------
The moon was full. Wolverine crept up the hillside, staying in shadows as best he could. It would have been far easier without the moonlight. Still, he had no trouble at all keeping himself hidden from the figure atop the small rise. Like his namesake, he was quite at home in the wild.
Another quiet step and he was at the top. He crouched behind a tree, testing the wind. The light summer breeze carried the scent of the prairie to him, as well as the scent of the man he was stalking. It wasn't hard to follow his nose. Not many prairie dogs wore CK One cologne. Breathing softly, he flicked a glance at his quarry.
The idiot was standing silhouetted against the moonlit sky, obviously a rookie at the whole espionage game. The wind stirred the man's frock coat, bringing the sound of whispering satin to Logan's ears. As he watched, the man brought a small pair of binoculars to his eyes and swept the area beyond the hill. Colonel Fury had informed Logan that the abandoned LeMay Air Force Base lay nestled in the low valley there. The man hadn't been willing to divulge details of exactly why the base wasn't listed in the national registry, but Logan had scouted it earlier in the evening from the other side and it did indeed exist. The binoculars came down and the stranger pressed a hand to his ear, speaking in a low tone into what he assumed was a lapel microphone.
"Still quiet. I don' t'ink anyone's coming out."
Where had he heard that voice before? Logan slipped a little closer, until he was directly behind the man and sniffed the air again. Suddenly it came to him and he suppressed a deep growl as he recognized the scent. Instead, he sneaked up behind the lone figure and placed his fist at the back of the man's slender neck.
[Snikt!]
Logan's lips curled back in a feral grin as his outermost claws slipped past his opponent's neck. A gentle flexing of his forearm brought the center blade out just enough to tap the back of the spine.
"Game over, bub," he said in a low voice.
The man froze, dropping the binoculars and spreading his arms. Logan watched with a strange amusement as his prey reached a tentative left hand to one of his claws, testing it with a finger. A hiss and the bleeding finger was brought up to the lips.
"Merde," Gambit swore in a heavy Creole accent. "If you'll excuse me..."
The Southerner quickly bowed forward to get his head free of Logan's claws, drawing a thin line of blood along the right side of his neck as he did so. Logan cursed and flicked all his claws out as the wily Cajun dropped to all fours. Before he could get his balance, the smaller man spun in an arc, sweeping his feet out from under him. Logan went down hard, rolling to soften the impact of the ground.
He scrambled to his feet as the red-eyed mutant flexed his spine and flipped to his own.
"Don't make this hard on yourself, boy," he growled as they circled one another.
Gambit didn't respond in words; instead, he made a curious gesture and a long steel bar slipped into his left hand. With the ease of practice, the Cajun snapped the rod to one side, extending it to nearly three feet.
Logan's eyes narrowed. The kid wanted to play hardball, it seemed.
"You think an ASP [1] is going to save your hide?" he asked in an amused voice.
"Non, not really," Gambit replied, snapping the long bar again. Another extension shot out and clicked into place. The man smirked and spun the rod (now a staff) in a lazy arc. "It might buy me a minute or two while I call fo' backup, though." He reached his hand up to the earpiece.
Logan didn't waste any time. He feinted to his right, drawing the staff away from the other man's body. Ducking the staff, he retracted two of his right-hand claws and lashed his hand out. Years of training and practice had given him the ability to judge his extended reach. Gambit yelped as the claw came whistling past the side of his head, severing the cord to the microphone.
"Ya better yell really loud, then."
Gambit snarled and spun the staff around. Logan blocked with his claws, which screeched down the metal of the staff rather than cutting into it. Adamantium. Damn it.
With no way to disarm the kid without cutting off a limb, Logan settled into a pattern of attack, parry, and counterattack. This guy wasn't too bad a fighter, he noted as he ducked aside from a roundhouse kick. A little raw, perhaps, and way too into the power moves, but not too bad. Logan grinned to himself. The problem was that this kid wasn't built for power moves. Time to point out that little error.
[Snikt!]
Logan snapped his claws back into his arms, the holes in his flesh healing almost quicker than they appeared. With a quick lunge, he grabbed the staff in both hands and held fast.
"Say goodnight, Gracie," he told the smaller man. Gambit's blood-red eyes widened and he started struggling harder, trying to wrestle his toy away from Logan. The big mutant had no intention of letting go. Gambit must have seen this in his eyes, for he struggled all the harder.
Not hard enough. With a quick movement, Logan wrenched the staff toward himself, jerking the smaller mutant face to face with him. For a surprised moment, there was stillness on the hilltop. Logan could see his own reflection in Gambit's wild eyes.
Then he smashed his forehead into Gambit's face. The kid's nose gave way with a satisfying crunch and then he slid to the ground. Logan pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped a smear of blood off his forehead. Bending over the unconscious boy, he rifled through the pockets of the frock coat.
Not much. Not even a wallet. Just the binoculars, a deck of playing cards, a burrito, and the power supply for the earphone. Wait a minute. Logan frowned, pulling a slim leather case from the inside breast pocket of the coat. He flipped it open, tilting it toward the moon to read it.
"You gotta be kiddin' me," he muttered in disbelief.
Breakfast at the mansion was an exercise in concealed tension. Jean poked at her scrambled eggs with a listless fork, apprehensive about the mission ahead of those gathered around the table. Shrugging off a feeling of dread, she concentrated on the seasoning salt and floated it toward her. Bobby's cooking left a lot to be desired.
As she tapped the shaker over the rubbery eggs, she glanced around the table. Conversation was muted and brief, she noticed. Everyone seemed preoccupied; the usual good-natured morning chaos was replaced by what might have been a scene from 'Oliver Twist.' It was an eerie silence.
Well, for the most part.
Despite the apparent lack of taste Kurt was putting away a huge amount of food, as usual. Jean wondered where he'd gotten the pancakes, and then noticed the empty platter sitting in front of Kurt. Oh. It hadn't reached her. That was nothing unusual around here. At least some things hadn't changed.
Sean (he wouldn't let anyone call him Mr. Cassidy, as he thought it made him sound like an old fuddy-duddy) was sitting to the left of Doctor MacTaggart near the head of the table, laughing loudly at some joke. Everyone turned to stare at him as he set his fork down and wiped at his eyes with his napkin. He chuckled on for a moment, and then looked at the staring mutants around him.
"I'm sorry. Was I interruptin' yer morbid thoughts o' failure or somethin'," he asked with his customary joviality. He smiled at each of them in turn as he said it. Jean rolled her eyes at him. She knew he was trying to lighten the mood - and he apparently succeeded. Conversation returned close to normal and the sound level of the room increased dramatically.
Turning back to her plate, she found Warren's eye upon her from across the table. She raised an eyebrow at him as she took a bite.
"They don't think we can get your friends back, do they?" he asked her. He spoke in a voice low enough that Jean had to strain to hear it. He gestured with his knife, indicating the younger mutants, who were laughing as Bobby froze a spoon in his orange juice. "This," he groped for a word, "circus behavior masks their fear. The kids think we can't save the Professor and the others."
Jean shrugged and took a sip from her tea, the one thing Bobby had managed to get right. She watched as the younger teen pulled the now- frozen orange juice from his glass and started licking it like a Popsicle. Doug and Kitty applauded him roundly.
"We can do it," she said, meeting Warren's steady gaze. A thought occurred to her. "Do you think we're going to fail?" she added. Too late, she realized she'd spoken loud enough to be heard around the table. Conversation died again as everyone stared at her. Bowing her head over her plate, she set her mug down with a clatter.
"Jean," Mr. McCoy began from his place to her right at the foot of the table. She shook her head in response, cutting him off. After a moment's hesitation, she pushed her chair back and stood up. She dropped her napkin on the table and crossed her arms, looking at the assembled mutants.
"We're going to get the Professor and everyone else out of whereever Magneto is holding them," Jean told them in a clear, ringing voice. The words fell like a hammer on those gathered around her and she saw several of the younger mutants flinch. Undaunted, she continued.
"I think we all agree that their safety comes before our own. With this X-Venom on the playing board, the job will be harder but not impossible." To Jean's relief, Doctor MacTaggart nodded approval her way. For some reason, the older woman's approval meant a great deal to her. "We've trained for a long time to help people and this is important. Do any of you really think we can possibly lose?"
To her surprise, it was Kitty that spoke up. The usually-optimistic girl spoke in a wavering voice.
"We're, like, not equipped for offense, Jean," she said in a high, panicky voice. "Look around. Without Scott's nuclear eyeballs or Rogue's draining ability," she paused and blushed, "or Lance's earthquakes or even Fred's bulk, what can we do to hurt them?" The other younger kids nodded, with the exception of Doug, who didn't know any of the aforementioned mutants.
"Bobby?" The boy looked up at Jean. "Pietro? Kurt? Look around you." She watched as the younger teens exchanged bewildered glances. Mr. McCoy nodded at her to continue and she caught a concealed thumbs-up from Sean as well.
"We're not trying to hurt Magneto and his Acolytes," Jean said in a firm voice. "And the talents around this table are uniquely suited for helping others." She pointed at Kitty, who startled. "You can phase our friends out. Warren here can fly. So can Sean," she said. Sean shook his head slightly and she didn't mention his other powers. "Bobby's ice and my own psionic shields can protect people. Rahne's werewolf form will provide us with whatever offensive power we need."
Doug raised a hand. One thing Jean had learned during their time together the day before was that he was an extremely well-mannered young man. She wondered how long it would take for the other students to grind that away from him.
"What about me?" he asked when she gestured for him to speak. He looked around at his peers. "I'm just a linguist. I can't do force fields or fly or any of that stuff. I want to help, but I don't know how."
Jean had to agree with him. She fumbled for a moment and exchanged a glance with Mr. McCoy. Thankfully, the big blue mutant stood up to help.
"You're a strong young man," he rumbled at Doug. "If someone was wounded in the coming fight, do you think you could possibly pull them to cover?" Doug nodded slowly, comprehension dawning. "If one of the prisoners needed carried to safety, could you do that?" When Doug nodded again, the big man spread his hands. "You don't necessarily have to use a mutant ability to be of help to the team, Doug. As long as you're willing to take risks while under fire, as it were, then you'll make a welcome addition." He sat back down and patted Jean's hand for her to continue.
"That's about it, actually," she told the waiting table. "Doctor MacTaggart and Mr. McCoy will be remaining behind to work on an anti-venom. Danger room session in twenty minutes. One last run before we fly out. Kitty," she said to the girl. "You and Rahne will be on Sean's team. Warren, you and Doug are with me. Bobby, I need you to get the X-Jet prepped for departure." Bobby nodded, pushing his plate back.
"We leave at nine," she concluded, picking up her own dishes to take them to the kitchen.
Kurt and Pietro exchanged a glance.
"Vat about us?" Kurt asked quickly.
"Excuse-me? You-forgot-a-couple of us?" Pietro demanded at the same time.
Doctor MacTaggart cleared her throat loudly. Two pairs of eyes, blue and yellow, flashed toward the far end of the table.
"Yer no' going," the woman said simply. She wiped her mouth with a dainty gesture and carefully folded her napkin. "The X-Venom works too rapidly on your individual cell structures."
Kurt opened his mouth to object. Pietro beat him to it.
"Whaddya mean?"
"Everyone else who's going on this mission can avoid the effects of the toxin simply by not using their powers," Mr. McCoy told the two boys. "You can't, so you're not going. Simple as that."
Both teens yowled in protest and started arguing with the two adults at the ends of the table. Everyone else watched the display with interest, heads swiveling between Doctor MacTaggart, Mr. McCoy, Kurt and Pietro like a four-way tennis match. This went on for a couple minutes before Jean got irritated. With a mental shriek, she cut through the chatter.
Kurt rubbed at his ears and glared at her with a wounded look in his eyes.
"But Jean," he began.
She cut him off with a wave of her hand, slopping tea over the rim of her mug in the process. "No buts. You're staying here where it's safe." With that final word, she whirled and strode out of the room.
Kurt fumed as he paced the second floor hall way. It wasn't fair! He could help just as much as any of the other mutants but Mr. McCoy and that Scottish woman wouldn't let him go. He ground his teeth, disgusted with his mutation more than usual. At least he'd been training with the X- Men for over a year, unlike that new kid. Why was he being allowed along at all? It's not like he'd be able to do much.
He wandered past the guest bedrooms, lost in thought. Jean was the weak link among the adults. Maybe if he talked to her privately, he could convince her to let him go along. No, that wouldn't work. They were leaving fifteen minutes after the training simulation was finished. He wouldn't have a chance to talk to her before the plane took off.
"Verdammt!" he hissed. A movement in the room he was passing caught his attention. Oh, that's right. This was the room Pietro was using. He peeked inside out of curiosity.
Pietro was standing with his back to the door, and didn't notice Kurt at all. The white-haired teen was shrugging into a black tunic that obviously wasn't his standard uniform. Aha. So that's why Bobby was complaining last night. The iceman and the speedster were about the same size. Almost, anyway. He watched Pietro grope at the sides of the shirt, which were obviously too baggy.
"What is up with all the yellow?" he heard the other boy mutter. Pietro ripped the X-insignia from the shoulders with a sharp tug, grunting approval. "Much better," he said as he picked the last stray threads from the uniform. Then he threaded a wide black belt through the loops on the pants, discarding the bright yellow belt. Finally he added a pair of thin leather driving gloves. That done, Pietro smoothed the uniform down and turned toward the door.
The effect, Kurt thought, was a mixture of sinister and amusing. Pietro looked like a bleached version of Luke Skywalker. All the dark clothing brought out the bluish highlights under his skin, bringing a deathly pallor to his face. Kurt was starkly reminded that the Brotherhood mutant was not entirely healthy.
Pietro sneered at him. "Why won't you just leave me alone?" he snapped, trying to shove past Kurt.
Kurt put his hand on the other boy's chest and pushed him back into the room, flicking a glance over his shoulder. No one was in the hallway. Good. He moved in and shut the door behind him, stepping back to lean against it. Crossing his arms over his chest, he frowned at Pietro.
"You are going somewhere, ja?" Kurt asked quietly. Pietro tried wrenching him out of the way, but he shifted his balance and held the door firmly shut.
"I'm sneaking onto the plane, as soon as you move out of the damn way," the speedster growled at him.
Kurt shook his head. "It won't work. Jean vill check the jet before they leave."
"I'll deal with that when it happens." Pietro shoved at him again and Kurt again held firm. Keeping Pietro away from the door was becoming more difficult. With a primal sound, the white-haired teen blurred toward him.
"M-move it!"
Kurt had a fraction of a second to react before getting punched in the face. He made a quick decision. Meeting Pietro halfway, he wrapped all five limbs around the other boy and knocked him of his feet, holding fast. The speedster resisted for a couple long, struggling minutes and Kurt wasn't sure he could hold on to the squirming body for much longer.
Lucky for Kurt, the writhing was replaced with a choked sob just as his own strength gave out. He scrambled off Pietro and backed toward the door in case this was a ruse. It wasn't.
"Quecksilber?" he asked, unconsciously slipping into German. The other teen didn't reply, just curled up in a ball and shuddered. "Vat's wrong?"
Pietro swallowed hard, eyes wide. Kurt had to lean slightly closer to hear him.
"Hurts."
Of course. The idiot thought to use his power to get past him and the X-Venom had attacked his system. Crap. What to do? Herr McCoy would have a kitten if he dragged Pietro down to the lab in this outfit.
Kurt didn't know what to do, but he knew he had to do something.
[Bamf!] [Bamf!]
He helped Pietro into a sitting position and handed him the glass of water and the aspirin he'd fetched from one of the bathrooms. Pietro chugged half the glass at once, but disregarded the tablet. Kurt was a little worried, to tell the truth. Pietro was normally very fair-skinned, but the combination of black clothing and intense pain turned him almost freakishly pale. Kurt crouched near the white-haired teen wondering if perhaps he shouldn't just go for Herr McCoy or Doktor MacTaggart. After a moment, he noticed Pietro looking at him thoughtfully.
"Vat?"
"What's the range on your teleport?" Pietro asked.
Kurt thought that one over for a couple moments. "Three, maybe three- und-a-half kilometers, perhaps." Blank stare. "Two miles more or less, ja?"
Pietro nodded and struggled to his feet, leaning against a dresser for support.
"All right, I wanna help Lance and Todd. You wanna help get your Prof back," he said to Kurt, who nodded. "All right, I've got an idea."
Jean buckled herself into the seat behind the pilot's chair on the X- Jet, settling herself comfortably into her seat. Around her, the other mutants were doing the same. Bobby, thank heaven, wasn't going to be the one flying this machine. Sean, as it turned out, had been one of the first people to check out on the controls when the plane had been new.
A crackle from the communications panel caught her ear and she leaned around to look at the monitor. Mr. McCoy appeared, looking like a b-movie extra with his white doctor's jacket and eyeglasses.
"I've uploaded the weather patterns to the onboard system. Watch out for that thunderstorm system around St. Louis," he said to Sean, who nodded. The Irishman was flipping controls and switches like an old pro. "I also took the liberty of filing a flight plan that will get you there in around three hours. There wasn't any trouble from the authorities."
"Good, good," Sean replied. Mr. McCoy looked off-camera and pushed his chair back. A moment later, Doctor MacTaggart moved into the screen.
"Jean," the woman said. "Don' ferget what we talked about." Jean nodded at the monitor.
"We're ready t' go," Sean said. "Be back in a bit, luv," he told the doctor with a jaunty grin. "Just ha' t' run out and get a few things first."
Jean set her hand on his shoulder. "Wait a moment."
Closing her eyes, she reached out with her mind, sweeping the entire jet to make sure there weren't any unwelcome stowaways. A part of her felt guilty as she realized how much being left behind would hurt Kurt and Pietro, but then she steeled herself. She didn't want their blood on her hands. Bad enough that the prospects for success already looked so grim.
A moment later, she was satisfied the two boys weren't anywhere near the plane. In fact, she'd found them in the conservatory again, well away from the hangar.
Tapping Sean on the shoulder, she opened her eyes.
"They're clear. We can leave."
Sean grunted a reply and tripped the brakes. Jean leaned back into her seat as the jet started rolling forward. They were going to run into turbulence, she thought, and not just in the air.
Pietro, Kurt noticed, had serious issues with height.
"Calm down," Kurt said to the other mutant. A green light blinked on the handheld computer he carried. "Ah, there they go." He grabbed Pietro's wrist.
[Bamf!]
Pietro reeled slightly as the roof suddenly disappeared, only to be replaced by ankle-high grass. So far so good, thought Kurt as he steadied the other teen.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, just tired." Kurt had a brief misgiving at that point. They could just stay behind. Pietro certainly wasn't in any condition to do much in the way of help. Kurt shook his head. The last thing he wanted to do was get infected with that nasty toxin. Oh well, sometimes you have to take risks.
He nodded, scanning the area below the cliff face. The waterfall that hid the runway was located just below them, which meant that the jet would appear right...about...now.
"Hold on," he said, grabbing Pietro's wrist again.
[Bamf!]
Bobby wrinkled his nose. Man, something reeked in here. He leaned over to Kitty, whispering loudly above the drone of the turbojets.
"Do you smell something?" he asked her.
She looked at him with a disgusted look, obviously thinking the worst.
How odd, he thought as the cabin filtration system kicked in. For a moment, it almost smelled like Kurt had 'ported into the plane.
------
Sailor X1: Oh, good. I wasn't sure if Jean was coming across as too wishy- washy. Nice to know that doesn't seem to be the case. As for Pietro cracking, that's just more drama. Emotional conflicts are fun to write and this one is more fun than most.
Jacob: Thanks for the generous comments. :) I don't know if my characterizations are on or not - it's a bloody cartoon, for crying out loud - but at least they're interesting to people, eh? Half my major in university was in English, which probably explains the fluency. I stopped reading comic books (too expensive) a couple story arcs before the Legacy virus came into play, what, ten years ago? I'm sure that flipping through a couple issues at the time probably had a subconscious influence on the story, though there's no way to really tell. I needed a plot device that would make for a good 'Official Dastardly Plan' for Magneto to use and this was the result. Marvel, please don't sue me. Note that this X-Venom is a toxin, not a virus or a bacterium - sort of the same thing in a snake or spider bite. It's not a germ, but a poison that deals damage to a mutant's DNA, essentially targeting it when the mutation is in effect. As a general rule - e.g. compare, say, influenza with the venom of a king cobra; which will kill you quicker? - venoms are nastier and faster-working than any natural virus or the like. Logan's healing factor might slow the bugger down, but even as it heals, more cells will become corrupted as a result. In the end, he'll be just as dead.
------
[1]: An ASP, for those who don't recognize the term, is essentially a short, extendable nightstick with a heavily weighted end. In the United States, for the most part, they're used mainly by police and military security forces. With proper training an ASP can be more effective than a gun in close quarters. A single blow is enough to shatter bone. Think of that next time you decide to make fun of the police. ;)
Cheers, folks.
The moon was full. Wolverine crept up the hillside, staying in shadows as best he could. It would have been far easier without the moonlight. Still, he had no trouble at all keeping himself hidden from the figure atop the small rise. Like his namesake, he was quite at home in the wild.
Another quiet step and he was at the top. He crouched behind a tree, testing the wind. The light summer breeze carried the scent of the prairie to him, as well as the scent of the man he was stalking. It wasn't hard to follow his nose. Not many prairie dogs wore CK One cologne. Breathing softly, he flicked a glance at his quarry.
The idiot was standing silhouetted against the moonlit sky, obviously a rookie at the whole espionage game. The wind stirred the man's frock coat, bringing the sound of whispering satin to Logan's ears. As he watched, the man brought a small pair of binoculars to his eyes and swept the area beyond the hill. Colonel Fury had informed Logan that the abandoned LeMay Air Force Base lay nestled in the low valley there. The man hadn't been willing to divulge details of exactly why the base wasn't listed in the national registry, but Logan had scouted it earlier in the evening from the other side and it did indeed exist. The binoculars came down and the stranger pressed a hand to his ear, speaking in a low tone into what he assumed was a lapel microphone.
"Still quiet. I don' t'ink anyone's coming out."
Where had he heard that voice before? Logan slipped a little closer, until he was directly behind the man and sniffed the air again. Suddenly it came to him and he suppressed a deep growl as he recognized the scent. Instead, he sneaked up behind the lone figure and placed his fist at the back of the man's slender neck.
[Snikt!]
Logan's lips curled back in a feral grin as his outermost claws slipped past his opponent's neck. A gentle flexing of his forearm brought the center blade out just enough to tap the back of the spine.
"Game over, bub," he said in a low voice.
The man froze, dropping the binoculars and spreading his arms. Logan watched with a strange amusement as his prey reached a tentative left hand to one of his claws, testing it with a finger. A hiss and the bleeding finger was brought up to the lips.
"Merde," Gambit swore in a heavy Creole accent. "If you'll excuse me..."
The Southerner quickly bowed forward to get his head free of Logan's claws, drawing a thin line of blood along the right side of his neck as he did so. Logan cursed and flicked all his claws out as the wily Cajun dropped to all fours. Before he could get his balance, the smaller man spun in an arc, sweeping his feet out from under him. Logan went down hard, rolling to soften the impact of the ground.
He scrambled to his feet as the red-eyed mutant flexed his spine and flipped to his own.
"Don't make this hard on yourself, boy," he growled as they circled one another.
Gambit didn't respond in words; instead, he made a curious gesture and a long steel bar slipped into his left hand. With the ease of practice, the Cajun snapped the rod to one side, extending it to nearly three feet.
Logan's eyes narrowed. The kid wanted to play hardball, it seemed.
"You think an ASP [1] is going to save your hide?" he asked in an amused voice.
"Non, not really," Gambit replied, snapping the long bar again. Another extension shot out and clicked into place. The man smirked and spun the rod (now a staff) in a lazy arc. "It might buy me a minute or two while I call fo' backup, though." He reached his hand up to the earpiece.
Logan didn't waste any time. He feinted to his right, drawing the staff away from the other man's body. Ducking the staff, he retracted two of his right-hand claws and lashed his hand out. Years of training and practice had given him the ability to judge his extended reach. Gambit yelped as the claw came whistling past the side of his head, severing the cord to the microphone.
"Ya better yell really loud, then."
Gambit snarled and spun the staff around. Logan blocked with his claws, which screeched down the metal of the staff rather than cutting into it. Adamantium. Damn it.
With no way to disarm the kid without cutting off a limb, Logan settled into a pattern of attack, parry, and counterattack. This guy wasn't too bad a fighter, he noted as he ducked aside from a roundhouse kick. A little raw, perhaps, and way too into the power moves, but not too bad. Logan grinned to himself. The problem was that this kid wasn't built for power moves. Time to point out that little error.
[Snikt!]
Logan snapped his claws back into his arms, the holes in his flesh healing almost quicker than they appeared. With a quick lunge, he grabbed the staff in both hands and held fast.
"Say goodnight, Gracie," he told the smaller man. Gambit's blood-red eyes widened and he started struggling harder, trying to wrestle his toy away from Logan. The big mutant had no intention of letting go. Gambit must have seen this in his eyes, for he struggled all the harder.
Not hard enough. With a quick movement, Logan wrenched the staff toward himself, jerking the smaller mutant face to face with him. For a surprised moment, there was stillness on the hilltop. Logan could see his own reflection in Gambit's wild eyes.
Then he smashed his forehead into Gambit's face. The kid's nose gave way with a satisfying crunch and then he slid to the ground. Logan pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped a smear of blood off his forehead. Bending over the unconscious boy, he rifled through the pockets of the frock coat.
Not much. Not even a wallet. Just the binoculars, a deck of playing cards, a burrito, and the power supply for the earphone. Wait a minute. Logan frowned, pulling a slim leather case from the inside breast pocket of the coat. He flipped it open, tilting it toward the moon to read it.
"You gotta be kiddin' me," he muttered in disbelief.
Breakfast at the mansion was an exercise in concealed tension. Jean poked at her scrambled eggs with a listless fork, apprehensive about the mission ahead of those gathered around the table. Shrugging off a feeling of dread, she concentrated on the seasoning salt and floated it toward her. Bobby's cooking left a lot to be desired.
As she tapped the shaker over the rubbery eggs, she glanced around the table. Conversation was muted and brief, she noticed. Everyone seemed preoccupied; the usual good-natured morning chaos was replaced by what might have been a scene from 'Oliver Twist.' It was an eerie silence.
Well, for the most part.
Despite the apparent lack of taste Kurt was putting away a huge amount of food, as usual. Jean wondered where he'd gotten the pancakes, and then noticed the empty platter sitting in front of Kurt. Oh. It hadn't reached her. That was nothing unusual around here. At least some things hadn't changed.
Sean (he wouldn't let anyone call him Mr. Cassidy, as he thought it made him sound like an old fuddy-duddy) was sitting to the left of Doctor MacTaggart near the head of the table, laughing loudly at some joke. Everyone turned to stare at him as he set his fork down and wiped at his eyes with his napkin. He chuckled on for a moment, and then looked at the staring mutants around him.
"I'm sorry. Was I interruptin' yer morbid thoughts o' failure or somethin'," he asked with his customary joviality. He smiled at each of them in turn as he said it. Jean rolled her eyes at him. She knew he was trying to lighten the mood - and he apparently succeeded. Conversation returned close to normal and the sound level of the room increased dramatically.
Turning back to her plate, she found Warren's eye upon her from across the table. She raised an eyebrow at him as she took a bite.
"They don't think we can get your friends back, do they?" he asked her. He spoke in a voice low enough that Jean had to strain to hear it. He gestured with his knife, indicating the younger mutants, who were laughing as Bobby froze a spoon in his orange juice. "This," he groped for a word, "circus behavior masks their fear. The kids think we can't save the Professor and the others."
Jean shrugged and took a sip from her tea, the one thing Bobby had managed to get right. She watched as the younger teen pulled the now- frozen orange juice from his glass and started licking it like a Popsicle. Doug and Kitty applauded him roundly.
"We can do it," she said, meeting Warren's steady gaze. A thought occurred to her. "Do you think we're going to fail?" she added. Too late, she realized she'd spoken loud enough to be heard around the table. Conversation died again as everyone stared at her. Bowing her head over her plate, she set her mug down with a clatter.
"Jean," Mr. McCoy began from his place to her right at the foot of the table. She shook her head in response, cutting him off. After a moment's hesitation, she pushed her chair back and stood up. She dropped her napkin on the table and crossed her arms, looking at the assembled mutants.
"We're going to get the Professor and everyone else out of whereever Magneto is holding them," Jean told them in a clear, ringing voice. The words fell like a hammer on those gathered around her and she saw several of the younger mutants flinch. Undaunted, she continued.
"I think we all agree that their safety comes before our own. With this X-Venom on the playing board, the job will be harder but not impossible." To Jean's relief, Doctor MacTaggart nodded approval her way. For some reason, the older woman's approval meant a great deal to her. "We've trained for a long time to help people and this is important. Do any of you really think we can possibly lose?"
To her surprise, it was Kitty that spoke up. The usually-optimistic girl spoke in a wavering voice.
"We're, like, not equipped for offense, Jean," she said in a high, panicky voice. "Look around. Without Scott's nuclear eyeballs or Rogue's draining ability," she paused and blushed, "or Lance's earthquakes or even Fred's bulk, what can we do to hurt them?" The other younger kids nodded, with the exception of Doug, who didn't know any of the aforementioned mutants.
"Bobby?" The boy looked up at Jean. "Pietro? Kurt? Look around you." She watched as the younger teens exchanged bewildered glances. Mr. McCoy nodded at her to continue and she caught a concealed thumbs-up from Sean as well.
"We're not trying to hurt Magneto and his Acolytes," Jean said in a firm voice. "And the talents around this table are uniquely suited for helping others." She pointed at Kitty, who startled. "You can phase our friends out. Warren here can fly. So can Sean," she said. Sean shook his head slightly and she didn't mention his other powers. "Bobby's ice and my own psionic shields can protect people. Rahne's werewolf form will provide us with whatever offensive power we need."
Doug raised a hand. One thing Jean had learned during their time together the day before was that he was an extremely well-mannered young man. She wondered how long it would take for the other students to grind that away from him.
"What about me?" he asked when she gestured for him to speak. He looked around at his peers. "I'm just a linguist. I can't do force fields or fly or any of that stuff. I want to help, but I don't know how."
Jean had to agree with him. She fumbled for a moment and exchanged a glance with Mr. McCoy. Thankfully, the big blue mutant stood up to help.
"You're a strong young man," he rumbled at Doug. "If someone was wounded in the coming fight, do you think you could possibly pull them to cover?" Doug nodded slowly, comprehension dawning. "If one of the prisoners needed carried to safety, could you do that?" When Doug nodded again, the big man spread his hands. "You don't necessarily have to use a mutant ability to be of help to the team, Doug. As long as you're willing to take risks while under fire, as it were, then you'll make a welcome addition." He sat back down and patted Jean's hand for her to continue.
"That's about it, actually," she told the waiting table. "Doctor MacTaggart and Mr. McCoy will be remaining behind to work on an anti-venom. Danger room session in twenty minutes. One last run before we fly out. Kitty," she said to the girl. "You and Rahne will be on Sean's team. Warren, you and Doug are with me. Bobby, I need you to get the X-Jet prepped for departure." Bobby nodded, pushing his plate back.
"We leave at nine," she concluded, picking up her own dishes to take them to the kitchen.
Kurt and Pietro exchanged a glance.
"Vat about us?" Kurt asked quickly.
"Excuse-me? You-forgot-a-couple of us?" Pietro demanded at the same time.
Doctor MacTaggart cleared her throat loudly. Two pairs of eyes, blue and yellow, flashed toward the far end of the table.
"Yer no' going," the woman said simply. She wiped her mouth with a dainty gesture and carefully folded her napkin. "The X-Venom works too rapidly on your individual cell structures."
Kurt opened his mouth to object. Pietro beat him to it.
"Whaddya mean?"
"Everyone else who's going on this mission can avoid the effects of the toxin simply by not using their powers," Mr. McCoy told the two boys. "You can't, so you're not going. Simple as that."
Both teens yowled in protest and started arguing with the two adults at the ends of the table. Everyone else watched the display with interest, heads swiveling between Doctor MacTaggart, Mr. McCoy, Kurt and Pietro like a four-way tennis match. This went on for a couple minutes before Jean got irritated. With a mental shriek, she cut through the chatter.
Kurt rubbed at his ears and glared at her with a wounded look in his eyes.
"But Jean," he began.
She cut him off with a wave of her hand, slopping tea over the rim of her mug in the process. "No buts. You're staying here where it's safe." With that final word, she whirled and strode out of the room.
Kurt fumed as he paced the second floor hall way. It wasn't fair! He could help just as much as any of the other mutants but Mr. McCoy and that Scottish woman wouldn't let him go. He ground his teeth, disgusted with his mutation more than usual. At least he'd been training with the X- Men for over a year, unlike that new kid. Why was he being allowed along at all? It's not like he'd be able to do much.
He wandered past the guest bedrooms, lost in thought. Jean was the weak link among the adults. Maybe if he talked to her privately, he could convince her to let him go along. No, that wouldn't work. They were leaving fifteen minutes after the training simulation was finished. He wouldn't have a chance to talk to her before the plane took off.
"Verdammt!" he hissed. A movement in the room he was passing caught his attention. Oh, that's right. This was the room Pietro was using. He peeked inside out of curiosity.
Pietro was standing with his back to the door, and didn't notice Kurt at all. The white-haired teen was shrugging into a black tunic that obviously wasn't his standard uniform. Aha. So that's why Bobby was complaining last night. The iceman and the speedster were about the same size. Almost, anyway. He watched Pietro grope at the sides of the shirt, which were obviously too baggy.
"What is up with all the yellow?" he heard the other boy mutter. Pietro ripped the X-insignia from the shoulders with a sharp tug, grunting approval. "Much better," he said as he picked the last stray threads from the uniform. Then he threaded a wide black belt through the loops on the pants, discarding the bright yellow belt. Finally he added a pair of thin leather driving gloves. That done, Pietro smoothed the uniform down and turned toward the door.
The effect, Kurt thought, was a mixture of sinister and amusing. Pietro looked like a bleached version of Luke Skywalker. All the dark clothing brought out the bluish highlights under his skin, bringing a deathly pallor to his face. Kurt was starkly reminded that the Brotherhood mutant was not entirely healthy.
Pietro sneered at him. "Why won't you just leave me alone?" he snapped, trying to shove past Kurt.
Kurt put his hand on the other boy's chest and pushed him back into the room, flicking a glance over his shoulder. No one was in the hallway. Good. He moved in and shut the door behind him, stepping back to lean against it. Crossing his arms over his chest, he frowned at Pietro.
"You are going somewhere, ja?" Kurt asked quietly. Pietro tried wrenching him out of the way, but he shifted his balance and held the door firmly shut.
"I'm sneaking onto the plane, as soon as you move out of the damn way," the speedster growled at him.
Kurt shook his head. "It won't work. Jean vill check the jet before they leave."
"I'll deal with that when it happens." Pietro shoved at him again and Kurt again held firm. Keeping Pietro away from the door was becoming more difficult. With a primal sound, the white-haired teen blurred toward him.
"M-move it!"
Kurt had a fraction of a second to react before getting punched in the face. He made a quick decision. Meeting Pietro halfway, he wrapped all five limbs around the other boy and knocked him of his feet, holding fast. The speedster resisted for a couple long, struggling minutes and Kurt wasn't sure he could hold on to the squirming body for much longer.
Lucky for Kurt, the writhing was replaced with a choked sob just as his own strength gave out. He scrambled off Pietro and backed toward the door in case this was a ruse. It wasn't.
"Quecksilber?" he asked, unconsciously slipping into German. The other teen didn't reply, just curled up in a ball and shuddered. "Vat's wrong?"
Pietro swallowed hard, eyes wide. Kurt had to lean slightly closer to hear him.
"Hurts."
Of course. The idiot thought to use his power to get past him and the X-Venom had attacked his system. Crap. What to do? Herr McCoy would have a kitten if he dragged Pietro down to the lab in this outfit.
Kurt didn't know what to do, but he knew he had to do something.
[Bamf!] [Bamf!]
He helped Pietro into a sitting position and handed him the glass of water and the aspirin he'd fetched from one of the bathrooms. Pietro chugged half the glass at once, but disregarded the tablet. Kurt was a little worried, to tell the truth. Pietro was normally very fair-skinned, but the combination of black clothing and intense pain turned him almost freakishly pale. Kurt crouched near the white-haired teen wondering if perhaps he shouldn't just go for Herr McCoy or Doktor MacTaggart. After a moment, he noticed Pietro looking at him thoughtfully.
"Vat?"
"What's the range on your teleport?" Pietro asked.
Kurt thought that one over for a couple moments. "Three, maybe three- und-a-half kilometers, perhaps." Blank stare. "Two miles more or less, ja?"
Pietro nodded and struggled to his feet, leaning against a dresser for support.
"All right, I wanna help Lance and Todd. You wanna help get your Prof back," he said to Kurt, who nodded. "All right, I've got an idea."
Jean buckled herself into the seat behind the pilot's chair on the X- Jet, settling herself comfortably into her seat. Around her, the other mutants were doing the same. Bobby, thank heaven, wasn't going to be the one flying this machine. Sean, as it turned out, had been one of the first people to check out on the controls when the plane had been new.
A crackle from the communications panel caught her ear and she leaned around to look at the monitor. Mr. McCoy appeared, looking like a b-movie extra with his white doctor's jacket and eyeglasses.
"I've uploaded the weather patterns to the onboard system. Watch out for that thunderstorm system around St. Louis," he said to Sean, who nodded. The Irishman was flipping controls and switches like an old pro. "I also took the liberty of filing a flight plan that will get you there in around three hours. There wasn't any trouble from the authorities."
"Good, good," Sean replied. Mr. McCoy looked off-camera and pushed his chair back. A moment later, Doctor MacTaggart moved into the screen.
"Jean," the woman said. "Don' ferget what we talked about." Jean nodded at the monitor.
"We're ready t' go," Sean said. "Be back in a bit, luv," he told the doctor with a jaunty grin. "Just ha' t' run out and get a few things first."
Jean set her hand on his shoulder. "Wait a moment."
Closing her eyes, she reached out with her mind, sweeping the entire jet to make sure there weren't any unwelcome stowaways. A part of her felt guilty as she realized how much being left behind would hurt Kurt and Pietro, but then she steeled herself. She didn't want their blood on her hands. Bad enough that the prospects for success already looked so grim.
A moment later, she was satisfied the two boys weren't anywhere near the plane. In fact, she'd found them in the conservatory again, well away from the hangar.
Tapping Sean on the shoulder, she opened her eyes.
"They're clear. We can leave."
Sean grunted a reply and tripped the brakes. Jean leaned back into her seat as the jet started rolling forward. They were going to run into turbulence, she thought, and not just in the air.
Pietro, Kurt noticed, had serious issues with height.
"Calm down," Kurt said to the other mutant. A green light blinked on the handheld computer he carried. "Ah, there they go." He grabbed Pietro's wrist.
[Bamf!]
Pietro reeled slightly as the roof suddenly disappeared, only to be replaced by ankle-high grass. So far so good, thought Kurt as he steadied the other teen.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, just tired." Kurt had a brief misgiving at that point. They could just stay behind. Pietro certainly wasn't in any condition to do much in the way of help. Kurt shook his head. The last thing he wanted to do was get infected with that nasty toxin. Oh well, sometimes you have to take risks.
He nodded, scanning the area below the cliff face. The waterfall that hid the runway was located just below them, which meant that the jet would appear right...about...now.
"Hold on," he said, grabbing Pietro's wrist again.
[Bamf!]
Bobby wrinkled his nose. Man, something reeked in here. He leaned over to Kitty, whispering loudly above the drone of the turbojets.
"Do you smell something?" he asked her.
She looked at him with a disgusted look, obviously thinking the worst.
How odd, he thought as the cabin filtration system kicked in. For a moment, it almost smelled like Kurt had 'ported into the plane.
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Sailor X1: Oh, good. I wasn't sure if Jean was coming across as too wishy- washy. Nice to know that doesn't seem to be the case. As for Pietro cracking, that's just more drama. Emotional conflicts are fun to write and this one is more fun than most.
Jacob: Thanks for the generous comments. :) I don't know if my characterizations are on or not - it's a bloody cartoon, for crying out loud - but at least they're interesting to people, eh? Half my major in university was in English, which probably explains the fluency. I stopped reading comic books (too expensive) a couple story arcs before the Legacy virus came into play, what, ten years ago? I'm sure that flipping through a couple issues at the time probably had a subconscious influence on the story, though there's no way to really tell. I needed a plot device that would make for a good 'Official Dastardly Plan' for Magneto to use and this was the result. Marvel, please don't sue me. Note that this X-Venom is a toxin, not a virus or a bacterium - sort of the same thing in a snake or spider bite. It's not a germ, but a poison that deals damage to a mutant's DNA, essentially targeting it when the mutation is in effect. As a general rule - e.g. compare, say, influenza with the venom of a king cobra; which will kill you quicker? - venoms are nastier and faster-working than any natural virus or the like. Logan's healing factor might slow the bugger down, but even as it heals, more cells will become corrupted as a result. In the end, he'll be just as dead.
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[1]: An ASP, for those who don't recognize the term, is essentially a short, extendable nightstick with a heavily weighted end. In the United States, for the most part, they're used mainly by police and military security forces. With proper training an ASP can be more effective than a gun in close quarters. A single blow is enough to shatter bone. Think of that next time you decide to make fun of the police. ;)
Cheers, folks.