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Oog. Is it halfway through September already? My heavens, where DID the time go? Sorry 'bout that, folks. Read, enjoy, review, and please don't hurt me for being late...
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Kurt crouched on his balcony railing, a light breeze ruffling his fur. In consideration of his unique appearance, he'd asked for a room that faced the rear of the house. Xavier had readily agreed, though Kurt was certain that the man didn't entirely approve. The Professor wanted him to get used to being seen in his true guise. Kurt wasn't ready for that, but he still felt a twinge of guilt every time the subject came up.
Over the last year or so, Kurt had grown quite fond of his room. The view, for one, was immaculate. On a clear day, he could see clear across Long Island Sound all the way to Connecticut. The ocean was beautiful this time of year. Clear blue water as far as the eye could see.
There were other perks, of course. His room also overlooked the wide expanse of the back patio, affording him an unobstructed view of the swimming pool. He'd used that to good advantage in the past. Most memorably on those warm summer nights after the girls had gotten back from a full day of mall walking.
Swimsuits, he decided, were one of God's better creations.
The pool itself was empty at the moment. Everyone else was otherwise occupied, meaning he could go down and bask in the cool water at his leisure if he so wished. It was a tempting thought. Might as well pack in as much relaxation as possible into the next day or so. He'd need all he could get if Pietro had been telling the truth. They all would.
Kurt shivered, despite the heat.
Hopping back to the balcony, he leaned against the railing and studied the distant ocean, deciding to distract himself instead of dwelling on the odious task ahead. Let's see, he thought as he ticked the options off on his fingers. Jean and, wie war sein Name?, Doug were on communications duty. Sounded dull, he thought, and they seemed wrapped up in something down there anyway. Probably wouldn't welcome the company. Neither would Herr McCoy and Doktor MacTaggart - a name he tripped over every time he tried to say it out loud - since they were hip-deep in an attempt to find an anti-toxin for whatever Magneto used. Hmm. Doktor MacTaggart's, uh, friend was setting up a danger room session for Kitty and Bobby.
Kurt considered that. A good workout would take his mind off things and Herr 'Call me Sean, boyo!' Cassidy seemed to know his way around the danger room controls. What had he said last night after dinner? Something about being one of Professor Xavier's other students? Oh, that was it. He'd been at the school at the same time Ororo had been trained. So that could be interesting. He was dying to figure out what the guy's power was. Every time someone asked, the guy would slyly wink and lay a finger alongside his nose. Then he'd answer with some form of 'Wait 'n see, laddie,' or 'No' inside! No' inside! Ask me later, lass!'
Downright infuriating. On the other hand, maybe the guy would slip and use his power in the danger room? Hmm. That might make the subsequent beating by the training sequence worthwhile.
What else, what else...? Rahne had walked over to the mall, muttering something about the narrow selection at the stores in Edinburgh. Kurt had learned a quick and biting lesson in Scottish-English relations when he'd asked her why she didn't just take a train to London to go shopping. Her accent had been quite thick at that point; he still wasn't sure what most of those words meant. His own limited English was limited mostly to the American variety. So, hanging out at the mall with her was out of the question. Looks like that training session was his best bet.
Kurt turned to go back into his room and change when a movement in the backyard caught his eye. In addition to the swimming pool, his balcony also overlooked the basketball and tennis courts. He crouched down behind the railing and watched Pietro come around the end of the house with a ball tucked under his arm. Sometime earlier that day, the Brotherhood boy had fetched clothing from the boarding house. Kurt was secretly relieved. He didn't like sharing his clothes with anyone, least of all that white-haired Wichser.[1]
Pietro started shooting baskets, jogging at an easy pace around the asphalt. Kurt thought of what he'd seen in the greenhouse - sorry Jean, conservatory - and wondered if the other boy was deliberately holding back. He wouldn't have been surprised. Simply moving his arm at hyper-speed had caused Pietro's muscles to twitch for over an hour. Kurt grimaced, suddenly thinking of what the speedster had looked like the night they'd found him.
Shifting around, Kurt settled into a comfortable position and just watched Pietro play basketball for a while. It didn't even occur to him to go down to the danger room.
Logan leaned forward, goosing the engine on his Harley. The miles flew by so much quicker at night, he'd found out years ago, but he wasn't stopping for anything until he got to Chuck. So here he was in the middle of the afternoon on a lonely highway in the middle of Nowheresville, America.
A sign flashed past him. "Bennett, CO - 4 Miles." Good. He was almost to the turnoff. Flipping a switch on his helmet, he cleared his throat. A voice responded almost immediately.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. ComNet Authorization. Please speak your authorization code."
"Gulo gulo," he growled into the microphone. It was bad enough when he made a regular telephone call and got a machine on the other end of the line. It was worse when government agencies used the blasted things. There was a lengthy pause and then a human voice came over the line.
"I'm sorry sir; may I ask you to hold a moment?"
Logan grunted an affirmative and pulled onto the shoulder. If he had to argue with another snot-nosed military communications brat, he didn't want to chance an accident. He heard the officer on the other end set the telephone down. The boy didn't put him on hold, just lay the receiver down. Idiot.
He slapped the visor down on his helmet, locking the external sounds of the highway out and strained his ears.
"...it's an older code, sir, but it checks out. I was about to clear him.[2]" There was a pause. "Shall I hang up on him?"
"No, put him through. Fury is expecting this one."
There was a shuffle and scrape on the other end, and then a surprised gasp as the young officer apparently noticed the line hadn't been held.
"I'm terribly sorry for the wait, sir. I'll transfer you now," he said. Logan smirked. Kids these days. Another long moment passed.
"Fury." The Colonel sounded old these days. Logan wondered for a brief moment if the guy was feeling his age. He shrugged that off.
"Hiya, Nick."
"Logan? Hang on." There was a crackle of static. "All right, this line is now super-encrypted. What can I do for you?"
"I need the location of a former SAC base outside of Denver. Near the town of Bennett," Logan told his old comrade. There was a wary silence on the other end of the line. He tapped his helmet to make sure it was still active.
"This conversation didn't happen," Fury said finally.
"Of course. Now where is it?"
Bobby adjusted his gloves and checked over his uniform. Man, he thought with a roll of his eyes, the Prof needs a better sense of style. This outfit just doesn't work. I mean, come on. Black and yellow? We're X-Men, not hornets. It wasn't fair, he thought. All the older X-Men have cool uniforms!
Well, ok, Scott's still sucks. But he's got a serious stick up his butt anyway. Serves him right. He glanced sideways at Kitty who was checking her own outfit.
"Think this Sean is as cool as he talks?" he asked her with a playful smirk. He liked Kitty - she was a year older than he was, right at that age when she started looking like a woman, but still acted girlish once in a while. Gave him plenty of ammunition when it came time to tease.
"He sounds like he knows what he's doing. Rahne says he's, like, done the hero bit in Ireland for the last few years," she said. "Kinda old though, isn't he? I mean, if he was here with Storm and everything."
Bobby nodded. Good point, that. Not that Storm was old or anything, but she was such an...an...adult...sometimes.
"Storm? Aye, we studied t'gether. Charles helped bo' of we through tough times."
Bobby exchanged a quick look with Kitty, who raised her eyebrows as if to say, 'Not too old to sneak up on us, you dimwit.' Ok, maybe the guy was just that good.
"Ye kids all right?" Bobby seriously wished the man would do something other than smile all the time. Not that he was going to say that out loud. There had to be some truth to what was said about red-haired people. "I set th' room up fer a Level Eleven training routine. Be ready when the doors open."
Bobby gaped at the Irishman. "Level..."
"...ELEVEN?!" Kitty squeaked, blushing when Sean turned his Irish charm her way and nodded with that same silly grin.
"Sure! A good workout should distract ye," he told them. Bobby sighed inwardly. This was going to hurt. Level Seven was as far as Logan had let them, uh, attempt so far. And that had been a fiasco.
He shook his head and turned back toward his door, watching the clock wind down to zero. Whatever scenario Sean had chosen required them to go in through different doors. That meant it was probably every-mutant-for- him-or-herself. The lights in the anteroom shut off at 10, leaving only the large red LED glowing sullenly on the wall above him.
"What's the goal?" he heard Kitty say behind him.
"And spoil yer fun?"
Bobby groaned.
"Hank, look a' this."
The big furry mutant carefully set down the beaker he was examining and removed his glasses. He wiped his hands absently on a rag and strode over to the only empty table in his lab, where Moira was laying out pictures from her own research into the drug he'd found in Pietro's bloodstream.
"Are those photographs from the electron microscope?" he asked. They certainly looked like it. The Scotswoman had laid out a total of sixteen of the large black-and-white prints in two rows of eight. He picked up the first one on the left.
The woman nodded, a quick and efficient motion, and pointed at the one he held.
"I took th' liberty o' using some o' the blood samples ye had in the freezer and running tests. Tha' one is," she peered past his elbow at her scrawled handwriting, "Mr. Summers' bloodstream before th' introduction of th' venom." She picked up another from the table and held it up next to the one in his hand. "An' this'n is after."
Hank blinked, frowning down at the two photographs. He recognized everything present on each of them but, if he wasn't mistaken, there didn't seem to be any difference in the pictures. Apparently his confusion showed on his face because Moira picked up another pair and held them up.
"A'right, look a' these," she told him. Hank carefully set down the photos he was holding and took the new ones.
"You tested this on my blood?"
Moira chuckled. "It was available and I wanted to make sure th' venom had the same effect on everyone."
"Hmm." He looked closer at the 'after' picture. Unlike Scott's, there was clear evidence of damage of some sort. "How interesting. The blood cells seem to have randomly mutated as though exposed to high-level radiation." He suppressed a shudder and studied the rest of the photographs, then had a thought.
"Wha' are ye doin'?" Moira asked as he shoved aside the 'before' photos and divided up the remainder between two stacks.
"Testing a theory," he grunted as he finished. "You have any more of these?"
"Aye. I just need to develop the prints," Moira said, perplexed.
"Get them."
Ten minutes later, Hank and Moira were seated in the kitchen. The Scotswoman had a cup of tea in front of her and was blowing on it to cool. Hank was doing the same, though his mug was a homemade job fashioned from a 6-pound coffee tin and a cabinet handle. He just couldn't fit his fingers into the handles of any other mugs any more. Jean sat down across from them, cracking open a can of soda and flipping through the photos.
"Ewg. What are these?"
"Blood," Hank said in the cheesiest Dracula imitation he could manage. Moira shot him a look and passed Jean the yellow legal pad Hank had scribbled on.
"Yer blood, actually," she said as Jean looked at the two of them. Hank hid a smirk behind his huge tea mug. "Well, yers and some o' the other students, tha' is."
Jean made a face. "Why do some of them look, um." She visibly groped for a word, looping a hand in the air.
"Screwed up?" Hank offered. "Moira ran tests on the blood samples we keep in the freezer downstairs. What do you see wrong?"
Jean frowned thoughtfully then studied the top photo, Pietro's as it turned out. She'd seen blood under a microscope in the past. That nasty biology class in high school - note to self, bio is an elective at NYU - was one place. Mr. McCoy's lab in the basement was another. She'd never seen anything like this before, though. It looked all wrong. The cells were misshapen and mutated almost beyond recognition. Discolored too, though it was hard to tell with black-and-white prints.
"Don't hold back, girl," Doctor MacTaggart told her. "Hank says yer a bright one. Dazzle us." She glanced up, but the older woman had a smile on her face and nodded at her encouragingly as she took a sip from her mug. Jean looked at the next photograph in the stack of nearly twenty. Ororo's looked normal. Hm.
"I assume that this," she pointed at a strange shape that appeared on both photos, "is the venom." When Mr. McCoy nodded, she looked back at the two pictures. She shook her head. She'd planned to study psychology, not medicine, when she started university in a couple months.
Mr. McCoy reached across and scooped up the stack in his huge hands, flipping through and sorting them into two piles. Tapping the piles, he said, "All right, an easier question. What's the difference between the people in this stack and this one?"
Jean noticed that all the ugly mutations were in one stack. Mr. McCoy, Logan, Pietro, Kurt, Fred and a few others. The other stack was larger. Wait a minute.
"You and Logan have mutations that don't turn off. Your feral rage and his self-healing. Pietro's speed, Kurt and Fred's physical mutation, Scott's optic blasts," she said as it dawned on her. She looked through the other stack quickly, and it confirmed her theory. "Everyone else's powers require activation," she tapped Bobby and Sam's photos, "or conscious use." She slapped a hand on her own picture.
"Right," Mr. McCoy said. "This means that everyone in the other stack is in danger if they become infected by the venom. At least until Moira and I can find an antidote. Apparently this X-Venom only does harm when a mutant power is used. For those of us whose mutations are constant..."
"It could kill ye," Doctor MacTaggart finished for as the big blue mutant trailed off, staring into his coffee cups. "No idea as t' how long," she went on, answering the question in Jean's eyes. "But if I'd t' guess, based on preliminary evidence and tests, well." The woman paused, taking a sip from her tea. "Four, five days. Maybe a week for th' stronger ones."
Jean caught a fleeting image of fear and rage from the woman before she reeled in her psychic power. She didn't say anything out loud, however, because a wave of disgust and anger of her own welled up inside her. Pursing her lips, she bit back a curse.
"What's Magneto going to do with this?" Jean muttered under her breath.
"Nothing, if we can help it." Well, that was the truth. It didn't answer her question, though. There were times when Mr. McCoy's optimism grated on her.
She nodded, flipping through the photographs. Then her blood drained from her face.
"Oh no," she whispered. "Logan. Your pictures show that he's one of the ones who could be killed from this."
She watched as Doctor MacTaggart and Mr. McCoy exchanged a look. Apparently they'd already discussed this.
"Yes," Mr. McCoy said after a long moment. "We're moving up the rescue attempt. You'll need to leave tomorrow morning with the people we have here."
Jean blinked. "Wait, what about you?" The big man shook his head.
"I'll be here with Moira. We're very close to developing an anti- venom."
"But..." Oh crap! Jean wasn't sure she could do the whole leadership thing.
"Jean," Doctor MacTaggart said gently. "N' one is asking you t' coordinate this rescue." The older woman sighed. "Logan will b' out there and nothing ye can do will keep him from trying t' help Charles - even if it kills 'im." Jean nodded, relieved. "Sean will be along with you youngsters, too."
That was a relief. Sort of. Jean didn't know Mr. Cassidy very well, but from what she'd read in Cerebro's files, the jolly Irishman had more or less filled the same role that Scott did when he'd studied at the school. If nothing else, she was grateful to have someone more experienced than her running this show. She knew she wouldn't be able to live with herself if the Professor was hurt because of something she did.
Jean tossed her empty soda can into the recycling bin. "Who all is going, then?"
Mr. McCoy flipped a page on his notepad. "Well, Logan is already out there. You and Sean. Rahne and Kitty. Bobby, of course. Doug, if he's willing to go along," he said. There was a very pregnant pause and Jean realized after a long moment that he was finished. She shook her head.
"Wait, wait," Jean said. "What about Kurt? Or Pietro, if he's up to it?"
Doctor MacTaggart fielded that question. "No. It's too dangerous. Their mutations are constantly in effect."
"They could be killed if Magneto manages to infect them," Mr. McCoy added rather bluntly.
Jean shoved the photos out of the way and laid her head on the table.
"Oh my God," she breathed. "We're going to get smushed." She felt rather than saw Mr. McCoy's large hand patting her head. This was going to be tough, at the very least. Seven people and only one, perhaps two, of them were heavy hitters. What if Logan was taken out of the picture somehow? What would happen if Sabretooth or Colossus came after them? None of the rest of them could go toe to toe with those two. It would invite suicide.
Jean dimly heard the doorbell ring, but ignored it. Doctor MacTaggart excused herself and went for the front door which suited Jean just fine. She suddenly felt too tired to get out of the chair and answer the door. Just lay at the table, she told herself. Just fall asleep here. Maybe everything will be better when you wake up? The last thing she wanted was to fail the Professor and with this roster, the odds of that not happening weren't too promising. Heavy footfalls interrupted her thoughts. She raised her head from that table and looked toward the door.
The man was shorter than Scott, maybe five-ten or -eleven. Older, too. Mid-thirties, she thought, and pretty handsome for all that. His blond hair was set in a conservative style and he glanced at her with eyes the color of robin's eggs. She watched those baby blues go wide as he took in Mr. McCoy.
Well, that was understandable anyway.
"Can I take your coat?" Doctor MacTaggart was asking. Jean smiled inwardly, as the woman had to repeat the question twice before getting any response. The man shook his head.
"Thanks, but that isn't necessary," the man said in a clear, strong voice.
Ok, maybe late twenties instead. He didn't sound like a thirty- something.
She had to wonder at the wisdom of his decision, though. That overcoat might be appropriate for spring or fall, but it was close to ninety outside and getting more humid as the day went on.
"Hi," Mr. McCoy said to the stranger. The blond man visibly jumped as the hulking, furry mutant offered his hand. "I'm Hank."
The blond stared at the hand for a moment. "It talks?"
Mr. McCoy withdrew his hand and turned to back to the tea kettle, muttering darkly under his breath. Jean suppressed a giggle. This guy wasn't frightened at all, just shocked. And it amused the heck out of her.
"He quotes Shakespeare on occasion, too," she told him. "I'm -"
"Jean Grey," the man interrupted her. "My name is Warren. Your friend Scott mentioned you when he called."
"When he what?"
"Called," Warren repeated. "Collect, I might add. Doesn't your Professor give you kids telephone cards?" Jean bristled slightly. Kids? Ok, definitely in the thirties somewhere. Maybe a soft forty. She waved at a chair.
Warren looked blankly at the chair for a moment, and then perched on the very edge of it with a vaguely uncomfortable look. Jean watched him fidget for a few moments.
"You were saying?" Doctor MacTaggart prompted.
Warren shifted slightly. "Yes, well. Scott mentioned that you might need a guardian angel for the next few days."
Jean blinked. "He told you about the Professor?"
Warren nodded, still squirming.
"Scott helped me out a bit last holiday season," he said as he shuffled around, "and I sort of owe him a favor so here I am. Excuse me," he said, standing. He shrugged out of the heavy overcoat and handed it off to a very satisfied looking Doctor MacTaggart. Now it was Jean's turn to stare.
"Are those...?"
Warren nodded and blushed as he shook his wings out to lie comfortably alongside his chair like a white feather cloak.
"Yes."
It wasn't until Kurt had trouble seeing the white lines on the basketball court that he realized that he'd been watching Pietro play ball all day. His stomach growled loudly. He shrugged it off, deciding to grab a bite to eat in just a little while.
Instead, he stood and stretched, then swung easily over the edge of the balcony to land on the patio. He walked over to the basketball court, where Pietro was still tossing the ball around. The other boy didn't seem to notice him at all. Kurt mentally preened. Darn, he was good.
As he drew closer to the court, he took a closer look at Pietro. Not surprisingly, he was drenched from jogging up and down the court all afternoon. Kurt stopped within ten feet of the other boy, ears twitching. Hm. Was he being deliberately ignored?
He stood like that for perhaps five minutes before his patience wore thin.
[Bamf!]
"What-the-hell-are-you-doing?!"
Kurt grinned from his perch atop the backboard, gripping the fiberglass board with his feet and tail. He spun the basketball he'd caught on one finger, and then jumped nimbly to the ground.
"You've been out here all day. Aren't you tired?"
A sullen snort. "No." Pietro turned away, crossing his arms.
Kurt stepped closer, dribbling the ball. There was a dark, wet stain on Pietro's jersey. He shook his head. Idiot.
"You're hurt, ja?"
Pietro glared at him with dead eyes for an instant, and then turned away again. The arrogant routine was really starting to grate on Kurt. Flipping the ball over his shoulder, he caught it with his tail and set it on the ground. Irritated, he poked a finger at the middle of the stain and was rewarded with a hiss of pain. The speedster smacked his hand away.
"For a guy who teleports, you're not very good at getting lost when you're not wanted," Pietro growled at him.
Kurt poked him again.
"I said, quit that!" Pietro rounded on him and Kurt took a step back, surprised.
The other boy bared his teeth at him, still breathing heavy from his workout. His pale face was flushed and glistening with perspiration and ... tears? It must have registered on his face, because Pietro turned around and started walking toward the mansion, wiping an arm across his eyes.
Well, he was right, Kurt thought. I am pretty good at not getting lost when I'm not wanted. So he followed, catching up with the other teen in a couple of four-limbed bounds. They walked along in silence for a moment. Or mostly silence. Kurt's ears twitched and he realized Pietro was muttering something under his breath.
"...kill that sonovabitch if he's hurt her..."
Without thinking, Kurt reached out and squeezed Pietro's shoulder.
"Ve'll get your sister back. I promise." Pietro stopped and just looked at him for a moment. He cleared his throat a couple times.
"Thanks," the white-haired teen said in a thick voice.
"First things first, though," Kurt went on as though half the people he knew weren't in mortal danger. He wrinkled his nose. "You need a shower, and I need to eat." His stomach rumbled again as if to reinforce that point.
Pietro smirked and a trace of his old humor came back into his eyes for just a brief moment. "Yeah, sure," he said. "A guy's gotta have priorities."
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[1]: Uh, I'm not going to translate this word. It's kinda crude. Feel free to look it up on your own.
[2]: Why, yes. This is indeed a homage to 'Return of the Jedi.'
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Other notes: Yes, there is a Bennett, Colorado. No, I have no idea if Strategic Air Command had any bases out there. That's why this is fiction. Again, apologies if the story went a little slow. It was necessary to bring almost all the major good guys into the picture. I'm sorry if Jean seems like a wuss, but let's face it: Scott is the leader of the group. Jean is a soldier, not an officer, so of course she'd be having kittens over having to lead and coordinate a group. It's called DRAMA folks. If I made her as vanilla as she is on the show, writing this would put me to sleep. I'm also sorry if Pietro sounds like a whiny little bitch in the last part.
Actually, that last sentence is utter bull. I'm not sorry at all. His father tried to kill him, his sister has been kidnapped by that madman and he's only about a week out from seeing people he knew get plastered into putty. He's stuck in the slow lane due to the X-Venom's effects on his mutation, his only refuge is with a group of people he can barely tolerate and the most loathsome of the group has been hanging around him the entire time.
You'd be on the verge of a breakdown too. Frankly, I'm surprised he lasted four chapters before starting to crack. Oh well, there's always the next installment. Heh. Heh. Heh.
Cheers, folks.
Oog. Is it halfway through September already? My heavens, where DID the time go? Sorry 'bout that, folks. Read, enjoy, review, and please don't hurt me for being late...
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Kurt crouched on his balcony railing, a light breeze ruffling his fur. In consideration of his unique appearance, he'd asked for a room that faced the rear of the house. Xavier had readily agreed, though Kurt was certain that the man didn't entirely approve. The Professor wanted him to get used to being seen in his true guise. Kurt wasn't ready for that, but he still felt a twinge of guilt every time the subject came up.
Over the last year or so, Kurt had grown quite fond of his room. The view, for one, was immaculate. On a clear day, he could see clear across Long Island Sound all the way to Connecticut. The ocean was beautiful this time of year. Clear blue water as far as the eye could see.
There were other perks, of course. His room also overlooked the wide expanse of the back patio, affording him an unobstructed view of the swimming pool. He'd used that to good advantage in the past. Most memorably on those warm summer nights after the girls had gotten back from a full day of mall walking.
Swimsuits, he decided, were one of God's better creations.
The pool itself was empty at the moment. Everyone else was otherwise occupied, meaning he could go down and bask in the cool water at his leisure if he so wished. It was a tempting thought. Might as well pack in as much relaxation as possible into the next day or so. He'd need all he could get if Pietro had been telling the truth. They all would.
Kurt shivered, despite the heat.
Hopping back to the balcony, he leaned against the railing and studied the distant ocean, deciding to distract himself instead of dwelling on the odious task ahead. Let's see, he thought as he ticked the options off on his fingers. Jean and, wie war sein Name?, Doug were on communications duty. Sounded dull, he thought, and they seemed wrapped up in something down there anyway. Probably wouldn't welcome the company. Neither would Herr McCoy and Doktor MacTaggart - a name he tripped over every time he tried to say it out loud - since they were hip-deep in an attempt to find an anti-toxin for whatever Magneto used. Hmm. Doktor MacTaggart's, uh, friend was setting up a danger room session for Kitty and Bobby.
Kurt considered that. A good workout would take his mind off things and Herr 'Call me Sean, boyo!' Cassidy seemed to know his way around the danger room controls. What had he said last night after dinner? Something about being one of Professor Xavier's other students? Oh, that was it. He'd been at the school at the same time Ororo had been trained. So that could be interesting. He was dying to figure out what the guy's power was. Every time someone asked, the guy would slyly wink and lay a finger alongside his nose. Then he'd answer with some form of 'Wait 'n see, laddie,' or 'No' inside! No' inside! Ask me later, lass!'
Downright infuriating. On the other hand, maybe the guy would slip and use his power in the danger room? Hmm. That might make the subsequent beating by the training sequence worthwhile.
What else, what else...? Rahne had walked over to the mall, muttering something about the narrow selection at the stores in Edinburgh. Kurt had learned a quick and biting lesson in Scottish-English relations when he'd asked her why she didn't just take a train to London to go shopping. Her accent had been quite thick at that point; he still wasn't sure what most of those words meant. His own limited English was limited mostly to the American variety. So, hanging out at the mall with her was out of the question. Looks like that training session was his best bet.
Kurt turned to go back into his room and change when a movement in the backyard caught his eye. In addition to the swimming pool, his balcony also overlooked the basketball and tennis courts. He crouched down behind the railing and watched Pietro come around the end of the house with a ball tucked under his arm. Sometime earlier that day, the Brotherhood boy had fetched clothing from the boarding house. Kurt was secretly relieved. He didn't like sharing his clothes with anyone, least of all that white-haired Wichser.[1]
Pietro started shooting baskets, jogging at an easy pace around the asphalt. Kurt thought of what he'd seen in the greenhouse - sorry Jean, conservatory - and wondered if the other boy was deliberately holding back. He wouldn't have been surprised. Simply moving his arm at hyper-speed had caused Pietro's muscles to twitch for over an hour. Kurt grimaced, suddenly thinking of what the speedster had looked like the night they'd found him.
Shifting around, Kurt settled into a comfortable position and just watched Pietro play basketball for a while. It didn't even occur to him to go down to the danger room.
Logan leaned forward, goosing the engine on his Harley. The miles flew by so much quicker at night, he'd found out years ago, but he wasn't stopping for anything until he got to Chuck. So here he was in the middle of the afternoon on a lonely highway in the middle of Nowheresville, America.
A sign flashed past him. "Bennett, CO - 4 Miles." Good. He was almost to the turnoff. Flipping a switch on his helmet, he cleared his throat. A voice responded almost immediately.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. ComNet Authorization. Please speak your authorization code."
"Gulo gulo," he growled into the microphone. It was bad enough when he made a regular telephone call and got a machine on the other end of the line. It was worse when government agencies used the blasted things. There was a lengthy pause and then a human voice came over the line.
"I'm sorry sir; may I ask you to hold a moment?"
Logan grunted an affirmative and pulled onto the shoulder. If he had to argue with another snot-nosed military communications brat, he didn't want to chance an accident. He heard the officer on the other end set the telephone down. The boy didn't put him on hold, just lay the receiver down. Idiot.
He slapped the visor down on his helmet, locking the external sounds of the highway out and strained his ears.
"...it's an older code, sir, but it checks out. I was about to clear him.[2]" There was a pause. "Shall I hang up on him?"
"No, put him through. Fury is expecting this one."
There was a shuffle and scrape on the other end, and then a surprised gasp as the young officer apparently noticed the line hadn't been held.
"I'm terribly sorry for the wait, sir. I'll transfer you now," he said. Logan smirked. Kids these days. Another long moment passed.
"Fury." The Colonel sounded old these days. Logan wondered for a brief moment if the guy was feeling his age. He shrugged that off.
"Hiya, Nick."
"Logan? Hang on." There was a crackle of static. "All right, this line is now super-encrypted. What can I do for you?"
"I need the location of a former SAC base outside of Denver. Near the town of Bennett," Logan told his old comrade. There was a wary silence on the other end of the line. He tapped his helmet to make sure it was still active.
"This conversation didn't happen," Fury said finally.
"Of course. Now where is it?"
Bobby adjusted his gloves and checked over his uniform. Man, he thought with a roll of his eyes, the Prof needs a better sense of style. This outfit just doesn't work. I mean, come on. Black and yellow? We're X-Men, not hornets. It wasn't fair, he thought. All the older X-Men have cool uniforms!
Well, ok, Scott's still sucks. But he's got a serious stick up his butt anyway. Serves him right. He glanced sideways at Kitty who was checking her own outfit.
"Think this Sean is as cool as he talks?" he asked her with a playful smirk. He liked Kitty - she was a year older than he was, right at that age when she started looking like a woman, but still acted girlish once in a while. Gave him plenty of ammunition when it came time to tease.
"He sounds like he knows what he's doing. Rahne says he's, like, done the hero bit in Ireland for the last few years," she said. "Kinda old though, isn't he? I mean, if he was here with Storm and everything."
Bobby nodded. Good point, that. Not that Storm was old or anything, but she was such an...an...adult...sometimes.
"Storm? Aye, we studied t'gether. Charles helped bo' of we through tough times."
Bobby exchanged a quick look with Kitty, who raised her eyebrows as if to say, 'Not too old to sneak up on us, you dimwit.' Ok, maybe the guy was just that good.
"Ye kids all right?" Bobby seriously wished the man would do something other than smile all the time. Not that he was going to say that out loud. There had to be some truth to what was said about red-haired people. "I set th' room up fer a Level Eleven training routine. Be ready when the doors open."
Bobby gaped at the Irishman. "Level..."
"...ELEVEN?!" Kitty squeaked, blushing when Sean turned his Irish charm her way and nodded with that same silly grin.
"Sure! A good workout should distract ye," he told them. Bobby sighed inwardly. This was going to hurt. Level Seven was as far as Logan had let them, uh, attempt so far. And that had been a fiasco.
He shook his head and turned back toward his door, watching the clock wind down to zero. Whatever scenario Sean had chosen required them to go in through different doors. That meant it was probably every-mutant-for- him-or-herself. The lights in the anteroom shut off at 10, leaving only the large red LED glowing sullenly on the wall above him.
"What's the goal?" he heard Kitty say behind him.
"And spoil yer fun?"
Bobby groaned.
"Hank, look a' this."
The big furry mutant carefully set down the beaker he was examining and removed his glasses. He wiped his hands absently on a rag and strode over to the only empty table in his lab, where Moira was laying out pictures from her own research into the drug he'd found in Pietro's bloodstream.
"Are those photographs from the electron microscope?" he asked. They certainly looked like it. The Scotswoman had laid out a total of sixteen of the large black-and-white prints in two rows of eight. He picked up the first one on the left.
The woman nodded, a quick and efficient motion, and pointed at the one he held.
"I took th' liberty o' using some o' the blood samples ye had in the freezer and running tests. Tha' one is," she peered past his elbow at her scrawled handwriting, "Mr. Summers' bloodstream before th' introduction of th' venom." She picked up another from the table and held it up next to the one in his hand. "An' this'n is after."
Hank blinked, frowning down at the two photographs. He recognized everything present on each of them but, if he wasn't mistaken, there didn't seem to be any difference in the pictures. Apparently his confusion showed on his face because Moira picked up another pair and held them up.
"A'right, look a' these," she told him. Hank carefully set down the photos he was holding and took the new ones.
"You tested this on my blood?"
Moira chuckled. "It was available and I wanted to make sure th' venom had the same effect on everyone."
"Hmm." He looked closer at the 'after' picture. Unlike Scott's, there was clear evidence of damage of some sort. "How interesting. The blood cells seem to have randomly mutated as though exposed to high-level radiation." He suppressed a shudder and studied the rest of the photographs, then had a thought.
"Wha' are ye doin'?" Moira asked as he shoved aside the 'before' photos and divided up the remainder between two stacks.
"Testing a theory," he grunted as he finished. "You have any more of these?"
"Aye. I just need to develop the prints," Moira said, perplexed.
"Get them."
Ten minutes later, Hank and Moira were seated in the kitchen. The Scotswoman had a cup of tea in front of her and was blowing on it to cool. Hank was doing the same, though his mug was a homemade job fashioned from a 6-pound coffee tin and a cabinet handle. He just couldn't fit his fingers into the handles of any other mugs any more. Jean sat down across from them, cracking open a can of soda and flipping through the photos.
"Ewg. What are these?"
"Blood," Hank said in the cheesiest Dracula imitation he could manage. Moira shot him a look and passed Jean the yellow legal pad Hank had scribbled on.
"Yer blood, actually," she said as Jean looked at the two of them. Hank hid a smirk behind his huge tea mug. "Well, yers and some o' the other students, tha' is."
Jean made a face. "Why do some of them look, um." She visibly groped for a word, looping a hand in the air.
"Screwed up?" Hank offered. "Moira ran tests on the blood samples we keep in the freezer downstairs. What do you see wrong?"
Jean frowned thoughtfully then studied the top photo, Pietro's as it turned out. She'd seen blood under a microscope in the past. That nasty biology class in high school - note to self, bio is an elective at NYU - was one place. Mr. McCoy's lab in the basement was another. She'd never seen anything like this before, though. It looked all wrong. The cells were misshapen and mutated almost beyond recognition. Discolored too, though it was hard to tell with black-and-white prints.
"Don't hold back, girl," Doctor MacTaggart told her. "Hank says yer a bright one. Dazzle us." She glanced up, but the older woman had a smile on her face and nodded at her encouragingly as she took a sip from her mug. Jean looked at the next photograph in the stack of nearly twenty. Ororo's looked normal. Hm.
"I assume that this," she pointed at a strange shape that appeared on both photos, "is the venom." When Mr. McCoy nodded, she looked back at the two pictures. She shook her head. She'd planned to study psychology, not medicine, when she started university in a couple months.
Mr. McCoy reached across and scooped up the stack in his huge hands, flipping through and sorting them into two piles. Tapping the piles, he said, "All right, an easier question. What's the difference between the people in this stack and this one?"
Jean noticed that all the ugly mutations were in one stack. Mr. McCoy, Logan, Pietro, Kurt, Fred and a few others. The other stack was larger. Wait a minute.
"You and Logan have mutations that don't turn off. Your feral rage and his self-healing. Pietro's speed, Kurt and Fred's physical mutation, Scott's optic blasts," she said as it dawned on her. She looked through the other stack quickly, and it confirmed her theory. "Everyone else's powers require activation," she tapped Bobby and Sam's photos, "or conscious use." She slapped a hand on her own picture.
"Right," Mr. McCoy said. "This means that everyone in the other stack is in danger if they become infected by the venom. At least until Moira and I can find an antidote. Apparently this X-Venom only does harm when a mutant power is used. For those of us whose mutations are constant..."
"It could kill ye," Doctor MacTaggart finished for as the big blue mutant trailed off, staring into his coffee cups. "No idea as t' how long," she went on, answering the question in Jean's eyes. "But if I'd t' guess, based on preliminary evidence and tests, well." The woman paused, taking a sip from her tea. "Four, five days. Maybe a week for th' stronger ones."
Jean caught a fleeting image of fear and rage from the woman before she reeled in her psychic power. She didn't say anything out loud, however, because a wave of disgust and anger of her own welled up inside her. Pursing her lips, she bit back a curse.
"What's Magneto going to do with this?" Jean muttered under her breath.
"Nothing, if we can help it." Well, that was the truth. It didn't answer her question, though. There were times when Mr. McCoy's optimism grated on her.
She nodded, flipping through the photographs. Then her blood drained from her face.
"Oh no," she whispered. "Logan. Your pictures show that he's one of the ones who could be killed from this."
She watched as Doctor MacTaggart and Mr. McCoy exchanged a look. Apparently they'd already discussed this.
"Yes," Mr. McCoy said after a long moment. "We're moving up the rescue attempt. You'll need to leave tomorrow morning with the people we have here."
Jean blinked. "Wait, what about you?" The big man shook his head.
"I'll be here with Moira. We're very close to developing an anti- venom."
"But..." Oh crap! Jean wasn't sure she could do the whole leadership thing.
"Jean," Doctor MacTaggart said gently. "N' one is asking you t' coordinate this rescue." The older woman sighed. "Logan will b' out there and nothing ye can do will keep him from trying t' help Charles - even if it kills 'im." Jean nodded, relieved. "Sean will be along with you youngsters, too."
That was a relief. Sort of. Jean didn't know Mr. Cassidy very well, but from what she'd read in Cerebro's files, the jolly Irishman had more or less filled the same role that Scott did when he'd studied at the school. If nothing else, she was grateful to have someone more experienced than her running this show. She knew she wouldn't be able to live with herself if the Professor was hurt because of something she did.
Jean tossed her empty soda can into the recycling bin. "Who all is going, then?"
Mr. McCoy flipped a page on his notepad. "Well, Logan is already out there. You and Sean. Rahne and Kitty. Bobby, of course. Doug, if he's willing to go along," he said. There was a very pregnant pause and Jean realized after a long moment that he was finished. She shook her head.
"Wait, wait," Jean said. "What about Kurt? Or Pietro, if he's up to it?"
Doctor MacTaggart fielded that question. "No. It's too dangerous. Their mutations are constantly in effect."
"They could be killed if Magneto manages to infect them," Mr. McCoy added rather bluntly.
Jean shoved the photos out of the way and laid her head on the table.
"Oh my God," she breathed. "We're going to get smushed." She felt rather than saw Mr. McCoy's large hand patting her head. This was going to be tough, at the very least. Seven people and only one, perhaps two, of them were heavy hitters. What if Logan was taken out of the picture somehow? What would happen if Sabretooth or Colossus came after them? None of the rest of them could go toe to toe with those two. It would invite suicide.
Jean dimly heard the doorbell ring, but ignored it. Doctor MacTaggart excused herself and went for the front door which suited Jean just fine. She suddenly felt too tired to get out of the chair and answer the door. Just lay at the table, she told herself. Just fall asleep here. Maybe everything will be better when you wake up? The last thing she wanted was to fail the Professor and with this roster, the odds of that not happening weren't too promising. Heavy footfalls interrupted her thoughts. She raised her head from that table and looked toward the door.
The man was shorter than Scott, maybe five-ten or -eleven. Older, too. Mid-thirties, she thought, and pretty handsome for all that. His blond hair was set in a conservative style and he glanced at her with eyes the color of robin's eggs. She watched those baby blues go wide as he took in Mr. McCoy.
Well, that was understandable anyway.
"Can I take your coat?" Doctor MacTaggart was asking. Jean smiled inwardly, as the woman had to repeat the question twice before getting any response. The man shook his head.
"Thanks, but that isn't necessary," the man said in a clear, strong voice.
Ok, maybe late twenties instead. He didn't sound like a thirty- something.
She had to wonder at the wisdom of his decision, though. That overcoat might be appropriate for spring or fall, but it was close to ninety outside and getting more humid as the day went on.
"Hi," Mr. McCoy said to the stranger. The blond man visibly jumped as the hulking, furry mutant offered his hand. "I'm Hank."
The blond stared at the hand for a moment. "It talks?"
Mr. McCoy withdrew his hand and turned to back to the tea kettle, muttering darkly under his breath. Jean suppressed a giggle. This guy wasn't frightened at all, just shocked. And it amused the heck out of her.
"He quotes Shakespeare on occasion, too," she told him. "I'm -"
"Jean Grey," the man interrupted her. "My name is Warren. Your friend Scott mentioned you when he called."
"When he what?"
"Called," Warren repeated. "Collect, I might add. Doesn't your Professor give you kids telephone cards?" Jean bristled slightly. Kids? Ok, definitely in the thirties somewhere. Maybe a soft forty. She waved at a chair.
Warren looked blankly at the chair for a moment, and then perched on the very edge of it with a vaguely uncomfortable look. Jean watched him fidget for a few moments.
"You were saying?" Doctor MacTaggart prompted.
Warren shifted slightly. "Yes, well. Scott mentioned that you might need a guardian angel for the next few days."
Jean blinked. "He told you about the Professor?"
Warren nodded, still squirming.
"Scott helped me out a bit last holiday season," he said as he shuffled around, "and I sort of owe him a favor so here I am. Excuse me," he said, standing. He shrugged out of the heavy overcoat and handed it off to a very satisfied looking Doctor MacTaggart. Now it was Jean's turn to stare.
"Are those...?"
Warren nodded and blushed as he shook his wings out to lie comfortably alongside his chair like a white feather cloak.
"Yes."
It wasn't until Kurt had trouble seeing the white lines on the basketball court that he realized that he'd been watching Pietro play ball all day. His stomach growled loudly. He shrugged it off, deciding to grab a bite to eat in just a little while.
Instead, he stood and stretched, then swung easily over the edge of the balcony to land on the patio. He walked over to the basketball court, where Pietro was still tossing the ball around. The other boy didn't seem to notice him at all. Kurt mentally preened. Darn, he was good.
As he drew closer to the court, he took a closer look at Pietro. Not surprisingly, he was drenched from jogging up and down the court all afternoon. Kurt stopped within ten feet of the other boy, ears twitching. Hm. Was he being deliberately ignored?
He stood like that for perhaps five minutes before his patience wore thin.
[Bamf!]
"What-the-hell-are-you-doing?!"
Kurt grinned from his perch atop the backboard, gripping the fiberglass board with his feet and tail. He spun the basketball he'd caught on one finger, and then jumped nimbly to the ground.
"You've been out here all day. Aren't you tired?"
A sullen snort. "No." Pietro turned away, crossing his arms.
Kurt stepped closer, dribbling the ball. There was a dark, wet stain on Pietro's jersey. He shook his head. Idiot.
"You're hurt, ja?"
Pietro glared at him with dead eyes for an instant, and then turned away again. The arrogant routine was really starting to grate on Kurt. Flipping the ball over his shoulder, he caught it with his tail and set it on the ground. Irritated, he poked a finger at the middle of the stain and was rewarded with a hiss of pain. The speedster smacked his hand away.
"For a guy who teleports, you're not very good at getting lost when you're not wanted," Pietro growled at him.
Kurt poked him again.
"I said, quit that!" Pietro rounded on him and Kurt took a step back, surprised.
The other boy bared his teeth at him, still breathing heavy from his workout. His pale face was flushed and glistening with perspiration and ... tears? It must have registered on his face, because Pietro turned around and started walking toward the mansion, wiping an arm across his eyes.
Well, he was right, Kurt thought. I am pretty good at not getting lost when I'm not wanted. So he followed, catching up with the other teen in a couple of four-limbed bounds. They walked along in silence for a moment. Or mostly silence. Kurt's ears twitched and he realized Pietro was muttering something under his breath.
"...kill that sonovabitch if he's hurt her..."
Without thinking, Kurt reached out and squeezed Pietro's shoulder.
"Ve'll get your sister back. I promise." Pietro stopped and just looked at him for a moment. He cleared his throat a couple times.
"Thanks," the white-haired teen said in a thick voice.
"First things first, though," Kurt went on as though half the people he knew weren't in mortal danger. He wrinkled his nose. "You need a shower, and I need to eat." His stomach rumbled again as if to reinforce that point.
Pietro smirked and a trace of his old humor came back into his eyes for just a brief moment. "Yeah, sure," he said. "A guy's gotta have priorities."
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[1]: Uh, I'm not going to translate this word. It's kinda crude. Feel free to look it up on your own.
[2]: Why, yes. This is indeed a homage to 'Return of the Jedi.'
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Other notes: Yes, there is a Bennett, Colorado. No, I have no idea if Strategic Air Command had any bases out there. That's why this is fiction. Again, apologies if the story went a little slow. It was necessary to bring almost all the major good guys into the picture. I'm sorry if Jean seems like a wuss, but let's face it: Scott is the leader of the group. Jean is a soldier, not an officer, so of course she'd be having kittens over having to lead and coordinate a group. It's called DRAMA folks. If I made her as vanilla as she is on the show, writing this would put me to sleep. I'm also sorry if Pietro sounds like a whiny little bitch in the last part.
Actually, that last sentence is utter bull. I'm not sorry at all. His father tried to kill him, his sister has been kidnapped by that madman and he's only about a week out from seeing people he knew get plastered into putty. He's stuck in the slow lane due to the X-Venom's effects on his mutation, his only refuge is with a group of people he can barely tolerate and the most loathsome of the group has been hanging around him the entire time.
You'd be on the verge of a breakdown too. Frankly, I'm surprised he lasted four chapters before starting to crack. Oh well, there's always the next installment. Heh. Heh. Heh.
Cheers, folks.