With a hawklike cry of despair, Jean Grey shook herself free of her human flesh and spread fiery wings, becoming again the Lady of the Lake - formless, unbounded, powerful. Immortal. Yet human enough to grieve. In this form, she found it effortless to touch the spirits of those around her, to suffer alongside her sick children, to feel the life and strength trickle out of those who were dear to her. She wept flame.
Jean - came a familiar mental voice. You must not act on your rage. Come back to yourself . . . .
Yet it was grief as much as rage that propelled her upward through the mansion levels until she hovered free above it. Mortal constrains such as walls and roofs meant nothing. Nor did distance.
The ones who had orchestrated this catastrophe would pay, and she would take from them what she needed to save her children, her brother, and her father. Now, she must only find them.
Turning towards the city full of minds both bright and dark, she headed south.
By nature a morning person, Ororo was already awake when she heard the horrible sound of retching from Warren's room, then Edna's footsteps as she bustled in to speak to him in a soft voice. A few minutes later, Jean arrived, as well - followed by an awful cry and a red-gold flash of energy, then a loud whoosh as if all the air had rushed up and out, though it left no damage in its wake.
Startled, Ororo grabbed a robe and exited her room to find Edna still standing in the hall, her face stark with shock - and fear. They looked at each other, even as the professor's mental voice roused the whole team. He might be physically weak and worsening, but one would never know it from the power of his mind voice.
Warren was calling from inside his room and Edna hurried back to him as Ororo made her way into Xavier's room, sitting down beside his bed and taking his hand in hers. "What was that?"
"Jean has shed her skin once more, returning to what she was when first she rose from the lake." He looked away from her, up at the ceiling, though Ororo didn't think he was seeing it; he'd turned inward mentally. "She has gone after Nathaniel Essex."
At a noise near the door, Ororo turned her head to see Warren, Edna fussing and telling him to go lie back down. "Can't," he said, though he did accept the chair Edna brought in. Wrapped in a blanket, he shivered violently and looked dreadful, swollen and pale with great, dark circles beneath his eyes. Ororo heard the distinctive bamf of Kurt's explosive arrival in the hall beyond, then he entered as well, perching on a rolling cart in the corner to leave room for the others.
Hank wasn't far behind, no doubt having been in his office asleep, and just a minute or two later, Scott and Logan arrived with a sleepy and confused Doug on their heels. But to Ororo's surprise, looming in the doorway beyond, stood a fever-flushed Piotr. Edna was fussing at him, too, but he just shook his head.
Everyone assembled, Xavier propped himself up with help from Ororo and Edna. "Our plans will have to change if we are to save Jean. She has lost touch with her human self, become the creature of fire and air that she was when she first resurrected, and she is bent on destroying Nathaniel Essex, and perhaps Sebastian Shaw as well."
"Jean wouldn't -"
"Yes, Scott, she would - and will. The discarnate creature that left here has been reduced to the most basic of life impulses - the 'id,' if you will."
"Gone feral," Logan added.
"Something like that, yes. Frustration, rage, grief . . . and the drive to save what she loves. She has no more control - or morality - than a frightened, hurting child. We must recall 'Jean Grey' to herself - help her rediscover her ego and superego. She must reincarnate, or there's no telling what she will do."
Scott was pressing the heels of his hands to his temples. "Jean wouldn't kill anyone -"
"Jean wouldn't, no - " Xavier began, but Logan interrupted.
"This ain't Jean, kid. This thing is to Jean what Wolverine is to Logan. I understand."
Scott dropped his hands to glare, but Logan didn't back down, and tension in the room spiked until Warren - unexpectedly - intervened. "You two, stop it," he said in a voice like a croak. "This is about Jean, not your insecurities." And everyone there blinked, as both Scott and Logan relaxed perceptibly. "So where did she go?" Warren asked the professor.
"Into the city. She is seeking Essex . . . who is staying with Sebastian Shaw, I believe."
"I know how to find the Shaw mansion - but I don't think Jean does. It might give us a little time, if she has to locate them out of all the minds in New York."
"Given her current power levels," Xavier said, "that won't take long."
"Then we'd better get moving." And Warren rose to his feet.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Scott snapped.
Standing eye to eye with him, Warren replied calmly, "With you. It's going to take you and me both, Scott." He glanced past Scott to Logan. "And you, too. You know better than most of us what this must feel like for her."
Logan just nodded, but Scott was shaking his head violently - as was Hank. "Warren, you're in no shape -" Hank began.
"I'm dying, Monkey Toes," Warren snapped back, clearly losing patience. "Let's call a spade a spade. And there's not a damn thing anyone can do for me - but I might be able to do something for Jean. For God's sake, let me save my best friend!"
Silence fell until Xavier broke it. "If Angel thinks he has the strength" - the use of his code name wasn't lost on any of them - "then he should go with Cyclops. I fear he is right, and Scott will need backup. Wolverine will go with them. All three of you - be careful, and not only of Jean. I'm sure Shaw's mansion is well protected." Xavier nodded once. "Good luck."
Scott and Logan headed out, Warren supported between them. It was only then that Ororo noticed the scattery of white feathers on the floor. Warren's wings were molting. Leaning down, she picked up one and smoothed it between her fingers. So soft.
"The rest of you," Xavier said, "I believe it time to dispense with subtlety. We may not have a better chance to break into Essex's lab than now, while he is occupied by Jean. Storm, how do you feel?"
She raised her chin. "Better than yesterday, thanks to Logan's serum." And she did feel better.
The professor nodded, coughed, then said, "I want you to lead a second team made up of Beast, Doug, and Nightcrawler, to infiltrate Essex's lab. Cyclops was given the address. See if you can find the vaccine and remove it. Beast, do you have a way to verify the vaccine?"
"I already put together a field kit for Sunday - PCRs and such - but they'd take a few hours, at least. From what Emma said, I know the vaccine is a chartreuse-green. That's not exactly a typical color, and it'll narrow things down somewhat. I'll take a sample of anything that might even remotely fit the description."
Xavier nodded. "Do the best you can. I'll depend on Storm and Nightcrawler to get you into the building, and Doug to handle security, monitoring from outside. Have you had any luck with your investigations?" he asked Doug - who nodded.
"It's complex, to be sure, but not at as high a level as I'd feared. I don't think Essex really expected anyone to put all the pieces together."
"His arrogance serves our advantage."
"With Kurt's teleportation," Doug continued, "they can enter the building without difficulty, but the hard part will be accessing the high-security basement lab where he likely keeps the vaccine. It has infrared cameras. I could make a heat deflecting fabric, if I had time and resources, but under the circumstances -"
"Iceman," Ororo interrupted, glancing at Hank. "Is he well enough?"
Clearly annoyed, Hank replied, "If Warren is being permitted to participate, then I suppose I can't object to Bobby. More to the point, vaccines are typically kept in ultralow freezers or lyophilized - freeze-dried. We may need his talents for more than just entering the lab. If the vaccine thaws too rapidly, it would lose titer - that is, be less effective."
"What about me?" Piotr asked. "If Mr. Worthington and Bobby are going, I want to, as well . . . and for the same reasons. I want to do something that matters before the end."
Xavier studied Piotr for a moment, then nodded once, briefly. "Very well. Colossus and Iceman will accompany the team, Iceman into the building while Colossus will provide protection for Doug."
Storm stood. "Gentlemen, it's time to put on some leather. We'll take the van. Doug, how long do you need to gather your equipment?"
"Half an hour, maybe less," he said.
"I'll see all of you in the garage then," and she herded them out, leaving Edna with Xavier.
As her teammates were in front of her, none of them noticed when she was yanked backwards into Warren's now-empty room, a hand over her mouth. "I'm going, too," hissed a voice in her ear. Eyes sliding sidewise, Storm could just make out blue skin and fire-red hair, then Mystique released her. "Remember what I said, last fall? We'd make a good team, Storm Queen."
Ororo was taken aback. "Why should I trust you?"
"Because we're on the same side. That virus killed my student . . . and yours. More children will die, if we can't stop it. I have skills you need, and I want the vaccine in the hands of Henry McCoy just as badly as you do."
Storm remembered the stricken, guilty expression on Mystique's face in those last hours of John's life. "All right," she said. "But this is my op; you do as I tell you."
Mystique smiled. "Of course."
Between a late Friday night and a general dislike for seeing the sun rise, Sebastian Shaw was still sound asleep when an enormous explosion rocked his house, catapulting him straight out of bed. He landed on the floor as the roof came down, one of the heavy beams smacking into his king-sized bed, halted less than a foot above him. Too bad it hadn't hit him. Shocked, he peered over the bedside to see only an arm of the woman who'd spent the night, protruding from beneath plaster-dusted wood while the cream sheets beneath were turning red.
Grabbing a robe to cover himself, he scuttled for the door, keeping low to the ground, his cell phone out as he listened to his house security. "Total perimeter breach! The house has been compromised!"
"What the fuck is going on?" Shaw yelled back. "Who's attacking us?"
'Unknown, sir!" replied his chief of security. "Something just blew the roof off the house and the north wall is simply gone." An indrawn breath. "Oh, my God -!"
The line went dead.
"Shit," Shaw said, punching another auto-dial. "Shinobi!" he barked. "Are you there?"
There was no reply. Desperate for the safety of his only son, Shaw dashed out the door and down the hall towards the room that was Shinobi's . . . except a gaping hole stood where the room had been, as if a wrecking ball had torn into it. Devastated, Shaw moaned and clutched at his chest. "Shinobi -"
Beyond the hole in the wall, he could see the wreckage that had used to be his front lawn. Bushes had been ripped up, cars overturned, and the central fountain was reduced to rubble so that the broken pipes shot water straight up into the morning air, making a glittering arc.
Before he could wonder further, a voice echoed around him, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. It sounded vaguely female. "SEBASTIAN SHAW, I HOLD THE LIFE OF YOUR CHILD HOSTAGE, JUST AS YOU HOLD THE LIVES OF MY CHILDREN. COME OUT WHERE I CAN SEE YOU!"
What the hell? But for Shinobi's sake, Shaw chose to play along for the moment. Whoever it was couldn't know his own mutant power let him absorb any kinetic force from a punch to a bullet to a blast, making him effectively invulnerable and also superhumanly strong in direct proportion to the energy he absorbed. In fact, it was his habit every morning upon rising to work out with a punching bag in his gym so he was never depowered. Unfortunately, this morning's routine had been interrupted, and he was at low ebb. If only that roof beam had hit him . . . .
"I don't know where you are!" he shouted back now. "How can I come out where you can see me?"
"Come down to the foyer," the voice replied.
Shaw glanced over the rail of the upper mezzanine, down into the main hallway before the front door. An atrium of tropical plants, small pools and artificial waterfalls had once lain beneath a three-story glass ceiling. Very little was left, plants flattened beneath shattered pieces of the roof and the entire front entranceway ripped off. Water was splattered everywhere, along with bright, dying koi. But the grand staircase that connected all three floors at the hallway rear was still intact. Shaw might have tried escaping out the back, but he couldn't leave Shinobi. Perhaps his son was already dead and this just a ploy to lure him into the open, but he couldn't take that chance. So he stood up straight and tied the belt of his robe, running hands through his hair to smooth it down. Dignity was important, even when facing one's enemies. Especially when facing one's enemies.
He made his way to the staircase and descended to the main floor, passing through the destroyed atrium to stop directly in front of the now-missing doorway. On the porch beyond rose a column of fire. Almost Biblical, Shaw thought, and he understood how his security had been breached. This was no normal human threat. "Who are you, what do you want - and where is my son?"
The flame parted, revealing Shinobi - who lay unconscious on the ground. "HE IS, SO FAR, UNHARMED. I WILL RETURN HIM TO YOU IN EXCHANGE FOR NATHANIEL ESSEX."
"I don't bargain with nameless terrorists. Who are you?"
"I AM . . . FIRE. I AM LIFE. I AM A PHOENIX REBORN. GIVE ME NATHANIEL ESSEX."
From behind Shaw came the sound of enthusiastic clapping, and he spun to see Essex himself striding across the detritus- and koi-strewn floor. "Magnificent!" he cried out.
The fire-column didn't respond verbally, but did shrink into a form more birdlike, with great flame wings rising behind her body, head and neck straining forward, beak open, as if to snatch Essex right off the ground.
"Shinobi!" Shaw screamed, raw-throated. His son had been inside that column.
The bird ignored Shaw, as did Essex, who let fly with a bolt of pure electrical energy, strong enough to blackout an entire New York neighborhood and then some.
The firebird simply absorbed it.
Shaw wasn't sure whether the expression on Essex's face was more surprised or more ecstatic. "Magnificent," he cried again. "My magnificent creature!" And he raised his arms to her.
Her beak opened, and consumed him.
Whatever Essex had told Shaw about his ability to resuscitate himself, Shaw thought this more than even he could manage, and heard him shouting from within as the flames burned him alive.
But then the bird's head drew back, leaving Essex standing there, singed badly but alive.
"Where's my son!" Shaw shouted, awake to a new hope.
Turning her head, the bird spit flame at him and he ducked back, raising an arm to shield himself. Returning her attention to Essex, the firebird said, "I WANT THE FORMULA FOR THE VACCINE."
"Jean, Jean," Essex said, still grinning widely, "I named my terms. And I thought your partner had agreed to them?"
The wings extended and the flames roared higher, and Shaw's demolished house began to burn from the concentrated heat. In the distance, he could hear sirens. Though he lived on a large estate, an explosion of the magnitude that had rocked his house earlier wouldn't have gone unnoticed. "The authorities are on the way!" he shouted now, trying to get the bird's attention again. "Give me back my son and leave, and you might still get away!"
Yet even as he said it, he realized how ridiculous that was. What could New York's Finest do against this creature of fire and rage?
"YOU DON'T CONCERN ME," the phoenix said, focused on him once more, "EXCEPT AS YOU CONTRIBUTED TO THIS VIRUS' CREATION. IT'S KILLING MY CHILDREN. IN RETRIBUTION, YOU SHALL LOSE YOURS."
"No!" Shaw shouted. "You said you'd give him back if I gave you Essex!"
"BUT YOU DIDN'T. ESSEX GAVE ME HIMSELF." Her flames roared even higher and Shaw screamed, helpless, as the blackened body of his son was regurgitated from the bird's beak onto a buckled marble floor. Enraged, Shaw bent to strike the ground and absorb the energy - but felt himself lifted straight up into the air, instead.
"I THINK NOT, SEBASTIAN SHAW," the phoenix said. "I UNDERSTAND HOW YOUR POWER WORKS - CAN SEE IT IN YOUR MIND. YOU MAY ABSORB STRIKES AGAINST YOU, BUT HOW WOULD YOU DO WITH THE OPPOSITE? HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE STRETCHED . . . "
Searing agony tore at all Shaw's joints as he was spread-eagled against nothing and pulled limb from limb - but not quickly. "Suffer as my children suffer," she said, her thundering voice vicious and joyful. "Ache in every muscle and joint as this virus pains them."
And as he hung there, teeth gritted, the phoenix's attention returned to Essex. "YOU WILL GIVE ME THE FORMULA FOR THE VACCINE . . . OR I WILL TAKE IT FROM YOUR MIND."
"You can't!" Essex called back. He'd collapsed onto the ground, arms around himself in agony from the severe burns covering all his exposed skin, but defiant. "My mind is sealed to you."
"THEN I'LL CRACK IT LIKE AN EGG," the phoenix replied, and Shaw watched Essex arch backward, hands gripping his skull, screaming and jerking. If Shaw had any satisfaction at all, it was in seeing that son of a bitch rendered helpless. "GIVE ME THE FORMULA!" she cried, and the sound of it shook the entire building.
"You're killing me!" Essex bellowed, and his body abruptly stopped seizing. He propped himself up on his elbows, panting - and laughing, damn him, though blood trickled from his nose over his cracked skin. "You can't take it, my beautiful creature. It's beyond even your ability to strip away. The only way I'll let you have it is if you heal me and give me what I asked for."
And the firebird screamed again, a sound full of fury and despair. Her form expanded until she was higher than the roof, neck arched, wings extended. "THEN DIE LIKE THOSE YOU'VE KILLED!" And Shaw watched Essex's body boil from within, exploding outward into a million pieces. There was no resuscitating from that.
It was the last thing he saw. In the next moment, the phoenix turned her lambent eyes on him, and he felt his body ripped apart -
Saturday morning, the mansion was in a contained uproar. Some noise - no one was sure just what it had been - had awoken half the students . . . only to find the adults cloistered downstairs in the sub-basement. A little before seven, Kitty saw Mr. Summers, Logan, and Mr. Worthington (looking one step away from the morgue) exit the elevator. Mr. Worthington was leaning heavily on Mr. Summers, or she guessed she should say Cyclops, as he was in uniform. "What's going on?" Sam Guthrie asked them.
"X-Men business," Cyclops said, which translated to "I can't tell you." Then he half-carried Mr. Worthington down the main hall toward the dining room that led to the rear hallway, and the garage. Whatever it was must be big, Kitty thought, for Mr. Worthington to be going, too.
Fifteen minutes later, more adults appeared upstairs, also in uniform. Ms. Munroe - Storm - lead them, and they included Dr. McCoy (he actually had a uniform?), Nightcrawler, Bobby, looking pale but on his feet . . . and to Kitty's astonishment, both Mystique and Piotr - sweaty, flushed, but walking. Pete was even in uniform. Ignoring her usual awe of the X-Men, she ran forward to grab at him, but he shook her off . . . gently. "Katya, don't touch."
"You can't go!" she pleaded. "You're sick!"
The other adults had turned to watch, but Piotr made a small gesture and Storm motioned them away, leaving Kitty and Piotr in the hallway - watched by half the student body. "Dining hall," Kitty said, leading Piotr in there. Thankfully, no one followed.
"I have to go," he told her.
"You're too sick!"
He smiled and reached up as if to touch her cheek - but didn't. "We're going after a vaccine for this virus. It could save a lot of people -"
"You?" She gripped his arms, Legacy be damned.
"Not me." He shook his head and stepped away from her again. "It's too far along in me. But this is what I can do - maybe the last thing I can do. I can help them get that vaccine."
She wanted to rage and hit and scream. Instead, sobs choked her. "It's not fair," she said, over and over, yanking at her hair.
Steel fingers pulled her hands away. He'd metaled up so he could touch her safely. "Stop it, Katya." She looked up at him. "I have to go; they're waiting."
"Bend down," she said. Baffled, he obeyed and she phased, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. His steel form had no body fluids, and she was a ghost. They could touch so, however ephemeral. "I love you," she told him, and just now, didn't care about her dignity or whether he felt the same.
Smiling, he reached out to draw his fingers through her insubstantial hair. "If you were just a little older . . . ."
"Would you have waited for me to grow up?" she asked.
"I would have waited," he said, then turned on his heel and hurried out the other side of the dining hall.
This early on a Saturday morning, the hallways of Grail Corporation - Essex's pharmaceuticals company - were blessedly empty. Storm glanced both ways down the one outside the janitorial closet into which Nightcrawler had systematically teleported the infiltration team, one at a time.
"We're all in, Cypher."
"Roger that," came Doug's voice over the transmitter. "On your floor, we've got guards at the front desk and in the main security room. I've instituted a loop feed on their cameras that'll show your corridor empty to the elevator, as well as in the basement. Given the blueprints I pulled off their computers last night after I talked to Cyclops, the main labs are in the basement. There are five bogies below, plus some weekend personnel in the lab itself. You'll need to neutralize those guards and I'll work on access to the labs."
"Are there cameras inside there, too?" Nightcrawler asked.
"Not normal video. I could give you an image from the infrared, but like I said at the mansion, if you teleported in, your body heat would immediately set off the alarm system. We need someone who won't register a body temp above the room's ambient temperature, which is 73o Fahrenheit."
All eyes turned to Bobby, who nodded curtly. "I'm feeling well enough," he said. "Hank's got a thermometer, so I'll know when I've dropped my body to the right level before going in. But I'm going to need someone to tell me how to disable the alarm system."
"That's what I'm here for," Cypher replied. "As long as you see it, I can see it." In response, Bobby touched the special camera glasses he wore; they had red lenses and made him look a bit like Scott. "Now," Doug went on, "once your team has taken out the basement security, I can bypass the security card, but there's a handprint reader, too."
"Are the guards cleared to enter the lab?" Mystique asked. "I can mimic one."
"I can't tell from the data I have access to. Probably, but I can't guarantee it."
"We'll have to trust to luck."
"Roger that," Cypher replied.
"For now, we secure the basement," Storm said, pointing her team towards the elevator. She'd leave Cypher to work his magic in the van outside where he'd hacked into the lab's security systems by some electronic wizardry. "The system is actually closed," he'd said on the way there. "That's the only truly secure system anyway, so I have to gain access to it via transmitter."
"And you can do that?" Hank had asked, watching over Doug's shoulder.
"There's no system the Cypher can't break into," he'd replied with a small smile.
"The Cypher?" Storm had asked, and Doug had blushed.
"My, um, hacker name."
Storm had grinned. "Welcome to the X-Men, Cypher."
Now, as Storm and her team entered the elevator, she realized they couldn't access the basement without a key. "It has a security lock," she said into her transmitter.
"Working on it," Cypher replied. A minute later, the elevator jerked into motion. "Two guards are headed for the elevator," Cypher warned. "They must have an after-hours alert of some kind. No guns - they probably assume it's authorized personnel - but be ready."
The elevator halted and the doors parted. Mystique exploded out of them before Storm quite registered it, engaging one of the guards in a brief but brutal struggle even as Nightcrawler teleported atop the other, felling him with a swift kick to the head. Storm didn't have time to be amazed. "Three more to go," she said and Doug gave them locations. Storm, Mystique, and Nightcrawler headed off to secure the floor while Beast and Iceman waited near the lab entrance, Iceman readying himself to match the temperature inside the lab.
Storm found her guard and quickly knocked him out from behind, then trotted back towards the lab. Nightcrawler was already there, and Mystique, who glanced up. "Slowpoke," she said, and Storm didn't know if she were being teased in a friendly way or made fun of.
But Doug was speaking. "There are three lab techs or other personnel in there - two of them in a back room and the other near the refrigeration units. I don't know how silent it'll be, opening the door, but Iceman, duck right when you enter. I'll direct you to the main security panel and then walk you through disarming the sensors. Mystique, the card and palm print have to be done together. I've got the code, and on the count of three, I'll key it. Are you and Iceman ready?"
"Ready," both said together.
"Then three, two, one -"
The light on the access panel switched from red to green even as Mystique laid her morphed hand on the recognition panel and a white light - like a copy machine - scanned it.
The doors parted. "Iceman," Storm said, "You're on."
As feared, Cyclops, Angel, and Wolverine arrived at the Shaw mansion too late. Fire trucks and police already swarmed over the place, and the three men crouched in the woods just on the other side of the pulverized grounds wall. "Is Jean around?" Angel asked Cyclops, who turned his face down to the earth - concentrating. He'd worn a visor for the mission because, he said, he didn't have good enough control without it.
Now, he replied, "She's in there," and pointed towards the stables, which still stood. "I don't think she's really . . . aware."
"Whaddaya mean by that?" Wolverine asked.
Cyclops frowned. "I can't explain. I can sense her presence, but don't feel her thoughts at all. Like she's asleep. I think she can sense me, but it hasn't really registered."
Angel wasn't the least comforted by that assessment.
"We'll have to circle around," Wolverine was saying, "see if there's a rear entrance."
"There should be," Cyclops replied, "opening onto one of the yards." But in daylight, it'd be hard to reach the stable without being seen. "I wish I had Storm to lay some morning ground fog," Cyclops added.
"Everyone's up at the house," Wolverine said, watching the bustling anthill of activity at the ruined residence. "I bet they already searched the outbuildings. Follow me." And he headed left deeper into the wooded area; Angel leaned on Cyclops to follow. It took fifteen minutes of circling and a couple quick dashes before they'd reached the fence to one of the stable yards. Cyclops and Wolverine threw themselves over it, while Angel summoned enough strength to lift himself a few feet. Then they were in and made their way to a rear door with the bulk of the stable to shield them from the house.
The door had a padlock, but a quick, precise blast from Cyclops took care of that, and they let themselves into the barn. Inside, it was surprisingly quiet, considering. Horses stamped or blew out softly as morning light streamed in the open, sliding front doors. Angel and Wolverine let Cyclops take point.
He led them to an empty stall where Jean was curled into a fetal position, weeping, hay in her wild red hair, very much physical - and naked. "I killed them," she whispered over and over. "I killed them all." Seeing her broke Warren's heart and he extended a bedraggled wing across her body to cover her even as Scott was pulling off his uniform jacket and Wolverine looked around for a saddle blanket to drape across her lower body.
"Jean," Scott said while he covered her up, "we're here. You're safe."
She turned a tear-stained face towards them, her eyes opaque gold - no visible pupil. "You should stay away from me," she warned, but as a caution not a threat. "I don't want to hurt you, too." A pause. "I killed them all."
"Killed who?" Cyclops asked.
"Essex. Shaw. All the security and staff in the house. All the guards outside. Everyone."
Jaw tight, Cyclops pulled off his visor, turning to give Wolverine a significant glance. "She ever killed before?" Wolverine asked softly. Cyclops and Angel both shook their heads.
Coughing bloody spittle, Angel said, "Scott - let me talk to her."
Cyclops shifted slightly to let Angel forward into the stall with Jean. "What happened?" Warren asked her softly.
Instant agony squeezed his brain - the same he'd felt in Alaska upon first finding Jean. "Too fast," Cyclops gasped, and abruptly, the pressure ceased. Yet it left behind a palpable memory of what had occurred at the Shaw mansion. Angel, Cyclops, and Wolverine not only knew what Jean had done, but how it had felt to her victims. Warren might have been horrified, except he didn't think any of them deserved the sympathy.
Jean, however, clearly felt otherwise. "I killed them," she repeated now. "I'm a doctor - but I killed them. Horribly. And Essex didn't even tell me anything. I've nothing to show for any of it - no answer. I killed them, but Essex's virus is still killing us." She broke down into sobs, her hands over her face. "And I can't undo it."
There was a pause, like an indrawn breath, then Cyclops said, "No, maybe you can -"
Hank waited impatiently outside the lab with the rest of the team, worried for the safety of the young man inside. Bobby's illness had given Hank a chance to get to know him better, and he liked him. What he didn't like was Bobby's inclusion (still sick!) on this very dangerous mission - especially sent in alone - even while he recognized the tactical necessity.
Abruptly, the doors parted and they all started, half fearing discovery, but Bobby stood framed in it. "We've disarmed the alarm. Well, Cypher did. I just cut the lines he told me to. It's safe to come in."
Hank rose together with Storm. Mystique, however, didn't. "Kurt and I will stay out here, to guard."
Storm didn't protest, and Hank followed her in, his insulated bags in one hand. "It will be better," Storm said softly, "if we can take the samples without alerting all the lab techs. There is one near the refrigerators, but the other two are in the back. Let us be as swift as possible."
"I can try," Hank replied, "but a lot will depend on how this lab labels things. Most use a numerical code. I doubt our samples will have 'vaccine for Legacy' penned on the side, and I'm not going to have time to run full PCRs - those take hours."
"Then take every vial in the refrigerators if you must," Storm replied.
"And carry them all?" Hank replied, but wasted no more words, heading instead to the side of the lab where Cypher had said the refrigerators stood, moving carefully to avoid being heard. His senses, like his agility, were somewhat sharper than human average, yet he detected nothing - no sound of movement. Perhaps whoever had been assigned here was dozing on the job?
Turning a corner, he saw why the person Doug had seen made no sound. It wasn't a lab tech. It was a lab rat - albeit decidedly not of the Muridae family.
The three of them approached the young man strapped to a table and apparently drugged into unconsciousness. He wasn't remarkable in either height or girth, and his hair was garden-variety brown, yet he had the same sharp, exceptional beauty as Scott. Hank couldn't guess whether he was a mutant, but it didn't matter. He was a prisoner.
"Help me free him," Storm said to Bobby. Hank might have stayed to help, but time was at a premium, so he headed for the refrigeration units, seeking the ultralow freezers, of which there were two small ones, about five cubic feet square. Nothing in the first looked promising, and he had to check quickly because if the temperature rose above -80o C, it would set off alarms. It wasn't until reaching the second - padlocked - that he found what he thought he might be looking for.
Having disposed of the padlock by a yank from superhuman strength, he found six double-stacked canisters, each containing eight vials of a hard-frozen, pale yellow-green substance. The labels on the canisters bore only a number - exactly the kind of coding Hank had feared - but given what Emma had told him, not to mention the secured freezer, he was fairly sure this was the vaccine. Just to be certain, however, he checked the remaining units. In another, he found a few blue-green samples, and a few more pale yellow with a slight green tinge, of which he took one each, to be on the safe side. He found nothing freeze-dried that seemed likely. Then he stored all the canisters he could fit into his insulated packs and returned to Storm and Iceman.
They carried the stranger, still out cold, between them. "I do not think he will wake any time soon," Storm said.
Hank handed both his packs to Bobby - "Keep them as cold as they are right now" - then got a hold of the man, throwing him (gently) over a shoulder. "I'll take him. Let's go."
"You found it?"
"I'm fairly certain, yes, assuming Emma's description can be trusted - and in this, I have no reason to doubt her."
Storm held his eyes a moment, then just nodded and gestured back towards the door.
Luck, however, did not let them escape without incident. One of the techs previously in back had come out into the main lab, and they blundered right into him as they headed out. He gasped in surprise, but Hank unloaded the stranger on Storm (who staggered under the unexpected weight) then vaulted a table to grab the man by the throat, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into a column. "We are looking for a certain vaccine," he said, motioning with one hand to Bobby, who came forward. "Open the pack, Iceman, and show this gentleman one of the canisters." Bobby did so. "Is this the cure for Legacy?"
The tech just blinked, then smiled slowly despite Hank's grip on his windpipe. 'Let me go,' he mouthed.
"Only if you promise not to scream. If you do, I shall crush your throat."
The other nodded, and Hank released him. The man rubbed his neck and said, "Uncharacteristically forceful, Dr. McCoy," then grinned again at Hank's obvious shock. "Oh, yes, I know who you are. I must congratulate you for getting past Dr. Essex's security."
"The vaccine?" Hank asked.
"That, I'm afraid I can't tell you." The smile deepened. "Non-disclosure forms and all that - I'm sure you understand."
Furious, Hank grabbed him again to slam him back into the column. "I don't give a damn about your non-disclosure forms. That virus is killing people!"
'Only the trash,' the other mouthed, and Hank had to remind himself he was a doctor, not an assassin.
"Who are you?" he demanded instead, letting up on the other's windpipe enough for him to talk.
"'Strife' will do - for you." And his arms, which Hank hadn't really been watching, jerked up suddenly, a syringe in one. This, he stabbed into Hank's chest.
Startled, Hank let him go and he fled immediately, back into the bowels of the lab. Storm might have followed, but for the man she held up. Hank jerked the syringe out and looked at it. He didn't think there'd been anything in it - one didn't usually carry around full syringes in one's pocket. Strife had meant only to distract him, and it had worked. He didn't have time to worry about it, in any case; he'd test the syringe at the medlab later. Turning to Storm, he said, "We must get all these samples back to the mansion immediately, before they spoil."
Getting out of the building didn't prove to be quite as easy as getting in. Somehow, the guards had been alerted - where was Ramsey? - and were waiting just outside the elevator. It was, Mystique thought, a good thing she'd been trained for just this sort of eventuality. The X-types were mostly useless, as they refused to use lethal force, even if they weren't dragging along a flatscan as encumbrance. At least the Weather Witch finally got her head out of her ass long enough to call the lightning and fry all the electronics in the building. That would, of course, set off alarms elsewhere, but they should be long gone by then, and it left the lab security working blind. Mystique and her fellows made a break for it out an emergency exit.
When they reached the van, they discovered what had happened to Cypher. Their surveillance had been compromised and the van shot up, though the doors were all still locked - crushed closed by the boy now down on his ass against a rear wheel and back in his flesh-form. He didn't look good at all, blood leaking from nose, ears, eyes and mouth. Not damage from the fight - he'd moved into the final stages of Legacy, and without a transfusion, Mystique didn't know if he'd make it back to the mansion.
At least Cypher was safe. They found their little tech genius on the van floor, back pressed to one of the banks of ruined computers, a shaking .45 pointed at Mystique as she climbed behind the wheel. Ramsey was breathing hard and she smiled at him, kicking the gun from his grip. "Put that down; you might actually hit something with it." Then she got out again so the others could enter through the front. (Those rear doors wouldn't open without a blow-torch, and they'd needed a crowbar just to get into the driver's side. Mystique would have to drive with one hand holding the jimmied door shut.)
Storm and Bobby hurried in with their flatscan guest while Nightcrawler teleported first the steel boy then the good doctor inside. Mystique had the van moving before McCoy could sit down and examine the kid. She heard Cypher say, "He saved my life," as McCoy told the boy, "Just half an hour, Pete. Hang on for half an hour and we'll have you home."
"For all the good that'll do," Mystique muttered under her breath as she maneuvered their trashed vehicle out of the commercial-industrial neighborhood of Hempstead, Long Island, and hoped they passed no cops on the highway headed north. They were hardly inconspicuous with the sides full of bullet holes and a crunched rear end, but leaving behind a registered vehicle to be found by cops hadn't been an option, even if they could steal another ride for their extraction. She was simply glad the engine and tires had remained in one piece.
"You think you can do what?" Wolverine asked, because he was sure he couldn't have heard correctly what Summers had just proposed.
"I can travel through time. I think. If what Essex said is right."
Winged Boy was staring at Summers with equal disbelief, so it wasn't just Wolverine. "Since when?" the other man asked.
"Essex told Jean something when he met with her. He said we'd produce children with her powers and mine - telepathic telekinetics who could also time travel. That last isn't Jean's power, and I've been thinking about it ever since. Sometimes, in the past, I've seemed to . . . know things . . . before they happened. I never put any stock in it, but -"
Summers looked at Jean, who was still huddled like a child in the stall. Yet there was something new in her face - a vague hope. "Do you really think you could?"
He knelt down in front of her and took her hands. "I don't know. You tell me. You fixed my head. What's in there, Jean?"
She shut her eyes a moment, then opened them again. "I'm not sure . . . but I may be able to help you find out.
"We'd better hurry," Logan warned them, eyes on the mansion in the distance, visible through the open front stable doors.
"If this actually works," Summers said, "we have all the time in the world."
Hank had stored a jump bag in the van, and now got a saline drip going for Piotr, along with a shot of adrenaline, even as Mystique maneuvered the van (somewhat wildly) through city traffic. Hank doubted there was much to be done for the boy at this point, but wasn't inclined to call it quits, and he wanted to give Piotr's family a chance to say goodbye, at least.
Piotr drifted in and out of consciousness. At one point, he asked, "Did we get the vaccine?"
"Yes, we did," Hank told him. "Six canisters of it. With that, we'll be able to inoculate everyone uninfected at the mansion and still have plenty to submit to the CDC to start the approval process through the FDA."
"How long will that take?" Piotr asked.
"I don't know." Hank frowned. "With an epidemic threatening, they might work a little faster."
Pete's face twisted, "They won't hurry; it's just killing us mutants, not them."
Hank didn't like the unconscious division. "It's killing human beings, Pete; mutant or not doesn't matter. We're doctors. We heal the sick. I don't limit myself only to mutants, and non-mutant doctors - the ones with any kind of conscience - don't limit themselves to non-mutants. I'll push this through the FDA as fast as possible if I have to drop-kick it . . . and I know some good people in Atlanta who'll help."
"Speaking of non-mutants," Storm broke in, "I think our guest may be waking." She nodded to the stranger they'd rescued from Essex's lab. He was stirring, and Hank left Pete to be watched over by Bobby and a well-wrapped Doug, and approached the stranger, propping him up gently.
"Are you with us, sir?"
The stranger opened his eyes.
And that settled any question of whether he was a mutant. What should have been a white sclera showed coal black instead, and the irises were a scarlet far brighter than one would find in an albino, which this young man certainly wasn't.
"Who are you?" Storm asked him.
He flicked his peculiar eyes in her direction and spoke in a strange, clipped English with odd accents. "Who're you, pretty woman?"
Storm flushed. "My name is Ororo Munroe. We rescued you from Grail Corporation - Nathaniel Essex's lab."
At Essex's name, the stranger frowned and said something in what sounded to Hank like bastardized French. Then, in English, he said, "Thank you for that. And my name's Remy LeBeau."
"How did you wind up in the clutches of Essex?" Hank asked.
"Long story." Remy sagged back against the side of one ruined computer. "Can I tell y'all later when we get down from the car?"
"Certainly. For now, rest."
And Hank made his way back to Pete's side; in an undertone, he asked Doug, "Was that French?"
"Very poor Cajun French," Doug corrected in an equally low voice, then added, laughing a little, "He's got quite a colorful vocabulary."
"Most mutants," Jean said as she and Scott knelt facing each other in the stall, Warren and Logan looking on, "are born with an instinctive base command of their powers. They usually can't control it well yet, but they know how to use it." She raised her hands to the sides of Scott's face, more to reassure him than because she needed the physical contact now. "I'm not sure you'll be able to control your time walking. You might come out five minutes in the past - or five days . . . or five years. You can move forward again, too, but it'll take time, to master it."
"The advantage," Scott said, "is that even if it takes me days, it'll be only seconds to you."
She nodded, rubbing the heel of her palm down one leg of the slacks she'd made for herself once conscious enough to do so. "Even after you master moving through time, I'm not sure you'll be able to take anyone with you." She glanced at Warren and Logan - neither of whom looked happy at that supposition. "Kurt told me he's been able to teleport since he was a young teen, but only recently learned to teleport others, and remember how long it took Kitty to phase anything besides herself?"
Reaching out, Scott grabbed a handful of hay. "We'll see if this comes with me."
"Just hope your clothes go with you," Logan said.
Scott ignored him, nodding to Jean and smiling a little. "I'm ready."
Bending to kiss him once on the lips, Jean wiggled her mind into his to help him trigger the secondary mutation he'd never before been able to use.
And he disappeared.
So did the hay he'd been holding. And his clothes. "That answers that," she said.
"Now what do we do?" Logan asked.
"We wait," she replied, turning to look at both remaining men. "He said he'd come back before confronting my . . . phoenix form." She hugged herself and squeezed her eyes shut. Working with Scott had helped her push the memories away momentarily, but now they were back in vivid detail.
She felt Warren's wings enclose her, and smiled without opening her eyes. This might be as close as she ever got, now, to the touch of an angel.
Note: On Cyclops' time-walking abilities, it's derived from the comic where his and Jean's (genetic) children - most particularly Rachel and Cable - do, indeed, have the powers that Essex attributed to them, if somewhat less finely honed. The time-walking comes from their father, not their mother. There are a few times in the comics when Scott had premonitions in the form of dreams, though it was used irregularly by writers and seems to have been dropped entirely of late. This secondary mutation functioned even less completely due to brain damage, though he passed it on to his children. If his brain were, in fact, healed, then both mutations would once again function correctly.
Remy is for Katt. ;) I didn't originally intend to include him, but he showed up on my mental doorstep and demanded to be admitted to the story. I did a little checking and most modern Cajuns have very poor to no French, with only a splattering of foreign words and some French grammar patterns retained. As with Rogue's Southern accent, I prefer to use grammar to indicate dialect rather than misspellings. Thanks to Domenika for the suggestion of Hempstead.