myself in a half circle. My boot curled behind the first gunman's knee and I jerked him down on top of me even as I stabbed out at the leg of the second man. My ears rang loudly and I could no longer hear anything but my own pulse wildly pounding in my head.

But, it let me block out the growing pain that was almost intolerable – debilitating.

Burns. My lungs seized from lack of oxygen as I kicked at the man that had fallen on top of me, but he wasn't as stunned as I had originally thought he would be. He was on his feet before I could do more than twist my knife in his friend's leg. When his booted foot connected, I let the momentum carry me. I released my hold on the knife and rolled into the kick, tucking my chin against my chest to avoid as much impact as I could.

To my surprise, I slammed against the fallen gunman with a grunt. I faced away from the two gunmen and the suit, but I couldn't simply crawl away and hide. My pulse pounded in my ears as I looked into his vacant eyes and reached for the weapon that had caused his death. The adamantium knife was sharp, capable of cutting through just about anything, and it felt perfect in my grasp.

Here it comes, I warned myself as something tightened in my hair. I palmed the knife and howled as I was jerked to my feet roughly, my left hand still useless at my side. My vision was still blurry, but I made out the wounded gunman as I was spun around to face the suit. Hang on.

The suit's lips were moving, but I couldn't hear anything. I tried to smile at him, but I wasn't sure if my facial muscles cooperated. While the hold on my hair loosened, the feel of a gun pressed against the side of my head alerted me to the fact that the gunman had traded his M14 for a smaller handgun – probably something as tacky as a Rueger.

"…or you will all die!" I picked up the last of the suit's shout and grimaced. His eyes bore into mine and I tried to stand a bit taller despite the pain. "I will kill her!"

One chance, I told myself as I tried to ready my muscles. The move had been taught to me by the infamous Black Widow, but I had never felt a real need to execute it so perfectly. I saw her in my mind as I inhaled slowly before I exhaled.

I exploded into motion, bringing my right arm up and slicing into the tender flesh of the gunman's wrist and causing him to fire the weapon. The shot echoed in the air along with his scream of surprise, but I ignored it as I spun on my heel and brought my hand down again, slicing through the tendons near his elbow that rendered his arm practically useless. I heard the gun when it hit the ground, but I was too busy pivoting to position myself at his back to take any further notice.

More gunshots echoed, ringing in my ears, and the bleeding gunman cried out in shock as he took several in the chest. I stared over his shoulder at the second gunman – who seemed to be unbothered by his leg wound – and grimaced. It's going to be close.

I screamed, the sound vibrating in my chest, and brought my left leg up and kicked the human shield in front of me down. My body was already in motion, my arm moving in a practiced arc that seemed so completely natural and fluid that I knew it was a direct hit before the adamantium knife even left my grasp.

"Oh." I gasped, eyes widening, as my knife imbedded itself into the eye socket of the gunman. The shock on his face was frozen in time as he fell backwards, dead long before he struck the ground. "Oh shit." I pressed my right hand to my stomach and a strange cold feeling spread over me as I lifted it to see blood on my fingers.

Bastard got a shot off.

I stumbled sideways, vision blurring, and tried to make sense of the voices in my head. Somewhere inside of me, I recognized that it was the voices of the three men using the coms, but I couldn't do more than grunt as I tried to push down the pain long enough to focus.

"This isn't over." Blearily, I lifted my chin and stared – through one eye – at the suit. In my daze, he had picked up a discarded rifle and looked prepared to use it. Then he swung the butt at me and I realized he wasn't comfortable with firearms in general. "It's not over!" he repeated wildly, swinging the gun at me like a club.

I lifted my right hand and deflected the first blow as well as I could, but the second caught me across the face. My knees knocked together and I stumbled forward awkwardly, gravity my worst enemy. The gun struck my lower back and I cried out as I took another step forward before I hit my knees.

Shit. My vision was shot, and my depth perception was completely off with the use of only one eye. But, something glinted in the sunlight that caught my attention, and I realized that I was within reach of the bastard that had shot me. I threw myself across his chest and my fingers wrapped around the knife and I prayed as I tried to pull it free.

"You cannot stop me," the man promised, firing a shot that just barely missed me.

Given the close range, I was surprised, but used his frustration to my advantage. I threw myself sideways off of the gunman, howling as I reached for the suit. My leg caught his and he stumbled to the ground in an awkward tangle of limbs. The gun clattered just out of his reach, and he struggled as I crawled on top of him.

Little bitch, I thought, breathing raggedly as I dragged myself up his body so that I was sprawled across his chest. Got a gym body. That gym body wouldn't do him any good.

It amazed me how smooth and warm his skin looked, and his eyes seemed lost and scared. There was only a moment's hesitation before I put my weight on my dead arm, straining as the pain ripped through me. As I crashed down, I angled my right hand and therefore the blade so that it sliced across his neck.

"Can't have her," I whispered, not even sure if the words managed to escape my lips. The pulsing in my head seemed to quiet and I wondered if the gunfire had ceased, but couldn't find it in me to truly care. "Did it."

The man gurgled and choked, but I barely looked at him as I weakly crawled away from his writhing body. Spent shells dug into my skin, but I ignored everything as the cold continued to crawl over every inch of my tired body. No more than a few feet away from the suit, my muscles seized and I collapsed on the ground.

God, it hurts. I tried to shift myself so that I could look around, but my body wouldn't cooperate. Resigned, I closed my eyes and drew in a ragged breath. My lungs ached, and the darkness called to me like an old friend.

"Should have asked for hazard pay," I grunted, slipping ever closer to the darkness. If I was lucky, I'd open my eyes again sometime soon. Otherwise… "Fuck."

I heard my dad's voice somewhere in the back of my head as I eased into a comfortable silence, the darkness welcoming me like his big, warm arms held open for a hug.