Author's note: I'm sorry it's taken so long to update, but my exams haven't been kind, and I'll be moving house next week, so there might be another wait. I'm also considering whether or not to keep this in canon for the first two films, and then turn AU afterwards. X3 was a good movie, but there were sooooo many plot holes. Personally, I blame Superman for poaching Bryan Singer. Oh well, not a lot I can do, so enjoy the chapter!

---------------------------------------------------------------

Washington to New York

Later that day.

Marc was aimlessly walking the streets. His thoughts were muddled, and he couldn't concentrate. His feet carried him to the shattered shell of the Embassy. The road was cordoned off for half a block in all directions, with visibly-armed police making themselves very visible. He stared at the cordon for what seemed like ages before he was approached by one of the men.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Yes, I'd like to know what they did here, and why."

"I can't say, kid," said the police officer. Marc took in the sleeve insignia, showing the man had a sergeant's rank. "It's on the news, and that's all they've told us."

"I'll rephrase," said Marc, coldness in his voice. "That mortar was aimed at my bedroom window. I want to know why, and who did it."

The sergeant's faced changed to a look of surprise. "You're the Duchaine's kid?"

Marc glanced off to the side, reining in his temper with difficulty. "Yes, Sergeant, I am Marc Duchaine, and I'd like to know what happened here."

"Oh, right, yessir, well, as far as we can make out, the mortar went into the embassy window last night, and exploded. Preliminary forensics says that it was a typical mortar, like those used in Ireland during the nineteen-eighties. It started a fire that completely gutted the interior of the Embassy. They found the casing shards, and are trying to trace them. They don't know why the Embassy was attacked. There's no motivation for it, nothing political, or economic about it at all."

"What about other reasons?"

"Like what?"

"What do you know of the family?"

His eyebrows crinkled as he thought. "Well, guy's a diplomat, his wife's a society woman, and you're normal, I guess. There's no reason, unless you got enemies in Canada."

"Thanks," he said, and turned away. Walking down to the end of the block, he muttered, "Normal? Stupid cop."

Inspiration struck. It wasn't really a line of investigation, as things went, but it meant that he would be doing something. He made his way to the school that he had attended before Xavier's. He refined his idea into a more cohesive plan as he went. Reaching the office, he paused. He knew that what he was about to do wasn't completely ethical, but then the Friends of Humanity had attacked his family, and when it came to family…

…well, the rulebook went flying out of the window.

The secretary's mind was laughably easy to slip into. He 'suggested' that she look up the address of Luke Sims, which she did. Reading it through her eyes, he made her erase it from the screen, and then left. Committing it to memory, he walked to the mall and bought a Coke and a sandwich. He ate on the way to Luke's house, his mind clear with purpose as he walked.

Reaching the street, he conducted a quick surface scan of the house his quarry was in, and ascertained that Luke was indeed home. It was a typical house, with a white picket fence and neatly clipped front lawn. Marc made contact with Luke's mind.

Coward.

He restrained a grin as a yell of fright resounded from the front bedroom in the house. A clatter from the kitchen sounded like his mother had dropped something. A minute or so passed, in which he could hear voices in the house.

What, scared? You should be. I told you, anything happened and I'd come looking for you.

"Get out of my head!" yelled Luke. He threw open a widow and looked wildly up and down the street. "Goddamn mutie scu—hkkk…"

Don't blaspheme, you silly little boy. Anyone would think you're not a right-wing fundamentalist. Now, are you going to stop screaming obscenities?

Marc felt his terrified assent, and released his mental hold on Luke's speech centre.

Good. Leave the window open.

Luke disappeared back into the room. Marc was hidden behind a tree. Scanning the branches above him, he leapt up, and swung himself high enough so that he could see the room, but he couldn't be seen by anyone else.

I bet you're pleased with yourself, Luke,said Marc. Scorn wound its way through his mental tone. You've attacked an accredited diplomat in a host country, and soured diplomatic relations for the foreseeable future. And for what? Petty revenge on someone who beat you in a fight? Pathetic. How's the wrist?

"Permanently damaged, thanks to that trick you pulled. I may never regain full use of it."

Shame. My mother may never walk again. And it wasn't even her or my father you were after. I think that's fair.

"What do you want?"

Marc's tone turned cold. The name of the person who did this, and where I can find him.

"I can't."

Why not?

"Because then he'll come after me for helping a mutant."

Marc knew that he was dangerously close to the edge of his self-control. For a telepath, especially one trained by a psychic from the Psy-Ops arm of the Strategic Hazard Intervention, Espionage and Logistics Directorate was a very bad place to be. He tried for a cool tone of 'voice'. One thing I learnt in my psychic training was how to stimulate the brain to feel things. Increasing my empathy, and other people's emotions. I can make you feel exultantly happy, where you're on top of the world, or suicidally depressed, ready to throw yourself off a car park… or put you in screaming pain. I could, if I wanted, make you feel the combined pain of everyone who was injured in that blast. I think the total count was fourteen broken bones, including three different compound fractures on the arms alone, and cuts and scrapes from the flying glass and other debris. Or, you tell me the name and location of the man who did this, and I make you forget that we ever had this conversation. That way, you can honestly say you haven't a clue how I managed to get to him.

Luke said nothing. Marc waited. The silence, both mental and aural, stretched uncomfortably. Thirty seconds passed.

There was a whisper of sound from Luke's open window, and Marc thought he'd misheard.

"Graydon Creed."

---------------------------------------------------

A/N: Oooh, Dark Marc! but can you blame him? Review, please!