Warren managed to retrieve his wing harness and the rest of his clothes from the boathouse. The smell of liquor was strong and he made a mental note to tell Ororo to send someone down to clean up the mess that he and Scott had made. He was getting ready to walk out the door, harness and clean shirt on, tie and suit jacket flung over his arm when his brain finally processed that last thought. Suddenly furious with himself for reverting to type he set his clothes down and began rummaging under the sink for a sponge and some cleaning supplies. It was more than an hour later before his temper cooled, but by that time the boathouse was so clean that Warren imagined that even he could have cheerfully eaten off of the floor.
The thought of food made him ravenous and picking up the clothes he had come down to collect, he pulled the door shut behind him. Lunch at the mansion was in full swing when he peered into the dining room. He had wondered, now that the student body was roughly six times what it was when he attended school there, how Xavier handled meals.
He wasn't certain how it was during the week, but on a Saturday afternoon it was cheerful pandemonium. Someone had laid out sandwich fixings on the sideboard, but very informally, meat and cheese slices still in their plastic bags, bottles of condiments placed haphazardly near the four or five loaves of bread. The students and teachers were helping themselves, chatting animatedly and sitting wherever they pleased.
Someone had, mercifully, removed the bouquets. He wondered where they had gone.
As he stepped into the dining room conversation suddenly stalled as his presence registered, and then started up again at a lower volume. A set of girls including Kitty and Bobby's girlfriend started whispering to each other and staring at him. He suddenly felt very self-conscious and he straightened his shoulders, lifting his chin.
"Warren," Ororo was calling from what looked like the teacher's table, or at least the adult's table. Scott was sitting with his back to Warren, hunched over and picking at his food, but present. 'Ro was sitting across the table from him, next to Kurt. Next to Scott, to his left was the man with the muttonchops. Warren waved back, grateful to look for a moment like he belonged there, and went to fill his plate.
Feeling slightly guilty that he had started out the day shouting at Scott rather than helping him like he had promised the professor, he deliberately sat down on the other side of him. Scott grunted in recognition. Good. At least he had cooled off a little. 'Ro introduced him to Muttonchops.
"Warren, this is Logan. He helped me carry you back from the boathouse last night." Warren winced. Ororo's vengeance was complete. So much for feeling like he belonged.
On the other side of Scott's hunched back Logan locked eyes with him and nodded once, a sardonic half smile playing around the unlit stogie in his teeth.
"Thanks," Warren offered weakly. The man shrugged in return. Scott started to laugh.
"Don't be so smug," Ororo shot back, "We carried Warren back while Kurt was teleporting you to your bedroom because you were too drunk to stand." Scott and Warren shared a rueful grin: a 'Ro lecture after they had done something wrong together. It was almost like old times. She lowered her voice, but her tone remained scolding, "I can understand the need to unwind after yesterday, but I am going to ask that drunken carousing not become a daily occurrence. What kind of example are you setting for the children?" Scott opened his mouth, but she barreled on over his objections, "And don't give me a line about it being a secret. The walls have ears around here, quite literally in some cases. No secret is kept forever in this school. Whatever you do is seen. Is that understood?"
"'Ro. Give it a rest," it was, surprisingly, Logan.
She looked annoyed to have her tirade interrupted, and turned her glare towards the other man. Logan, however, could not be stared down, and after a moment she sniffed and looked away. He grinned.
Scott was staring up at the ceiling, "Do you remember the time that Henry distilled tequila in the lab?"
Warren, startled, started to helplessly laugh, "Oh my God! Yurt!"
"Yurt Olympics," Scott answered
"Yurt-o-rama!"
Ororo smiled, in spite of herself, "Discount Yurt City!"
Kurt looked at the three of them bemusedly. Logan chewed on his cigar.
Warren launched into an extravagant explanation of how a bottle of home made tequila and an illicit drunken evening gave rise to an unholy fascination with the word yurt. Kurt failed to get it. Logan just looked bored.
Ororo shook her head, "Henry was so sick. I don't think he drinks to this day."
Warren shuddered, "It took me 4 years before I could even smell tequila again without wanting to puke." Logan grinned at that, contempt in the smile.
"Jean was so mad at me…" Scott was looking up at the ceiling again, his voice suddenly far away.
Their shared amusement abruptly vanished. Ororo looked down, defeated. No memory was safe. She was everywhere.
Kurt locked eyes with Warren, asked Scott deliberately, "Hav you seen the professor this morning?"
Scott pulled himself back to the table, "Huh? Oh, yes."
"Do you know if he is available this afternoon?"
Scott frowned, "Actually no. He said he had to use Cerebro. That's why he's not here now."
"Oh." Now it was the blue man's turn to look defeated. Warren wondered what was on his mind. When Ororo reached down and squeezed Kurt's hand, he managed to keep a raised eyebrow to himself.
"I did get to talk to him about developing a physical training program for the children," Scott continued slowly. Warren's attention snapped back to him warily. "He agreed that it was a good idea." Scott let that register for a moment. Warren kept the self-satisfied grin off his face. He recognized that this was the closest that he was going to get to an apology from the man. Knew also that he had scored a minor victory in the complex sparring match of their friendship. Scott turned his attention to his left, "Logan, is that something that you would be interested in heading up?"
Logan looked like he had been smacked in the face with a board, "Huh?"
"Would you be interested in developing a self defense program for the kids? Martial arts. Physical stamina. Dirty tricks."
"Now wait a minute…"
"I can't think of anyone better than you to teach the children how to stay alive."
Ororo clapped her hands, "I think that's a wonderful idea!"
Logan scowled, "I'm not a teacher. And half the kids are so scared of me that they pee their pants!"
Scott grinned by showing his teeth, "Then you will hardly have a discipline problem, will you?"
"I hadn't planned on sticking around."
There was a short silence. Apparently, this was news. Ororo looked purposefully sorrowful, "That's
too bad. I don't know what people like
Marie are going to do if the school gets invaded again. She could learn to be more aggressive."
Logan's eyes flicked across
the room and then back to Ororo, "She shouldn't be in any fights at all!"
"I agree," said Scott, "But she may not always have a choice in the matter. Would you rather her be trained by me or by you?"
Logan lowered his eyebrows and chewed furiously on his cigar. Warren knew Scott had won, but his friend did not look like he was certain it was an argument he actually wanted to win. He wondered why. Logan relented, "I can't teach Marie. She… I mean there are only some things I can teach her. She's better suited for escape and evade techniques than relying on brute strength."
Kurt shot
upright in his chair, "Ven I was with the Munich Circus I was known as the
Incredib…"
Ororo cut him off, excitedly,
"Of course! You were an acrobat,
weren't you?"
"Yes, I was
known as…"
Ororo turned to Scott, "Kurt
could teach Marie and some of the others who are not ready for Logan yet. Especially some of the younger kids, like
Neal."
"I was going there next. You beat me to it."
"In fact," Ororo continued, excited, "We could all use a little cross training in the danger room."
Scott turned his head slightly to look at Logan the same moment that Logan glanced at Scott.
"No way," both men blurted at the same time.
"A great teacher once told me that everyone has something to teach and everyone has something to learn," Warren interjected around a bite of his sandwich.
Scott's lips thinned. Warren knew that Scott hated to have his own words thrown back at him, so it pleased him to be the one to be able to do it.
Logan started to make his point with the end of his cigar, "Yeah but…"
"Nightcrawler!"
The rest of the conversation stopped. Everyone turned to look at Kurt, who was looking very proud of himself. He continued deliberately, slowly, meeting their eyes, "Ven I was with the Munich Circus I was known as the Incredible Nightcrawler. I can teach your students how to get away."
**********
The rest of the afternoon was spent in one of the classrooms, hashing out schedules, lesson plans and sorting students into training groups based on need and mutation. By unspoken accord they had tabled the discussion of cross training each other in fighting techniques. Warren, who was not faculty or even newly dubbed faculty, maintained his right to be part of the discussion because it was his idea. This was a bit of a white lie, but did not see the necessity of throwing his weight around right then, or of possibly wounding Scott's pride. Additionally, it was fun to watch Scott and Logan bristle at each other, like two dogs that weren't sure they liked the way each other smelled. Warren was pleased to note that although it was clear Scott did not care for Logan, he was professional enough to do what was best for his students and work with the man. The conversation was also, he hoped, successfully keeping Scott's mind off of Jean. Whenever he seemed too distant, too removed from the conversation one of the other four would leap in with a direct question to Scott, dragging him away from his thoughts. It seemed to be working, but it was exhausting. Warren did not know how long they were going to be able to keep it up.
Dinner found the five of them back
at the same table hammering out details and arguing whether or not the children
should be allowed to train in the danger room.
Though they tried to keep their voices low by this time the students had
sensed that some new change was afoot.
Although they seemed skittish about actually sitting at the teacher's
table, the other tables closest were filled with students who were trying not
to look like they were listening while drinking in every word. Bobby and Peter were not even bothering to
hide that they were snooping, watching the tennis match of the adult's
discussion with unrestrained glee.
Without warning a sharp mental
call cut through the conversation, **X-Men!
Meet me in the Danger Room, now please.**
The group's demeanor changed instantly, the entire table scrambled to their feet. So too, a short distance away, did Bobby, a look of shocked comprehension on his face.
His girlfriend, Marie, Warren remembered from the afternoon's discussion, clutched his hand, "Bobby, what is it?"
"The professor wants me to go on a mission." Peter looked crushed; Marie, suddenly frightened.
Kurt Wagner was already swinging down the hall towards the elevator via tinkling chandeliers, followed by Ororo and Logan on the ground. Scott shrugged insincerely at Warren, "Sorry. Hope you don't mind babysitting. There must be an emergency; the Professor wants us below, now."
Warren flashed the X-Men's field commander a wicked smile, before he took off after the rest "I know. I got the summons as well."
**********
Warren skidded to a stop at the elevator an instant before Scott. The two of them jostled each other as they stepped into it, Bobby a breathless step behind. Ororo hit the button and the door slid shut behind them. Scott glared at Warren from behind his visor. Warren tried to look professional and impassive, though the temptation to display his smugness was strong. He knew that the other man was angry and confused that the Professor would include Warren in a call to the X-Men. What right did he have to be included when he had walked away from the team all those years ago? He didn't need to be a telepath to figure out what Scott was thinking. The fact that his father's business had needed him was never enough of a reason for Scott. The elevator came to a stop and the door opened. The X-Men tumbled out.
The Professor met them in the hallway, motoring his chair toward them. They gathered around him in a semi circle. He looked tired, as he sometimes did after using Cerebro for long periods of time. Warren abruptly began to wonder about the effect of Jean's death on the old man.
"As you all know," Xavier started, "There are some things brewing on the political landscape that may require us to spread ourselves more thinly than we are used to. Unfortunately it appears that events have moved more swiftly than I had anticipated." He smiled wanly, "Warren, I am going to ask you to help us today, if you will." Warren nodded once. Inclusion in the mental summons had prepared him to hear such a request, and he was disinclined to say no to almost anything this man asked of him in an emergency, especially now. "The X-Men are required on two different fronts at once. Cyclops, I will need you, Nightcrawler, Iceman, and Wolverine to take the Blackbird to New Mexico. Magneto, St. John Allerdyce and some mutants I am not familiar with are heading towards Area 51. I need to know why they are going there and what they are doing. Cyclops, you will need to use your best judgment as to whether you let them get away with whatever it is that they are planning. Additionally, Iceman, I would like you to see if you can convince Pyro to return with you all to the School. This is the only reason why I am sending you on this mission. I want you to be very careful."
"I will, Sir."
"Nightcrawler," his face softened, as he took in the other man's eagerness, "This is a test run of sorts. Cyclops and I would like to consider you for the team, if you are interested. We wanted to talk to you in person before we sent you out, but we appear to have run out of time."
Kurt pulled himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest, "The Incredible Nightcrawler will not fail you."
He turned his attention back to Scott, "All the information that I know has already been loaded onto the shipboard computer. There will be plenty of time to review it in the air. I suggest you get changed and leave now." Wolverine turned on his heel and marched down the hall to the locker room. Nightcrawler and Iceman rushed to follow him, the boy looking both proud and nervous. Scott held his ground. As field commander he had the right and the need to know what the rest of his team would be doing without him. "Storm and Angel, I need you to go to Rhode Island. There is a mutant there who is shortly going to be in some trouble. I would like you to get her out of it and see if you can convince her to come back to the school with you. Angel, I have taken the liberty of having a uniform made for you that should fit, at least according to your tailor."
Warren shook his head at the perfidious collusion of his former mentor and one of his most trusted servants, "I swear that man has more secrets than I do." He saw that Scott was frowning and inwardly winced. No time to try to soothe ruffled feathers, he would have to leave that up to Xavier.
Ororo asked the question that Warren was too polite to voice, "Why choose us?"
"Many reasons, but the main one is that the Blackbird is going to New Mexico at the same time that you need to be in Rhode Island, and in the interest of speed, you both can fly."
Warren pulled out his cell phone and flipped open the lid, "Is that all? I can save us both the effort. I can have the Falcon flown to the Westchester County Airport from JFK in half an hour."
It was more than half an hour. In fact it took forty-seven minutes for the jet to arrive, which Ororo took great pains to point out to him in her sweetest, you-are-being-an-arrogant-show-off voice. Warren, grinning for all he was worth, slid into the pilots seat and settled his wings over the top of the chair with a sigh. He reminded her delicately of the amount of time it usually took her to get ready to go out dancing as she carefully stepped around the spill of white feathers on the floor of the cabin and buckled herself into the co-pilot's seat. Sniffing with distain she handed him the co-ordinates of T.F. Green Airport in Providence.
***********
Mina finished up her number with a shimmy and a flourish. Half the patrons applauded wildly with much catcalling and hooting of appreciation. The other half of the audience appeared to be too distracted by the sensual atmosphere her dancing had created and were kissing their dates passionately. Mina smiled at them, score one for her, and stepped off the stage. The stage at the Black Glove was more of a platform really, with no proper backstage, so still smiling she had to step down the front staircase before wrapping herself in a sheer chiffon veil. Chris the bouncer handed her a cup of water before mounting the steps to pick up the money that some of the more enthusiastic members of the audience had thrown at her during her performance. It was bad manners for a dancer to pick up her own tips, and she told Scratch that when he'd hired her. She could see him across the room talking to a dark haired, serious faced man who kept shooting her sultry glances. Scratch smiled and gave her the thumbs up sign and a wink. Good. He was happy with her performance. With any luck this one shot gig would turn into a more permanent thing. She didn't need the money as much as she needed the legitimacy of a job. When Chris handed her the tips from the dance floor, she made sure to give him a cut, anything to stay in the good graces of the regular staff. She was vividly aware, now that she was rolling that phrase around in her head, of the irony that being an exotic belly dancer in a swingers club was more legitimate than her real job. Well, it was more legitimate as far as the government was concerned, and that's all that mattered right now, leaving an innocent seeming trail behind her.
She chatted amicably with couples that had not yet retired to one of the themed rooms for more private sport, answering questions mostly from the women about how she got started belly dancing and where they could take lessons. That brought her up short. She had not considered actually teaching belly dance as a legitimate job, it was just this skill that she had picked up from her mother, part of her cultural heritage that she had tweaked a little to make it look more exotic. It was something to think about. She filed it away and kept moving, mingling with the guests who were now beginning to start dancing, slow and sensual. One attractive couple, a tall buxom brunette and a taller man with laugh lines and gray beginning to show at his temples asked her if she wanted to join them in the jungle room. The air was electric and half stirred herself Mina, almost reluctantly turned them down, "I'm on duty," she offered with an apologetic smile. The woman laughed and said duty had never stopped Scratch before, but they took the rejection good-naturedly and wandered off looking for a more willing partner.
The dance floor was slowly clearing, people moving in twos, threes and fours towards more lively entertainment. The man who had been talking with Scratch crossed the room towards her.
"That was a very sensual dance," he started, "Where did you learn to do that?"
Since this was the fourth time she had been asked tonight, and because she was not interested in going to bed with this man she blunted her answer, "Afghanistan."
The man smiled winningly, "Is that where you are from? I did not realize that the Afghani women had such beautiful green eyes."
"Yes," Mina answered the question, not the comment, "My family left in the wake of the invasion. The Russian invasion." She glanced nervously at the double French doors where the last of the partygoers had vanished through. She could see them laughing and talking on the other side of the glass Now she was alone with the man. This was supposed to be a couple's night, where was this guy's partner?
The man followed her gaze to the door, frowned and then stepped back a pace from her. "I'm sorry, I am not trying to make you uncomfortable. I really do only want to talk."
Mina was surprised, "You must be the only one then," she indicated the sounds of partying that were rapidly becoming louder on the other side of the door.
The man shrugged, "Please don't be offended. I am interested in you but not that way." Mina blinked. Funny, although he appeared a touch effeminate, he hadn't set off her gaydar. "My employer has sent me to contact you, Miss Abdul-Salaam."
Mina's eyes widened and she took a step back. The man was between her and the door. Mina lowered her voice to a furious whisper, "How do you know my name? Are you a cop?"
The man laughed mirthlessly, "Hardly."
"'Hardly' is not a no. Are you a cop?"
"No."
"Then who are you and what do you want?"
"Who I am is not important," the man replied smoothly. "Who I represent is more to the point. Magneto has heard of your talent and your political… opinions. He believes that he can help you make your dreams a reality."
Mina felt her jaw go slack with shock. Although she did not watch television or read the papers she knew who Magneto was. Everyone knew who Magneto was. "I don't know what you are talking about," she denied automatically.
The man smiled again, "Come now Amina, Magneto does his research extremely well. Your work in the activist community and your views on human overpopulation are well known in the underground. It wasn't until recently that he became aware of your mutation, but he thinks that you would be a fine team member of an organization called the Brotherhood of Mutants."
Mina blinked, "I see. You are here as a recruiter. Looking for more mutants to join Magneto's cause. What exactly are you here to offer me?"
The man moved swiftly into a bargaining position "A spot on the team, living quarters safer than your current shack in the woods, all your expenses paid for, and a chance to make your vision of a world free from the scourge of Homo sapiens a reality."
Shock gave way to a slowly building fury, "My vision…? You think… he thinks that's what I…", Mina was so angry it took her a moment to regain her coherence. She stepped forward and pace and leveled a finger at the man. " How dare you! You don't have the first fucking idea what I believe in. Just how did you plan on getting a world free from human destruction? Destroy them? Well that's a grand plan, 'Start a new era of peace and prosperity on earth', by destroying the humans. I'm sure that will work. Level their tyrannical power structure by placing your own smack on top? Oh yeah, that's original. Only every revolution in the past ten thousand years has tried that same trick, and failed. A revolution that gives power back to the few is not a revolution. It's a change in government! You want me to join forces with a guy that is responsible for the murder of hundreds of people and has plans to murder thousands, billions more?" Mina gave the man a withering stare, "If you actually believe the line of bullshit that Magneto has been feeding you, the two of you probably deserve each other. I don't waste my time with "visionaries" who wouldn't know a vision if came up and bit them on the ass. Go back to Magneto and tell him thanks, but no thanks." Mina brushed past the man on the way out the door. Her hands were shaking with anger and fear. She hoped that the man would be too shocked to try to stop her from leaving.
No such luck.
The man grabbed Mina by the arm and spun her around. Mina, expecting a blow raised her other hand to defend herself, but no blow fell. With horrified fascination she watched as the image of the man that held her blurred and shifted. From top to bottom the man's hair shortened and turned red, his eyes turned golden yellow, and his skin took on an alarming shade of midnight blue. As the change progressed down the body the he became a she, a naked she with what looked like scales running down her blue skin. The woman, the mutant, smiled.
Mina's eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped in the woman's grasp. The blue mutant briefly lost her grip on Mina as her weight pulled her body out of her hands. Immediately Mina was up in a flash and running towards the doors. The woman swore and cart wheeled through the air after her.
Mina pulled one of the French doors open and flung herself through. Abruptly it slammed shut on her leg. Mina cried out in pain, sprawling on the floor. Though the glass she could see that the woman had landed feet first on the windows. Several of the panes had cracked with the impact, but that did not keep Mina from seeing the woman lick her lips in anticipation.
Chris the bouncer was running at her from across the play room. Mina could see several couples already engaged in the act of love frozen in surprise at the unexpected violence. Next to her there was a tree in a pot covered in Christmas tree lights. Mina reached for her power and…
The plant was plastic.
Cursing Scratch's decorating style for all she was worth, Mina kicked at the door to free her leg. The woman opened it to come after her. Mina staggered to her hands and knees, tripping over her veil and her long belly dance skirt, and scrambled towards the front door. Out. She had to get out.
Chris intercepted the woman at the door. She could hear Scratch shouting, and the sounds of a scuffle behind her but she didn't look around in favor of crawling towards the exit as fast as she could go. Reaching the door she pulled herself onto her feet by the doorknob. Opening the door to the reception area she glanced behind her. Chris was flying through the air. He landed on top of the table covered with artistic black and white coffee table porn. The table splintered underneath his weight. The mutant was turning to see where Mina had gone. Mina bolted through the doorway.
The door banged into Mike, who had been acting as host in the reception area and who had been coming to investigate the shouting. He staggered back and grabbed the door for support. She dodged around him, no mean feat since he was a former football player and took up most of the entry way. Exit way. Only one more door until she was outside. The sounds behind her were getting louder; she felt the reverberations of a body hitting the wooden floor, she thought she heard choking. Her hands were shaking so hard they seemed like they belonged to someone else. She pulled the last door open.
The night air hit her like a slap. The crispness of fall made her skin feel flushed from the heat of the club. Unlike a normal club, the Black Glove was not in a busy trendy section of Providence, but nestled discretely in a warehouse park on the outskirts of the city. It's location there helped keep the membership secret and kept the uninitiated from stumbling in upon something they did not want to see. It also meant that with the exception of a line of cars, the street was deserted. No help in sight. There were scrub bushes growing up out of a vacant lot about 500 yards away, she turned right out of the door and ran. She realized two things almost immediately. She had left her sandals inside, and her leg was not going to be able to hold any weight for very long.
Hobbling, stumbling, the asphalt was sharp and sticky under her feet, she heard the door bang open behind her. There was a pause and then running footsteps followed her. She glanced over her shoulder. Mike was pelting after her.
"Mina!" He called out, "Come back here!"
It took a little while for the fact that it was Mike, not the mutant, who was now chasing after her to register. Mina began to slow, she turned a little to look at him. Just then the door opened again. Mike staggered out of the building. He had a hand to his head and he was bleeding profusely from a scalp wound. He looked straight at Mina and shook his head. Mina looked quickly between the Mike standing at the door and the Mike who was still coming towards her. Her brain refused to make those two things come into agreement. She turned again and ran. The Mike who was not bleeding swore and sprinted after her.
The wind suddenly picked up, rain began to spatter the road ahead of her. The bushes in the vacant lot swayed in the strengthening wind. Mina reached again, praying she was close enough, praying to a god she no longer believed in. So close, so close…
Mike tackled her. Mina felt her face bounce off the asphalt, the skin on her belly and legs scraping painfully against the ground. She struggled to turn over, to fight her attacker, but Mike – no, the shape shifter, held her down with a knee to her back. "Magneto does not usually take "no" for an answer," she hissed, the words coming out with Mike's voice. It was raining now and the wind whipped up with unusual force. It made the leaves on the bushes sound like whispering. Mina closed her eyes and reached.
A tendril of ivy shot out of the ground in the empty lot, flung itself across the street, wrapped itself around the mutant's head and yanked her backwards off of Mina. She shifted back to her blue shape to try to wriggle free. The ivy wound tighter.
Mina rolled over, "Tell him he needs to learn that no means no," she gasped.
Abruptly three silver claws shot out of the knuckles of the mutant's hands. She slashed the vine to pieces. Mina scrabbled backwards on hands and feet. The mutant advanced on her, still with claws drawn, a smile of anticipation on her lips.
**********
"Now, Storm!" Angel said, "You won't get a better chance." Storm was already raising her hands. The air crackled around them. Angel pumped his wings to stay aloft in the shifting air currents, peering down at the drama playing out below them.
Faster than thought he was blinded by an intense blue flash, and a near instantaneous BOOM.
When Angel could see again he saw Mystique lying 20 feet from where she had been standing, curled up on her side in a fetal position, tendrils of smoke swirling from her body. The girl in a belly dance costume, the mutant they were looking for, was now lying on her stomach, her veil in tattered pulpy filaments on the ground around her. The smell of ozone was strong. Angel swooped down and alighted on the ground next to her. The rain began to slack off. Without moving her he touched her neck, checking for a pulse. Storm alighted next to him, "I don't think I hit her," she said worriedly.
He felt the beat, fast but faint under his fingers. Angel shook his head, "I don't think you did either," he said. The sound of a siren started up in the distance. Storm glanced over at the door to the warehouse the girl had come out of. The man was still standing there bleeding from his head, his jaw slack from shock. Angel followed her gaze. "Time to be scarce," he suggested. Storm nodded. He reached down and lifted the girl in his arms. She was more muscular than she looked at first glance and he grunted a little, shifting her to be comfortable, then pumped his wings hard to lift himself and his burden off the ground. Storm, maddeningly, levitated gracefully up, the silver cloak of her costume swirling around her. They banked south, heading back towards T.F. Green where they had landed the Falcon.
After a couple of minutes the girl stirred in his arms. Her eyes snapped open and she stiffened. Angel tightened his grip; afraid she may panic and fall. She stared at him with incredulity. "It's okay, he said soothingly, "I've got you. We're flying. Storm took care of Mystique and we are taking you to someplace safe. It's okay." He repeated the words over and over to her, a mantra of calmness. Slowly she relaxed, although she did not loose the look of disbelief. She reached out and touched his cheek. He smiled at her, "Yes. I am real. It's okay. You are safe. You are not dreaming.
The girl, Amina according to Xavier's information, began to babble at him, " 4;يس 7; 6;ا 3; ا 4; 4;ّ 7; 4; 3; 6;ّ ا 4; 4;ّ 7; 8; 5;ح 5;د 7; 5;ا 6;بيّ 7;. يسا 5;ح ا 4; 4;ّ 7; 7;ذا ا 4; 3;ا 1;ر . 2;د أرس 4;ت 5; 4;ا 3; ا 4; 5; 8;ت 4;ج 5;ع 6;ي", she said.
"Storm," he shouted, "I think she's in shock. She's blathering something. It sounds like Arabic."
She floated carefully closer. While Warren flew, in the strict avian sense of the word, Storm manipulated air currents to stay aloft. This made flying too close together semi dangerous, Storm could accidentally take Angel's air and drop him out of the sky. She listened intently, "I don't recognize the dialect, but it sounds like she thinks you are Hazrat 'Izraa'eel come to bring her back to God."
"Who?"
"The Angel of Death. She must think that the lightening killed her."
