Charles picked up his phone, not really looking at it. Only one person called him on his cell phone these days and, after the previous afternoon and night, he could use her voice, even if he couldn't tell her everything.
"Charles?"
The slight edge to the word immediately told him this wasn't going to be a pleasurable call. He was already wheeling out from behind his desk, heading down to Cerebro. He didn't know what was going on, but his lover hadn't sounded like this since she told him she couldn't find her son.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Some bastards tried to kill us, that's what!"
He had only a split second to register the second voice before the words sunk in.
"What? Are you alright?" he asked, "Moira, are you alright?"
"I'm fine, but Levine isn't doing so good," she said, "And buckle up Levine. Shot or not, you know the speed I'm going at right now."
Levine. Who was Levine? Her old partner. Charles could only just remember him, a man who had always been at Moira's side at the CIA. Back then Charles had, shamefully, not paid much attention to him. Not when Moira was in the room.
Kevin mentioned he'd often stayed with Levine when his mother had to go on a mission. It appeared they were neighbors.
"Where are you?" asked Charles, "I can have Nightcrawler and Quicksilver pick you up."
"We're in motion, near the intersection of 495 and 267," Moira said, "I can't stop. I don't know how far they are behind me, so I'm going a good twenty miles over. I can't be pulled over for speeding, but I can't slow down."
Her voice was ragged. His heart ached to be with her, to know for certain she was alright.
"I need to get out of here and call my boss, but first, I need to get Levine to a hospital, to a doctor where I know no one will be able to hurt him," she said, "Where I know I won't be followed."
"Yes, I'll have Hank on stand-by," Charles said, putting his fingers to his temples.
Although Hank was probably just finishing up his work from the day, and Kurt, Peter, Scott, Jean and Storm might be in bed, he sent out a quick message to them, letting them know about the situation. He also sent one to Raven. Even if they weren't talking, she would want to be informed of what was happening.
It was unlikely they would need all of them, but he would at least need Peter and Kurt. Hank would have to have his medical tools ready. They were going to have some sort of wounded on their hands and-
The sound of gunshots echoed through the phone. He jumped, the screech of tires shooting him through with fear.
"Moira?" he shouted.
There was no answer. All he could hear were the sounds of a gunfight.
Everyone, get ready for your first mission, he said, his knuckles white as he griped the phone, We have a confirmation of gunshots fired. Those who can move fast, collect everyone and get down to the Danger Room. NOW.
Charles didn't wait for an answer. He kept the phone in his hand, listening to the gunfire as he pushed himself to the elevator. It didn't seem to go fast enough, and the sounds from his phone just seemed to go on forever and forever. Every now a shatter of gunfire, the sound of a car trying to avoid a shot.
"Moira," he pleaded.
He didn't know what he was begging for exactly. If she answered, he would only be a distraction. But maybe, maybe she had managed to shake them. It was an impossible hope, one that became even more remote when she didn't answer.
Charles arrived in the halls beneath the school. Peter appeared next to him, and, in a soft explosion, Kurt appeared too. Jean, Scott and Storm were holding onto his shoulders, looking alarmed. Well, Scott and Jean were. Storm seemed ready to go.
"We're looking at somewhere near the intersection of 495 and 267," Charles said, "Moira is going very fast right now, she has an injured friend, and people are shooting."
"I do not know vhere zat is," Kurt said nervously.
"I do, and I've got an idea," said Peter, muscling his way through the others, "I used to run past it all the time. I'll make frequent stops, and you can just follow me."
Dimly, Charles registered that Peter was still wearing his pajama bottoms with sneakers. Another round of gunfire banished any thoughts he had on that particular score. What did it matter what anyone was wearing?
"It's a good idea, just needs slight revision," said Charles, "Peter, take Scott and Jean. Kurt, take Storm. As you move, Jean, keep in mental contact with Kurt. Show him the place you stop. Peter, don't make too frequent stops, and just long enough for the jump."
"So, all of us at once?" asked Peter.
"Just about," Charles replied, "Peter, don't take Mystique with you when she comes. Just keep evacuating people. Take them in shifts, but do not stay any longer than necessary. You get in, get them, you get out."
"She's not coming?" asked Storm uncertainly.
"There's no time. Come on, come on," Peter said, jumping from one foot to the other.
"We need to suit up-" began Jean.
What sounded like an explosion echoed through the phone. Crunching metal met his ears, muted swears. He looked down at the phone, felt his students' eyes upon it. There was a shout, a yell. He heard a twist, the thud of something on the ground.
Then, silence, and the sound of his heartbeat, threading pain through him.
"Okay, screw this," Peter said, grabbing Scott and Jean, "We're gonna go for the casual look. They'll just hafta get used to the sight of us in our civvies. Kurt, let's get this thing going. Kevin's mom ain't dying on my time, got it?"
Kurt didn't wait before he grabbed Storm's arm. The air moved next to Charles, followed by the smell of sulfur. His heart beat desperately, and he shoved himself toward Cerebro, not waiting for Hank or Raven like he'd thought he would.
He needed to know what was going on. Needed to know if he could help. He refused to sit idly by while the woman he loved could be injured or dying. Charles needed to know, and he needed to know now.
With trembling hands, he reached for the helmet, put it on, and concentrated. As he did, he offered up a silent prayer for the children who would soon be going into their second battle in less than a month, for the occupants of the car.
"Moira," he managed.
Her head was pounding, and it felt like she had swallowed burning cotton balls. Moira looked at the spider-webbed cracks on what remained of her windshield, at the roots of trees, at her own hair touching the roof of her car.
She was upside down. The car had rolled over. She had passed out. How long? Moira glanced at the dashboard. It had only been a few minutes, maybe six, since the gunfire came. Good.
The knowledge came painfully, as did the awareness of the seat belt digging into her shoulder and lap. It was keeping her strapped to her seat, suspended with the blood rushing to her head.
"Levine?" she managed.
There was a soft groan next to her. She turned to him, said a prayer of thanks that he'd listened to her and buckled in too. But blood was dripping down from his wound, the seat belt digging deeper into his ribs.
"Levine, wake up!" she said.
Footsteps filled the air, something metallic. Moira took in a harsh breath, reaching out and shoving him. Levine woke up, his eyes roving around, but he was disoriented. The footsteps were getting louder and louder.
There was no time. She had to get ready herself. Moira reached down, gently brushing her fingers against the roof of the car. She had to find a place she could brace her weight, get down before the blood rush disoriented her further.
Broken shards of glass met her fingertips.
"Shit," she whispered.
The footsteps were increasing. Moira swallowed. There wasn't enough time to make sure it was all gone. She couldn't think about what was going to happen next. She had to get back to Kevin, to Charles. She had to save Levine, and if she didn't, no one else would.
Moira reached own with her left hand and pushed away as much as she could. She formed a base with her palm, already feeling the slight bite of the microscopic shards she had missed. Then, with her right hand, she unbuckled.
Her weight came down on her left hand, and she felt the glass scrape into her palm. It kept her up just long enough to make sure she didn't land head first. It was still clumsy and painful when she fell, but it wasn't agony, and her blood was flowing the right way.
She reached up and into the glove box. The gun she'd stashed there before the shots began again was still there. It was a standard-issue weapon, one she'd been given when the agency updated their standard issue years ago.
Giving a quick eye over the car, she realized her phone was gone. Had it flown out of the window when they crashed? She could vaguely remember tossing it in the back when the gunshots fired. She'd needed two hands to drive the way she needed to. Not that it had done her any good.
Moira glanced underneath the window, saw the legs coming. She'd hoped that they were further away, but no dice. It looked like she'd have to do what she could, pray that back-up was on the way.
Crouching lower, she aimed the gun at the legs of the men coming, and fired. Shouts filled the air, and gunshots rippled along the edge of her windshield. She pushed back, curling her arms around her face. Blood ran down from her left hand and onto her shirt. It was warm and sticky.
Levine was trying to get out of his seat. Moira crawled over to where he was, trying to get further from where the men were now taking cover. Forcing her hands to be steady she helped him out.
"Where's the phone?" he asked.
"Gone," Moira said, "And I don't think 911 would help."
"You never know," gasped Levine.
"You can come out quietly you know!"
The shout startled her, and she turned. She could just make out a pair of boots there, standing impatiently. She looked over at Levine and pushed herself further into whatever cover the car provided.
"We don't want to kill you Miss MacTaggert, we really don't. Now, we all know you've got a little boy out there to think of-"
She angled the gun and shot at the figure. He moved out of the way, but how dare he bring up her son?
"Okay, fine. We can do things my way-"
"What the hell?"
"Jesus, look out!"
Gunshots ripped through the air, but not at them.
Moira.
"Charles," she whispered.
Levine looked at her and, suddenly, she saw more feet moving, running, shooting. Fighting. The sound of flesh hitting flesh. There was a question in Levine's eyes, but she barely had an answer as it was.
Moira, love, they're here for you. Go to them, get safe!
"Levine, they're on our side," she hissed, "Move!"
He dragged himself out, heaving his weight against the car door. Moira crawled out after him, still keeping herself low. A stray soldier looked her way and she saw him aim what might have been a gun.
The soldier suddenly found himself without a gun. A second later, he was on the ground, and Peter was there, his goggles over his eyes, in his pajama pants and a sweater, grinning at her.
"Just stay there, 'kay?" he said, "We'll getcha both. Me or Nightcrawler. We're gettin 'ya home, right after we lay the hurtin on these bastards."
He zipped off, and Moira saw three more men fall before they could even reach their guns.
"You're right," wheezed Levine, "I think he is growing on me."
Moira managed a hazy smile. Bullets were still flying, and she saw a puff of black smoke on the other side of the clearing. Red light shot through the night, and she briefly saw Scott before he rushed in.
Someone took aim at him, a clear target made by the light of his eyes. Moira stepped away from cover, away from Levine, to get a clear shot. She hit him in the shoulder, and he dropped his gun.
There was a noise from somewhere behind her, like a soft explosion. She let her grip on the gun slacken, her hand still throbbing.
"Thank God Kurt," she said, "You should get Levine first-"
But when she turned, she didn't see the blue teen. Instead, she saw a man with a cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes.
"Sorry," he said, "I ain't Kurt."
She moved to bring the gun around, but he knocked it out of her hand, sending it across the ground. Levine made a move, but he kicked him in the face, and she saw more blood stain her friend's face.
Moira moved to punch the man, but he disappeared before her fist made contact. His hand reached out, grabbing her wrist. She slammed her injured hand into it, thrashed, kicked out and pulled.
He wouldn't let go.
Moira, what's going on? Who-?
Then, the night blurred.
A/N: Two more chapters.
