Disclaimer: All characters are property of Marvel, and are used without permission for fun and not profit. Random fact: the original Blade had an Afro.

Author's Note: This naturally falls in the Mutatis Mutandis timeline, archived at www.originofspecies.cjb.net. This particular story follows events in the Politics of Mutancy. *s indicate telepathic speech, in case you were wondering.

Fallout
By N

Magneto was waiting for them.

The Acolytes emerged from their transport spheres to find their leader looking at them with stern dissatisfaction. "You've failed," he said.

Pietro blinked. "No, father," he said. "We did exactly what you said. I mean, the X-Men showed up but they were too late." He dabbed tentatively at one of the scrapes on his face, checking for blood. There was none, just dirt. He could not wait to have a bath.

"Wrong," Magneto thundered. Pietro flinched. "Hull is very much alive, no doubt thanks to Xavier's meddling."

"How dey know we gonna be dere anyway?" Gambit asked. There was implied criticism hidden in the words. Magneto heard it and scowled.

"That is a very good question indeed," he said. "How did Xavier know?" His eyes swept over each Acolyte in turn.

"Maybe it was just deduction and luck?" Pyro offered helpfully. He winced when Magneto glared at him.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I intend to find out." With that Magneto turned, leaving the Acolytes to clean themselves up.

"Paranoid," Pyro muttered as soon as it was safe to do so. Pietro shrugged.

"Yeah, but you gotta wonder."

"Well, wasn't me, mate. Got no reason to go squealin' to Baldy. I'm as stymied as your old man."

The other Acolytes nodded in agreement, although two pairs of eyes told a different story.

* * *

One of the things about being a telepath, Jonothon Starsmore was discovering, was that you almost always knew when somebody was hiding something.

If I were a good little soldier, he mused, I'd go straight to Bucket-Head with my suspicions. 'Course, I never was the military type…

He knocked twice on the door before opening it and stepping into Clarice's room. She was sitting on her bed, dressed in a cotton sundress, and she did not smile when he shut the door behind him.

"Jono," she said. "How are you feeling?"

*Better, thanks. No idea wot that gel did t'me, but I'm back to normal now. As it were, anyway.*

"Glad to hear it." She patted the bed and he sat down beside her. "You're not wearing your jacket," she observed. Jonothon always wore his leather jacket, regardless of weather or setting. Without it he looked about ten times frailer.

Jonothon shrugged. *It's got crud on it.*

"Ah." They sat in silence for a moment, then Clarice met Jonothon's gaze. "You're not here to chat, are you?" she asked.

*No.*

"It's about what happened at the Senator's, isn't it?"

*Yes.*

"You think I did something."

Jonothon did not reply, just watched her steadily. After a few minutes of ignoring him, Clarice uttered a long, trembling sigh.

"I dreamt of him. Xavier, I mean. He wanted to help me, but by the time he found out who I was Erik had already taken me away. When I found out what we were supposed to do to Hull, I reached out for him again. And he answered, and sent his X-men to save the Senator."

*You admit it.*

"Yes. You won't tell anyone."

Jonothon nodded; she was right.

Clarice pushed a strand of hair behind her elfish ear. "There's something else. He told me that if I wanted to, I could go with him."

They sat in silence. Jonothon stood after an untold length of time and crossed the room to Clarice's dresser where there was a small basket of assorted nail polishes. Carefully avoiding looking in the bureau's mirror, he selected a bottle and returned to the bed. Chemical-smell pervaded the room. Clarice hooked her arms around her knees, drawing her legs close to her chest.

*Don't tell me you're actually considering it?* Jonothon said finally, looking up briefly before applying a black lacquer to his nails.

Clarice chewed at her lower lip, brow creasing. "Well… maybe," she whispered defensively. "I mean, how can we be sure we're on the right side?"

She sensed the telepathic equivalent of a derisive snort. *This is war. There is no 'right side.'*

"Okay," she conceded her hands unlocking and releasing her legs. "The side that's LESS wrong, then."

Jonothon capped his nail polish, studied his hands, then regarded Clarice with somber brown eyes.

"Or.. or…" Clarice found her hands were compulsively smoothing the bedspread. "How about a side that doesn't think this IS a war at all?" She paused, her throat tight. "We're hurting people, Jono."

*They'd hurt us.*

"That's not the point."

Faintly, Clarice could hear the laugh-track from the television in the living room.

*You owe him your life, Clarice.*

Clarice studied her hands, mulling Jonothon's last statement over in her mind. She remembered fear, blood, and a solemn oath to herself.

"No, she said at length. "He didn't save me. I did that myself." She was startled by the words - they seemed to belong to someone much stronger than herself. But as soon as they were uttered she knew that they were true.

Jonothon blinked like a surprised reptile. *You're serious, then,* he said. Clarice nodded slowly.

"I think I am."

*Won't stop you,* Jonothon said, then uttered a short telepathic sigh. The effect was akin to having a brief autumn wind rustle through your skull. *I'll miss you,* he admitted.

That did it. Clarice started to cry.

"Oh, Jono," she sobbed as she threw herself at him. "I can't leave you here by yourself!"

*Clarice, yer not me mum,* Jonothon protested. He did not, Clarice noted, claim he would be 'fine' without her.

"It's not that I don't care about Erik," Clarice explained desperately into the inhuman warmth of Jonothon's chest. "Or about Pietro, or St. John, or Piotr, or Remy, or you… It's just…" She sniffled miserably. "I care about you ALL. But I know that what we're doing is wrong." She clenched her eyes shut and lowered her voice so it barely exceeded a whisper. "I promised myself that I'd never, EVER, use my mutant powers on a living creature again," she said. "If I stay here I'll have to eventually, and…" Her throat constricted and her sinuses filled with hot liquid, the words she'd planed to say choked to death by tears.

*It'd kill you,* Jonothon finished for her.

"Yes."

Jonothon put his hands on Clarice's shoulders and pushed her away gently so he could study her face. Clarice sniffled again, resisting the urge to bury her head in her hands as she was scrutinized.

Another mental sigh. *Yer gorra go,* Jonothon said at last. The words were blurred together and heavily accented - a sure sign he was upset. Clarice nodded, then put a hand over one of Jonothon's.

"Come with me."

*Can't.*

"Won't."

*Wotever.*

"Jono, maybe… Maybe Xavier can help you." She didn't want to leave him. The scar on his wrist reminded her why.

*No-one can help me,* Jonothon stated flatly. *An' Xavier's a fool.*

"No." She sighed. "I'm so tired, Jonothon."

*Yeah, luv. I know just 'ow you feel.*

* * *

When he was little, Scott Summers always dreamed of having a proper home. He would lie awake at nights sometimes in his orphanage bed, terrified at the prospect of never having a place that was really home, scared of always having to wander aimlessly from shelter to shelter with no loving refuge.

Xavier's was the first place he'd felt truly welcomed and accepted, the only place in his entire life he'd ever really thought of as 'home.' With the Institute gone, Scott was currently having a horrible case of childhood-flashback.

They were currently staying in another hotel, one less sleazy than the previous had been. Scott knew that Storm and the professor were desperately trying to think of a better solution, but the fact remained that Xavier was a suspected mutant and so the government was closely monitoring his family fortune. Any attempt to rebuild the Institute or go into hiding at any of Xavier's other properties was likely to attract unwanted attention.

Scott resisted the urge to curl up into a little ball under the bed. Everything seemed so hopeless.

There was a knock at the door. Kurt, who was seated on the other side of the room watching T.V., looked up but Scott motioned for him to stay and opted to answer the door himself. He opened it cautiously and was torn between amusement and anger to find it was only Avalanche.

"Alvers," he said by way of greeting.

"Summers. You got an ice bucket?"

Scott blinked. "What?"

"You know, like a bucket for ice? Our room doesn't have one."

Scott nodded and fetched the desired object. "What do you need an ice bucket for?" he wondered aloud as he handed it over.

"Ice. Duh."

Scott snorted. Lance actually grinned, albeit lopsidedly. "For drinks, Summers. They got a pop machine down the next hall."

"Hey. I'll come with you. I could use a drink." Scott was a mildly surprised to find himself out in the hall with his unofficial rival, closing the hotel room door behind him. Lance looked surprised as well, but he didn't argue.

They walked down the hall, Lance bouncing the ice bucket on his hip. The only other sound was the muted whir of the air vents, working hard to keep the hallways odorless and just a fraction below tolerable temperature.

"You ever notice," Lance said suddenly. They both winced at how loud his voice seemed in the silence, but Lance pressed on relentlessly, "That they always seem to turn the A/C on when you need it least and in the dead of summer they always seem to have the heat on?"

"Yeah, I have."

"I fuckin' hate that."

"I'm sure they do it just to annoy you, Alvers."

Lance nodded, ignoring the sarcasm. "Probably."

They reached the ice machine, located at the far end of the adjacent hallway. It rattled to itself blissfully and made a noise like mechanical farts when it dispensed the frozen little cubes of water. The clattering of ice cubes into the bucket made both boys wince again.

They proceeded to the pop machine - a glorious tower of red and white plastic.

"That shit that went down at that Senator's?" Lance said without warning or preamble. "That was not good."

"No, no it wasn't."

"Baldy got a plan yet?"

Scott felt his jaw tighten. If he wasn't careful, he thought, he was going to start grinding his teeth. Think of the orthodontic bills. "Not really, no."

"Huh." Lance jabbed the soda buttons. "I fuckin' hate Magneto," he said conversationally.

"Really?"

"Yeah. He screwed us all big time. I mean, I like the idea of mutants kickin' ass all over the place, but man, there's friggin' giant ROBOTS out there trying to kill us. I mean, what the hell?" He sighed and picked his sodas out of the machine. "Not like I wanted to be a doctor or something but I would have liked to have finished high school, you know?"

Scott nodded. He half expected to have Lance claim he wanted to be the first Alvers to graduate, and then decided that was an uncharitable thought.

"You ever wonder how our lives managed to turn into a science fiction movie?"

Scott grinned. "Yes. I'm just glad Keanu Reeves hasn't shown up yet."

Lance snorted.

"How's Rogue?" Lance asked after Scott had grabbed himself a cola.

Scott paused. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Why?"

Lance shrugged. "Wanda's nuts. I mean, don't get me wrong, she's cool and all, but she's still nuts. Havin' that shit in her head can't be good for Rogue, you know?"

"No. But she can handle it."

Lance nodded and they headed back to their rooms. "Hey, Summers. What do we do now?"

"I don't know. Wait. Try not to think too hard. You just keep thinking up rock puns, Alvers."

"Okay. You keep figuring out what Gap khakis go best with which pullover."

Scott smiled a little. "Goodnight."

"Yeah."

* * *