Author's Note: Hey, I never said they were killed by the bomb...


Xavier Institute, Westchester, NY

The next morning.

Toast and a hot cup of coffee. People who dreamed of more were, in Marc's morning-person opinion, idiots and fools.

Well, Marc, it seems as though we got you out of there just in time, came the Professor's mental voice, tinged slightly with simmering anger.

What do you mean?

Finish your breakfast and join me in my study.

Jean had picked up on his sudden uneasiness. "Marc, what's wrong?"

"I don't know," he said, a slight edge to his voice. "The Professor wants to see me after breakfast."

Jean's eyes slid slightly out of focus, then snapped back to him after a couple of seconds. "Go, now," she said. "Don't worry about this, the others can clear up for once. They've gotten too used to having a telekinetic or two around,"

Marc left the table and a chorus of complaints in his wake as he made his way to the Professor's study. He was just about to knock when a voice called, "Enter."

Marc grinned to himself as he walked in, but the grin froze when he saw the Professor. More accurately, it was the picture showing on the large television tuned to CNN that was nestled in a large wall unit. The camera angle showed a burning building that was horribly familiar to Marc. The caption below the picture confirmed his worst fears. The Professor clicked the sound on as Marc walked in.

"…-ere are no reported fatalities, but it is understood that three embassy personnel have been airlifted to the nearest hospital, suffering from smoke inhalation, broken bones and shock. The Ambassador is reportedly safe, but his wife, Marie Duchaine, is one of the three people taken to hospital. No word has yet been received on the status of their son, as it was not known if he was in the embassy at the time. However, from preliminary investigations, it appears that the homemade missile was aimed directly at his window."

Marc went cold.

"No-one has yet claimed responsibility for the attack, and Ottawa has responded immediately to this, calling this attack a "cowardly and iniquitous attack on a diplomat of long service and great standing." CCTV tapes have already been removed from the Embassy by the FBI, and are being reviewed as we speak. More on this as it happens. Tom?"

The camera cut to a studio shot of a man wearing a suit seated behind a large glass-topped desk. His face was serious and his voice sombre. "And if you've just joined us, this breaking news story. At approximately five a.m. this morning, the Canadian Embassy in Washington was attacked with what appeared to be a homemade mortar in a terrorist attack, seemingly without motive. The Canadian Ambassador, fifty-one year-old Jacques Duchaine, was inside the embassy at the time of the attack, as was his wife, Marie Duchaine. M. Duchaine is reportedly unharmed, but Mme. Duchaine was airlifted to hospital suffering broken bones and smoke inhalation. We'll have more on this as it occurs. And now, the weather, with Davi-"

The professor clicked the sound off. A different man began gesturing at a large-scale relief map of the United States. "Thoughts?"

"Mom," he said. He didn't need to elaborate.

"They've airlifted her to Bethesda Naval Hospital," said Xavier gently. "She's in the best of hands there. We're going to Washington anyway, as Jean has her appearance in front of Senator Kelly. In the meantime, I want to see if you can shed any light on this."

Marc lurched over to a chair and nearly fell into it. "Ottawa's going to be furious. They've never suffered a terrorist hit on one of their embassies before, and they'll be baying for blood. This was supposed to be a nice, easy retirement post before my Dad leaves the service and writes his memoirs. I need to call him," said Marc, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone.

"Why would whoever it was attack the Embassy?" asked the Professor.

"As far as I know, there wasn't anyone there who would have been under threat."

"Except you."

Marc's thoughts stopped in their tracks. The Professor was right. The news report said that the mortar was targeted on his bedroom window. He was a mutant, and he had revealed himself to three or more Friends of Humanity agents. Of course they would have taken any opportunity to strike at him. And he had been taken out of the embassy for his own protection, and for that his mother was now in hospital… it all made perfect sense. Perfect, awful sense.

Xavier had followed his thoughts. "You cannot accuse the Friends of Humanity outright of any wrongdoing. At the moment, they have no known militaristic operations, and are just a lobbying group on Capitol Hill that enjoy the patronage of Senator Kelly and some other conservative Senators. They are a minor annoyance, nothing more."

"But what if they were the ones behind this attack?" asked Marc, heat in his voice.

"Then the FBI will deal with them."

"Ottawa will want to extradite them and try them as terrorists. The penalties in Canada for terrorism are very severe."

"But America will want to be seen to be tough on them," said Xavier.

"It doesn't matter. Embassies are seen as extensions of the countries they represent. Therefore this was an attack on Canadian territory. America will generate a lot of goodwill if it hands over the people responsible for this."

"Thank you for your time, Marc," said Xavier. "We're leaving tomorrow for the Mutant Affairs Committee debate in Washington tomorrow. We'll take you so that you can visit your mother while Jean battles with Senator Kelly. We'll be leaving in half an hour. You'd best let Bobby and John know where you're going. Also, if you see Kitty or Peter, can you ask them to come to my office?"

"Sure, Professor," said Marc, making his way out of the office.

Outside, he knuckled his eyes, and took a deep breath. He sought out Jean's mind.

There's been a mortar attack on the Embassy.

Oh, my God! Are your parents all right? Jean's tone was horrified.

According to the news, Mom's been taken to hospital with smoke inhalation and broken bones. The Professor's bringing me along to Washington so that I can see her. Dad's fine. I think I should try to call them.

He walked into the kitchen at that point. Jean gave no sign that she had heard anything, still supervising the mess that was a weekend breakfast. "Kitty, Peter, the Professor would like to see you after breakfast," he said. They both nodded, and quickly finished. Disappearing together, hand in hand, Marc busied himself with helping Jean and two other kinetics move the dishes to the kitchen.

She left them to it, and went to her rooms. She had a quick shower, leaving her hair down. Slipping into a dark grey business suit, she applied the bare essentials of makeup, complementing her features rather than hiding them. She met the Professor and Marc in the hallway. The Professor was wearing a blue suit, white shirt and tie, and Marc had changed into a pair of trousers and a shirt. He was tapping nervously, and Jean and the Professor shared a thought.

"We'll get there as fast as possible, Marc, don't worry."

Professor Xavier wheeled out of the mansion and down the ramp to the side of the steps. Rolling onto the ramp of the van, he was lifted smoothly of the ground and into the waiting vehicle. Securing the wheelchair in place, the ramp folded away, and Jean and Marc got in. Jean carefully manoeuvred the van out of the grounds, down Greymalkin lane and out onto the main roads. Soon they were on the freeway, making good time.

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