Chapter 2: Reunion

Ambassador Bryant's reaction told Lenneth everything she needed to know about the site evacuation when he began to curse under his breath. She could just barely hear his voice as he walked back to the cockpit saying,

"Now we'll be stuck wasting more valuable man hours trying to root out those vermin."

The leader of the Mutant Nation chuckled. Jean and Kurt would stay more than far enough ahead even without her assistance. Turning her head, Lenneth looked out over the beauty that was the Pacific Ocean. The sky was a clear blue over the softly rolling water. Apparently, it was going to be a very pretty day.

The landing in D.C. went as had been previously planned, a heavily armored escort vehicle complete with one of the smaller man-sents awaited the group as they disembarked from the small aircraft.

"Your carriage, Madame," said Eric in the most mocking tone he could muster as he held the door for the prisoner.

"Oh thank you, geeves," replied Lenneth stepping into the vehicle. She flashed his angry face a lovely smile as he slammed the door behind her. "You really are going to have to do something with the help," she commented to Bryant a few minutes later. The bewildered look on his face was well worth her laughter in her estimation.

With the car windows tinted the deepest black and mirrored to the inside, it was impossible to see the scenery as the transport zoomed down the road.

"Where are you taking me," she asked Bryant after an hour of stiff silence.

"A private holding facility. You will remain there through your trial, so there is a good chance it will be the last place that you see alive." Bryant once again fell silent, leaving her to whatever thoughts occupied her mind at the time.

Lenneth allowed herself to doze, uncaring of being watched. She was going to prison again. She would be monitored 24/7 there, so what did it matter that her former lover got to watch her sleep for the first time in more than 20 years?

"We need to do something. She was right about the Human government. They didn't keep their words, so why should we keep ours?"

"I understand your feelings, Jean. I agree with them. But we cannot risk exposing this location prematurely. She gave her life to give us hope. How stupid would we be to throw that away on a rescue mission for her when we cannot even be sure that she is still alive?"

Kurt sighed, his eyes studying the woman who despite two young sons had chosen to reclaim her husband's name and become Madame Summers, a leader of the Mutant Nation. He still chafed at the title of Master Wagner, but it was his due as a leader. If only Antoinette had survived to see his ascension. But if she had survived, it was possible that he would not have risen at all.

"First," he said to Jean for perhaps the hundredth time. "We find out if she still lives. Then we consider rescue missions. Only fools would choose to rush in without the necessary information. So we must not let our feelings make fools of us."

The redheaded telepath could only nod her agreement as her son, Mark, burst into the room, Eliza bounding along behind. The two, once more, set upon each other as children do and Kurt went, with a wry smile on his lips, to break them up.

From the aftertaste of chemicals in the air, Lenneth could tell that the building in which she was being housed had once been some kind of laboratory. Her days were then filled with cataloguing the various odors and tallying up the possible creations from their combinations. She kept all of this written on the walls of her cell in fine print with a small marker. Her guards occasionally stopped to look at her work, though it meant nothing to them since most of them had never even graduated from high school.

"You could at least bring me a dry erase board and some decent whiskey," she said when Ambassador Bryant dropped by to inquire after her accommodations.

"How about a cellmate to share those formulas with?"

"Oh," her mouth formed the letter, eyes narrowing. "Who?"

"They will be here tomorrow, Madame. Might I suggest that you be a lady and be patient."

"One or the other, Nicholas," she said familiarly. "But surely not both at the same time."

"There was a time when I missed your wit…"
"And here I thought you craved my company because I introduced the Karma Sutra into your gray flannel life." She leaned against the bars, her arms dangling on the outside, fingers just inches from Bryant's jacket. "Do you still dream of me, Nick old boy, and how I used to make you clutch the sheets," she asked in a husky whisper.

"Ladies don't talk this way," he said, taking a hurried step back, though part of him pointed forward.

"I told you, Nick, one or the other and I've chosen to be patient."

Breakfast consisted of a bit of wheat toast, previously buttered and smothered in strawberry preserves, and a cup of pure Columbian coffee, or it would have been Columbian if there were still a Columbia. She could hear the footsteps of the guards long before she saw them. Unperturbed, Lenneth scraped some of the preserves off the bread fully intending to give the person who came for the tray her opinion on what a decent breakfast consisted of and how gobs of preserves did not figure into it when two guards stopped in front of her cell with a hooded man between them.

"You've a cellmate now, Madame," sneered one of the guards as the other unlocked the door. The speaker then pushed the hooded man into the cell, driving him to his knees. "You two monsters get along nice now, you know," was his parting shot. The two guards were then gone; going about whatever duties they happened to have other than watching her write on the walls all day.

"I'd say welcome, except I doubt your being here is any happier an occasion than mine. So I shall assume the usual pleasantries unnecessary."

"As are the usual formalities," said the man reaching up to take off his hood. "Lenneth," he greeted her.

For years, Lenneth Essex had slept alone, finally faithful to her husband in death as she had not been in life. For years, she had wished and hoped for his safe return. Now he was standing before her. The piece of toast she had been holding was completely forgotten as she walked over to him and hit him hard enough to make the bars shudder as he impacted them.

With a grunt, Nathaniel Essex picked himself up and straightened his slightly rumpled shirt.

"I suppose I deserved that," he conceded in a low voice.

"Be glad I'm too happy to see you to hit you again, you bastard," she practically snarled. Then they were together, bodies and lips pressed tight.