...this, and what needful else
That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace
We will perform in measure, time, and place.

- from 'Macbeth,' Act 5, Scene 9

Warren came out of the blackness slowly, dragged back into reality by a steady accumulation of sensations. There was the soft thrum of something - an engine? - and a few low voices talking, and the scent of burnt ozone, like someone had been playing with electricity...

He felt something hard and cold digging into his back, realized he was lying down, and groggily pushed himself up into a sitting position.

Immediately someone put their hand on his shoulder, and a voice said, "Don't worry - you are among friends."

Warren blinked his vision clear and saw a large, blue-furred creature standing in front of him. He jerked backwards automatically, banging his head against a metal wall. "Where -?"

"It's okay," someone else said, weakly, and Warren looked over the blue guy's shoulder to see a couple of people he'd never wanted to see again. They didn't look any better than he felt; the girl with the white-streaked hair, in fact, was hooked up to a whole bunch of machines. That mollified him only slightly.

"Oh, great, it's you people," he said, sitting up straighter and rubbing his bruised head. He was in
a plane of some kind, he could tell now, and it was dark outside, with the unmistakable lights of the New York skyline glittering far below. He felt a warm pang of homecoming despite himself. "Cyclops, right? What's going on? And what happened to Miss Southern-Fried Goth?"

Cyclops, sitting next a redheaded girl Warren didn't recognize, held up a hand for patience and took another breath from his oxygen mask before asking, "You mean you don't remember anything?"

"Not a thing," Warren said, looking at the other people in the jet, the two pilots - a man wearing a mask and a woman with white hair. And as soon as he'd said it, the memories came flooding back. The Morlocks, the Marauders, Sinister, little Sarah, the botched escape... and then a long stretch of blank, empty time that was more frightening than anything else he'd undergone.

Some of that fear must have shown on his face, because the blue guy put his hand back on Warren's shoulder and said gently, "There will be time to explain it all."

He blinked, suddenly remembering someone so important that he was sickened to think he'd forgotten about her at all. "Carol - where's Carol?"

The redhead looked at him, sad. "Carol... didn't make it."

Warren stood up, swaying a little as his feet hit the floor, and took a few steps in no particular direction. "She's- she's dead?"

"We're not sure," the blue guy said, trying to steer Warren into a seat. "But please, stay calm."

"You're not sure? She just said that Carol didn't make it!" Warren exclaimed, gesturing. "There's not too many ways to interpret that!"

"What Beast means," the male pilot said, turning around to show a gruff, toothy snarl, "is that you're gonna need a roadmap to figure out what happened to both Ace and you, so sit down and shut up until we get to someone who has answers."

Warren's first inclination was to tell the jerk exactly what he thought about that idea, but then he glanced down at his hand and saw that his skin was now a vibrant shade of blue.

The world slowed down around him, and he twitched one wing into view with all the speed of someone moving underwater. Someone drowning underwater.

Metal. He had metal wings and blue skin.

He took a staggering step backwards, feeling blindly for the curving hull of the plane and leaning against it when he found it. "Oh, God. Oh, God..."

"Please, stay calm," Beast repeated. The redhead was also standing now, looking worried, and even Cyclops behind his oxygen mask and visor seemed concerned.

"I'm not calm," Warren said, breathing hard. "I'm going to be sick."

"Not on any of the seats," the male pilot called back.

It was a somber sight that greeted Xavier when his X-Men returned. Wolverine was fine, and so was Storm; Beast looked exhausted, but unhurt. The children, on the other hand, were walking wounded. Cyclops had the pale, drawn demeanor of someone who'd been gravely ill for quite a while, and he leaned heavily on Jean as they made their way across the hangar floor. For that matter, Jean herself looked unusually frail, although she was clearly on the mend.

Warren Worthington staggered out under his own power. Having never seen him before, Xavier wasn't sure if he was injured; however, a shallow telepathic scan showed that the boy was sound in body but nowhere near okay in mind. And Carol...

He saw Beast and Wolverine carrying the motionless body, shrouded in medical equipment, off of the jet and immediately feared the worst. "What happened?"

Beast sighed and looked down at the floor, his shoulders visibly slumping. "She fought Death. I can't say that she won, either. Her readings have been all over the place."

"She did save my life," Warren said, his voice uneven. "I just wish she hadn't..."

In that instant, Xavier made a series of swift decisions. "Hank," he told Beast, "put Carol in the infirmary. Have some of the students assist you if necessary. And then get some rest."

Beast nodded. "I hope that last part applies to my other three patients as well."

"Of course. Take Jean and Scott with you; I'd like to have a few words with Mr. Worthington before I release him into your care."

Warren straightened, looking suddenly defiant. "Oh, great, called into the principal's office on my first day. My parents are gonna kill me."

Xavier did not like that tone any more than the depressed one. "Warren, you're not in trouble. Not with us, anyway. Go ahead, Beast, Wolverine," he added, seeing that neither had not moved.

Hank nodded and gestured for Scott and Jean to join them. Even with his weakened state, Scott looked unwilling to leave, and Jean was ready to follow his lead; Xavier valued that loyalty, but was more concerned with his students' health. Go, please. I will be fine here.

Scott and Jean finally turned and left. Before the students had reached the hangar doors, Hank had taken one on each big arm, holding them up as best he could with Carol's additional burden. It was a good thing, Xavier thought, that infirmary was nearby.

He refocused onto Warren and steeled himself for what he knew was going to be a long and hard-fought conversation. "Warren. Would you like some tea or coffee? Perhaps something to eat?"

"I would like some answers," he shot back.

Xavier kept a pleasant expression. "Understandable. Shall we adjourn to my study?"

Beast rummaged around in a cabinet next Scott's bed in the infirmary, making a lot of noise. Most of it was one-sided conversation. Scott had noticed more and more that when Beast was thinking - really thinking - that he tended to start babbling. It didn't matter much anymore, but if his teacher was in a talkative mood, Scott decided he would ask him something that had been concerning him for the past hour. "Um... Beast?"

The blue mutant abruptly stopped what was he was doing and looked up at him. "Yes?"

"How did you... stop the fever?"

Sitting on the other bed, Jean lifted her head quickly at the question, and gave him a strange look.

"Oh." Beast shut the cabinet door and stood, IV bag in his hand. "I didn't, actually. Pestilence's touch was brief, and I'm guessing that the effects just ran their natural course. In other words, you are blessed with a very effective immune system - although I wouldn't go challenging Wolverine on that respect any time soon." He hooked up the IV to the line already in Jean's arm and said, "Miss Grey, on the other hand, is just very lucky. I wasn't sure this treatment would work, but voila!"

She gave Beast a weak but sincere smile, and Scott felt a sudden burst of guilt. He should have been more careful; if he hadn't been caught by Pestilence, he would have been able to keep Famine away from Jean.

Beast sighed and rested his hand on the edge of the third bed. "But Carol..."

Scott pushed himself up slightly. "Beast, there's nothing else you can do for her. Right?"

"Right. But that doesn't stop me from wanting," he said. "And on that note, I need to retrieve some equipment from upstairs. Will either of you be needing anything in the next few minutes?"

"No," Jean said, answering for both of them.

Beast clapped his hands gently. "Splendid. I'll be right back."

Scott watched him go, then let himself fall back onto the bed. It was hard and smelled like disinfectant, but it felt like heaven. He ached all over, but especially his head, and he already knew that the next few Danger Room sessions were going to be a nightmare.

Jean said, "I hope she's okay."

He pushed himself up into a sitting position; Jean was looking at the small, pale body that made the infirmary feel more like a morgue. He wanted to mourn for Rogue, and Carol, but he was too tired to do anything more than live. "Who, Carol?"

"Mm-hm. And Rogue, too. It's her body; she deserves to have it back. And she probably will." Jean stood up and crossed the room, bringing her IV rack with her and pausing next to his bed. "Can I -?"

He shifted so that she could sit. "Go ahead."

"I saw what Carol did," she said, taking a seat. "Felt it, really, since we were still in the base infirmary... She stole all of the darkness inside Death - I mean, Angel. And then she just... let go. It was so sad, Scott - there was so much pain in her heart. She felt for him so much, and then it all blinked out."

He sat up a little straighter. "She died?"

"I'm not sure." Jean smoothed the bedsheet next to her with one hand, a habitual, nervous movement, then met his eyes with a sorrowful gaze. "But I think she did."

"She gave up her life to save him, just because she cared about him?" he said. That was a staggering implication, and hit closer to home than he wanted to admit. His parents had done that, years ago, when they gave Alex and himself the only two parachutes left. Still... "I don't know if I could do that."

Jean closed her eyes briefly, then opened them and looked directly at him again. The sadness wasn't there anymore, but he wasn't sure what to call this new expression. "I could. For you."

"You..." Not for the first time, he was glad that the visor hid his eyes; he was pretty sure that he looked like an idiot, blinking at her. Did she really mean that? He hoped so, for so many reasons. At the same time, it scared him beyond belief. "I... don't know what to say to that, Jean."

She smiled. "I know. But I like what you're thinking."

That surprised him further, because he was thinking that he really wanted to kiss her until neither of them could breathe - which, given his current condition, wouldn't take that long. "You do?"

Very much so, she said, her smile deepening, and then she leaned forward and kissed him. It was a quick, soft kiss, barely more than a brush of lips and skin, and she pulled away immediately, but it left him absolutely speechless.

And that was fine, because they both knew what they were thinking, and also because Beast chose that precise moment to return. Scott quickly looked at the floor and tried not to notice the telling grin on his teacher's face.

"So. Anything happen while I was gone?"

The atmosphere in Xavier's study was become considerably more tense with each passing second. Warren radiated a veritable galaxy of emotions, none of them positive, and Xavier was swiftly reaching his limits in regards to all that negativity.

He had already explained the ideas and principles that Institute was founded upon, going into some detail about the importance of their mission, the absolute necessity of promoting peaceful use of mutant powers and the equally peaceful coexistence of humans and mutants. Warren had made a series of disparging comments and fallen into a sullen silence.

Xavier kept talking, though, and he kept working on the image inducer as he spoke. With both Kurt and Hank in the house, he'd created a number of the small, watch-sized devices, and now he was modifying one for Warren. "And I believe that's all. Do you have any questions?"

"Other than 'how do I get my life back?' Not a one." Warren was standing, only because he refused to retract his wings, and now he crossed his arms over his chest, plainly daring Xavier to say something.

Instead, he made the last adjustment and tossed the inducer to Warren, who caught it automatically. "What's this?"

"An image inducer. It projects a hologram over the wearer. Try it."

Warren looked at it dubiously, then pressed the button. He seemed to flicker and reform into something much more normal, without the blue skin or metal spans of wings.

Kurt's reaction to the inducer had been amazement, excitement, and disappointment; Warren's was similar, although he skipped excitement and went straight to bitter disillusionment. "It's a nice toy, I guess, but it doesn't change anything," he said, turning the device off and tossing it back to Xavier. He caught it easily.

"It can't give you back what you've lost, no," Xavier said, keeping his tone gentle and full of understanding, "but it can help ease the transition. You don't have to be an outcast, Warren."

The boy crossed his arms over his chest and gave him a dull, cynical glare. "This is the part where you offer me a lifetime membership in your freak patrol, right? The chance to go out there and play superhero savior to the world? No thanks, Professor. I've done that, and it didn't exactly turn out well for me."

He fell silent, but there was more he wanted to say. Xavier could feel it simmering beneath the sharp sarcasm as clearly as he felt his own pulse. He waited for a few moments, and just as he'd anticipated, Warren began talking again.

"And I didn't even do it out of obligation - none of that 'noblesse oblige' garbage my parents' shrinks kept laying on me. I did it because I wanted to, because I liked saving people and helping them. I put my life on the line for a bunch of sewer-dwelling mutants more screwed up than I am - and this is how I get repayed? By being turned into a Horseman of the Apocalypse?
Death incarnate?" Warren shook his head vehemently, and his wings made a restless snickt noise; he didn't appear to notice, but Xavier certainly did. "Yeah, thanks but no thanks, Professor. I'm out of this game. I'm going to charter a jet to my parents' house in Monaco, and stay there for the rest of my life. And there's not a single thing you could say right now that would make me change my mind."

Xavier let that challenge hang in the air for a moment before saying, "You're absolutely right. There is nothing I can say to change your mind - because you are so intent on drowning in self-pity at the moment that all attempts to save you would be useless."

Warren shook his head again, clearly not impressed.

"Let me ask you one question," he continued, undeterred. "What upsets you more: the thought that you did nothing to deserve this - or that you did deserve it?"

Warren went completely still for a long moment, then slowly raised his head and met Xavier's knowing gaze. He was furious - but behind that fury was the fear, vast and terrible, that he really had done something to merit his transformation. "I am not responsible for this."

His wings again spread in a restless twitch, making a sharper metallic noise this time. Xavier chose to ignore it. "I never suggested you were. I merely asked if you thought that you deserved it."

Warren opened his mouth to retort that, but closed it just as abruptly. He rubbed a hand over his face, looking much older than his eighteen years. "Maybe. After what they told me I did as a Horseman - definitely."

Xavier nodded, letting the quiet truths sink into the very fabric of the room, and said, equally quiet, "No one can erase the past. But we can change the present, and in so doing, the future as well."

"In other words, you're offering me a chance at redemption." It was said flatly enough, but Xavier picked up on the tiny glimmer of hope that lay deep within Warren Worthington's bruised and stained soul.

"What I am offering to you is a chance at life," he said, calmly, extending the image inducer again.

Warren reached to take it, then hesitated.

"God forgives, Warren," he added. "We can hardly do any less."

The boy was motionless for a moment longer, then took the inducer and slid it onto his blue wrist. "I accept your offer, Professor."

"Good," Xavier said with undisguised relief. "Now, I'd imagine that you would like to get a new uniform...?"

"I guess so," Warren said, pulling at the front of the blue-and-red outfit. "And a new codename too. I can't really be 'Angel' now, without my wings."

There was still a bitterness there that Xavier did not like in the slightest. He moved forward and put a hand on Warren's shoulder, delibrately ignoring the razor-edged metal inches away from his wrist. "You are not an angel, true. You are something more... an archangel, perhaps?"

Warren frowned, clearly thinking it over. After a few moments he nodded and said the name, testing it. "Archangel. I've heard worse."

"Then welcome to the X-Men, Archangel," Xavier said, extending his hand for a formal handshake to seal the deal.

Warren shook hands without a second thought.

Apocalypse rapped one big fist against the center of War's burnt armor, hard, and the Horseman bit down on a groan.

"That is not the strength I gave you," Apocalypse growled. War hung his head, ashamed. In a moment of fury, Apocalypse struck the weakling across the chest, sending him to the floor, and then turned his wrath on the others when they helped him to his feet.

"You have failed me, Horsemen!" he roared, knowing that they, his absolute servants, would be wounded the most by such a statement. He burned to know what would so injure Essex. The tinkerer had betrayed him twice, and his remaining time on this earth was short. Apocalypse, whose fate was writ in the very stars, would see his dominion over the world complete, and
those who had stood in his path would be swept aside, screaming, into oblivion. He knew this just as he knew the sun rose.

But that did not prevent him from becoming impatient with delays.

"We beg forgiveness, dread lord," they intoned together. Famine moved her broken jaw stiffly, but without the flinching cowardice of War. Apocalypse made a note of that.

"The X-Men have captured my angel of death. That trespass will be dealt with in the future," En Sabah Nur said, striding away from the three Horsemen. "For now, you will destroy the last remnants of the betrayer's presence."

A worker scurried past, unheeding of the death warrent just signed.

The golden room was complete. He did not need them anymore.

The Horsemen said in unison, "Your will is done, Apocalypse."

"I still sense Carol," Professor Xavier said, eyes closed and a deep frown on his face, "but I also sense Rogue - much stronger now than she was before."

Beast was not tremendously happy to hear that. All of his other patients had returned to their normal - well, usual - lives almost two days prior, but Carol and/or Rogue was still occupying her space in the middle of his infirmary, and he would be glad to see the room empty. "So both of them are there, but neither one of them are there. Is that what you're saying?"

Xavier opened his eyes. "In so many words, yes."

"Well, I suppose there's an easy way to figure out who's in charge," Beast said, nodding at the comatose body.

"Indeed. I'd rather not traumatize her mind any further, though," Xavier said.

"So we'll just sit back and cross our fingers."

"I don't think there's much more we can do."

"You're right." Beast rubbed his forehead and muttered, "I sincerely hope that this will be one of those things that everyone laughs about in a few years, but I doubt it."

"Hang in there, old friend. She is," Xavier said, patting his arm, and gave Carol and/or Rogue a final concerned glance before leaving the room.

Beast sighed and settled into a chair on the other side of the room from his last, most pitiful patient. He did have things he could be doing while he kept vigil over the comatose body, and he accessed one of those vitally important programs on the computer now. "At least I'm not alone down here, for a change... Mind if I play checkers?"

But life didn't stop for any of the X-Men, including Beast, who had classes to teach and Danger Room sessions to run, and so Ororo was on watch when the girl in the bed finally awoke. Keeping in mind Gambit's experience a week prior, she waited to see who, exactly, was waking up. It was with a great deal of relief that she heard Rogue mumble, "Huh - Storm? What am I
doin' in here?"

"It's a long story," Ororo said, leaning forward to help the girl sit up. "How much do you remember?"

Rogue grimaced. "Last thing I remember clearly is gettin' blasted by some big woman. After that, not much. Just bits 'n' pieces."

"I see." Ororo regarded her for a moment, worry dancing through her mind. "I'll get Professor Xavier and Beast. They can explain what happened much better than I can."

Rogue nodded, then put a hand out to stop Ororo as she rose to leave the room. The girl was not wearing gloves, and Ororo flinched away out of habit. Fortunately, Rogue did not notice. "Remy - he's gone, isn't he?"

Ororo sat back down, on the bed this time. "Yes. He left some time ago."

"I knew... I think I saw it. And I always kinda figured he would, one day," Rogue said, looking down at the blanket. When she looked up again, her face had twisted into a heartbreaking expression of sadness and grief. "It's just... I really liked him, Storm."

Ororo pulled her into a hug, stroking her hair like a mother would, and Rogue started crying - big, wrenching sobs that both surprised Ororo and made her hold the girl even tighter. Somewhere along the line she found herself humming a wordless tune beneath her breath. The lullaby was one her own mother had used, and it seemed to calm Rogue just as well as it had calmed her.

"It hurts now," Ororo said softly, after Rogue had stopped crying. "And it will hurt for a very long while still. But you are strong, Rogue, stronger than any of us, and I know you'll work through this - in your own time."

Rogue nodded and pulled away, wiping at her reddened eyes. "I... I know. Thanks."

Ororo smiled and stood again. She did not often get the chance to play mother to the students, but bringing comfort was a role she enjoyed. "Rest. Professor Xavier will see you in the morning."

With that, she left the room, quietly flicking off the light and shutting the door behind her.

In the dark, alone, Rogue drew her knees to her chest and said, miserable, "I'm sorry, Remy. I am so, so sorry."

And there was no answer.

The Institute settled slowly into a routine, this one built around the prickly consciences of its newest student and an old one who'd gotten a new perspective on her life. As the days passed, things almost returned to normal.

In the tunnels beneath New York, Callisto recruited an adult mutant named Masque and several children, four of whom were christened Hemingway, Vessel, Reverb, and Sack. They became instant friends with Sarah, who was now demanding that everyone call her Marrow, and spent endless hours talking with her about the beautiful angel and the evil Upworlders who let him die.

In Madripoor, the criminals known as Arclight, Riptide, and Vertigo were among those arrested in a brawl in Lowtown's notorious Princess Bar. Some days later, languishing in jail, the three ex-Marauders were visited by the legal teams for both the Shaw and Frost business empires, who had offices in Hightown. The exact nature of their conversations would be hotly denied later.

In Washington, D.C., Raven Darkholme was involved in a one-car traffic accident, which, tragically, left her unable to perform her job. She resigned that evening and promptly vanished from the face of the earth. Irene Adler also disappeared without warning from her Mississippi home, although no one there really noticed.

Mystique did not tell Magneto where they were going.

In Severnaya Zemlya, three battered Horsemen finished executing Sinister's workers and disposing of the bodies. They then took up position outside their master's golden room, and Apocalypse sealed the door to finally begin his healing rest. If the First One noticed the single additional line leading out of the sarcophagus - the slender bundle of wires that had no immediately obvious function and was certainly not in the original design - he made no sign of it.

In a very well-hidden lab, Dr. Nathaniel Essex selected a particularly interesting sample of deoxyribonucleic acid from his vast databanks and resumed his life's work, blissfully free of irritating overlords and demi-gods once more.

In Utah, a man stood on an observation deck and wished to God he hadn't stopped smoking cigars, because he really could have used one right then. Seeing the broken and battered bodies removed from the destroyed base - even if they weren't those of men he knew - had bothered him more than he wanted to admit. The damage to the base was more extensive than the engineers had first estimated, and it would be a long time before S.H.I.E.L.D. could let it guard itself again. That bothered him too, although he wasn't as shy about saying so.

There was a new world out there, a world of strange powers and stranger alliances just waiting to explode over the horizon, and Nick Fury was no longer entirely certain that his agency could handle the fallout. He felt a sudden strong longing for the days when he was running around the Mekong delta with Dugan, Gabriel and the rest of his commandos; it had seemed like hell at the time, but compared to the conflict he was facing now, the Mekong looked pretty good.

"Colonel!" one of his lieutenants shouted behind him, and he turned to see what else had gone wrong.

"They found her, sir," the lieutenant said, gesturing toward the inner workings of the Helicarrier. "Had a positive lock on the Kree genetics an hour ago and just got visual confirmation. The team retrieved her and she's en route to the medical facilities in Chicago as we speak."

Fury nodded, his grimness lifted just a bit by the knowledge that something good had happened. About damn time, too. "They're sure it's Warbird this time? What about the double signal?"

The lieutenant scratched his head. "Ah, we're still not sure about that, actually, sir. But the three agents who went out knew her personally. They said it was her. No doubt."

"Good. Scratch the Chicago plans," Fury said, turning his attention back to the scene far below, "and have her brought here. I want her under constant guard."

"Yes sir, Colonel." The lieutenant snapped off a salute, then hesitated. "Sir? Where should we put her? She's comatose."

Nick Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and not one to desert the men (and women) who worked for him, thought about it for a moment, then said, "Next to Rogers. He'll appreciate the company."

And in Seattle...