Author's note: Thank you to Owlix and kmj1989 for the reviews! I hope you guys liked that "I love you" scene. Now get ready for a bit of action, as well as our favorite awkward nerd trying to flirt over the phone. Thank you to everyone who reads this, and special thanks to those who take the time to review!
Mayhem
"Shut up, Peter," Mystique hisses at the silver-haired speedster. "God, Charles should have let you run there. Stop being so annoying."
Peter looks hurt. He turns to Roxanne, sitting on his other side in another plush recliner.
The three of them are currently flying first class to Washington DC, where they'll be picked up by a Secret Service escort. Mystique is wearing the blonde mask she tends to favor, and Roxanne has her hair done in a braided halo to hide her ears so they can keep a low profile. There's no way to make Peter look- or act- inconspicuous, however, and he's been jabberinig at the shapeshifter a mile a minute for most of the flight.
"Am I being annoying, Roxanne?"
She glances up from her book. "To be fair, Peter, you haven't really been talking to me," she replies honestly. "So I can't truly comment."
"Well yeah, because you brought something to do," Peter reasons. "I'm trying to keep Mystique over here from getting bored, and she's not appreciating my efforts at all. Rude, right?"
Roxanne hides her amused grin by taking a drink of her Tom Collins.
She's saved from a response by the overhead announcement that they're beginning their final descent.
"Alright, you two, listen up," Mystique tells them now in a low voice. "I'm in charge, and you listen to me. You got it?"
"Or what?" Roxanne asks, closing her book.
The shapeshifter blinks, and then scowls at her. "What do you mean, 'or what?'"
"What are you going to do if I don't listen to you?" Roxanne clarifies. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to go out of my way to ignore your orders, but if you tell me to do something that I think is a bad idea, I'm not doing it. I'm just curious what you're going to do if I don't?"
Peter looks like someone just told him Christmas came early this year, while Mystique's expression is reminiscent of someone who just got a whiff of foul-smelling dog excrement.
"I've half a mind to send you both home right now," the shapeshifter mutters.
"I wouldn't, if I were you," the feral replies calmly. "Charles chose me and Peter for this mission for a reason. I can shrug off an assassination attempt, and Peter can outrun it."
"Face it, Mystique," Peter chimes in. "You need us."
The look on Mystique's face makes Roxanne feel sincerely grateful that she can easily heal from stab wounds.
The rest of the day is spent being shown around the White House, including the grounds where the speech will be held the next day.
"It'll have to be some kind of mutants trying this, don't you think?" Roxanne murmurs to the other X-Men as they finish their tour.
"What makes you say that?" Mystique asks sharply.
The feral gestures towards the buildings surrounding the White House lawn, none of which are particularly close. "I'm assuming the Secret Service will be covering these buildings, meaning a sniper is highly unlikely. And they'll be screening guests for weapons upon entry. That leaves the more unconventional type, right?"
"You're right," Mystique agrees, though her reluctance to say so is obvious.
"That's not going to be very good press for mutants," Peter comments, serious for once. "Even if the X-Men are here to protect people, other mutants going after the President is going to be a really bad look."
"You sound like Charles," the shapeshifter mutters disdainfully. "All about that public image."
Roxanne gives her a sideways glance. "I think we're just one bad day away from the humans starting to see us as the enemy again," she says quietly. "And there are more of them than there are of us, remember."
"So we risk our people to protect theirs, just to keep the peace."
"Will you excuse us for a moment, please?" Roxanne asks their escort, who politely demurs and steps several feet away. She then turns to Mystique. "What's wrong with peace?"
"I have a problem when it's our people on the line to keep that peace," the shapeshifter tells her.
"It's called having a moral compass," Roxanne replies. "We have powers, and with those powers come a responsibility to help others who can't help themselves."
"That's very naïve."
"It may be naïve, but at least it's not hypocritical," the feral retorts. "You treat everyone around you like gum on your shoes, especially humans. I'm still trying to figure out why you're even an X-Man."
And she turns and walks back towards their escort, leaving the shapeshifter simmering with unspoken rage.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Hank." The sound of Roxanne's voice makes his heart leap in his chest and automatically brings a smile to his face.
"Roxanne," he says eagerly, "sweetheart. How are you? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she replies. "They gave us a tour of the grounds, and it gave me a lay of the land. Not at all friendly for a sniper, and I know they're going to be searching guests for weapons. I think the assassin is going to be a mutant."
"Joy," Hank mutters dryly. "Hopefully it's not an Erik-level incident like the last time we were at the White House."
"Oh God, I hope not," she agrees, chuckling.
"Are Peter and Raven alright?"
"Peter's fine, but I think we're about to drive Mystique up the wall between the two of us and our insubordination," Roxanne says cheerfully.
"What?"
"I'll explain when I get back," she assures him. "Tell me, how are you?"
"I'm..." He glances at the other side of his bed, which feels empty without her in it. He's known her for a little more than five months and has been living with her for even less, but without her here...
"Missing me?" Roxanne guesses lightly.
"Yes," he quietly admits.
"I miss you too," she tells him. She pauses, as if gathering her courage. "Especially after what you did to me last night."
Hank sits up a little straighter. "I-I'll be glad to do it again the very moment you come home," he offers tentatively. He's painfully aware of how awkward he sounds, but he hopes she can hear how much he wants to make her happy. "As long as you return safely."
"I'll hold you to that, Hank," Roxanne coyly tells him. He can hear the shy smile in her voice, and can easily picture the lovely rose color sure to be spreading across her beautiful face now- because of him, because of the promise of the pleasure he can give her. Maybe he's not so bad at this whole romance thing, after all.
He grins bashfully. "I love you, Roxy," he murmurs, with every ounce of sincerity in his being. "Please, be careful tomorrow."
"I will. I love you, Hank," she replies. "Dream of me, baby."
The sky the next morning is a pearly gray and almost unbearably warm.
"These monkey suits suck," Peter whines, pulling at his tie. "It's too hot for this."
"We have to blend in with the Secret Service guys," Mystique reminds him impatiently. She's currently masquerading as a Caucasian male in his mid to late thirties, so blend in she does indeed. Peter, with his silver hair and boyish features, and Roxanne's petite stature and obvious femininity will unfortunately stick out no matter what they wear. "So suck it up."
"Easy for you to say, you're actually naked and just faking your suit."
"Shut up and let me fix your tie."
"What do you think, Huntress?" Peter asks.
"The suit jacket and skirt aren't bad, but these heels are a nightmare," Roxanne admits, gesturing down to her feet. She's wearing three inch heels, which are much higher than this tomboy has ever worn in her life. "I'm developing a whole new respect for women who can actually walk in these things."
Roxanne feels slightly calmed by the cool steel of the side arm she was (rather reluctantly) issued by the Secret Service, and that took some coaxing. Mystique- the savior of President Nixon- was issued a weapon with no problem, but they declined outright to give Peter one (which, to be fair, was probably a wise move). Roxanne only got a pistol after explaining that as an Alaskan, she knew how to properly operate a firearm since practically before she could walk.
Soon enough they're walking out with three other agents onto the White House lawn, covering the President. Once he takes the podium, Peter and Roxanne assume their positions flanking him, with Mystique on Peter's other side along with one human agent and the other two on Roxanne's side.
The President is greeted by polite applause before he begins his speech, but Roxanne doesn't bother listening to it. She's focused on scanning the crowd, looking for any kind of suspicious activity.
And then-
Looking back, the fact that they go for Peter first is a clue that the supposed assassins have done their research on the X-Men and recognize the silver-haired speedster from various news broadcasts. They know they need to neutralize him, the biggest threat, first.
But in the moment, it's just pure pandemonium and horror.
In a split second, Peter suddenly has some sort of bone projectile sticking out of his chest. With no prior warning, even he can't react fast enough.
It's quickly followed by two more bone projectiles aimed at the President, and Roxanne has just enough time to dive in front of him and use her own body as a shield. The spikes land in her back with sickening, squishy thuds that send searing pain through her abdomen.
"Get down, Mr. President," she orders sharply.
He does so, dropping behind the podium. He's quickly covered by the bodies of the three human Secret Service agents dog piling him, using their bodies as human shields. The audience goes absolutely berserk, scattering in all directions as utter mayhem descends.
Meanwhile, Mystique tries to fire at the would-be assassin and barely manages to dodge a spike by dropping to the stage, where Peter lays, gritting his teeth against the pain.
Roxanne pulls her side arm and braces herself against a third spike, this one to the stomach- the first two are pushing themselves out of her back, not exactly a pain-free feeling- to aim at a reedy-looking mutant who can apparently grow these boney spikes from his wrists and throw them with deadly accuracy. She shoots him twice in the chest, ending the danger he posed and sending his cohorts- two males- fleeing for the exit.
'Huntress, cover the President," Mystique orders, but Roxanne doesn't listen.
The feral woman rips the third spike out of her stomach and tosses it away, along with her gun and the impossible high heels. She takes off running after the retreating mutants, gaining ground on them like a bullet does an arrow. She lets the thrill of the chase take over her now, allowing the feral instincts to guide her actions as she catches up to them- a predator, catching her prey.
She unsheathes her knuckle claws and makes a flying leap at the slower male's back, impaling him with both sets. Once he goes down, she goes for the next one- who will certainly pose a challenge. He's 6'6- even taller than Hank- and absolutely gigantic. As soon as she catches up to him she can immediately smell he's a feral.
Crap.
Roxanne goes in with a baseball slide and slashes at his hamstring, making him stumble to his knees. She then rises to her feet in a fluid motion and kicks him in the face, which admittedly doesn't faze him much. A stab/ punch to the clavicle has a bit more of an effect.
He makes a grab for her, but she darts out of range before he can get a hold on her.
She takes a moment to assess the situation. The feral's companion is struggling to breathe, likely dying, but he pays his fallen comrade no mind. The problem lies with the feral man, then. Should she attack on, or retreat? She doubts she could beat him. The wound below the his clavicle is already healing- not quite as fast as she would, but still quickly.
Roxanne hates to admit it, but she probably should have listened to Mystique and let this guy run when she had the chance.
He's scary-looking. Everything about him makes the hair on the back of her neck stand on end and alarm bells sound in her head. Her inner feral is snarling internally in warning against the danger he represents. Roxanne isn't sure if it's his sheer size, the wickedly curved claws on his fingers, his fangs, or the amber cat eyes coldly assessing her as he hobbles to his feet that freaks her out the most-
The feral makes a leap for her, but Roxanne makes a dancing spin that takes her high in the air. As she goes, she slashes at the male and gouges her claws along his torso so deep she can see his rib cage peaking through his clothing.
Before she lands, though, he grabs her by the foot. Roxanne snarls and stabs him in the chest, but he roars and responds by grabbing her by the neck.
He lifts her up by the throat, leaving her bare feet dangling in the air by well over a foot. She jams the claws of both of her hands into his forearm to keep herself from being choked to death and finds herself staring into eyes colder than death itself.
Far from fearing her own demise, her thoughts now are of Hank, and how he would feel if she were to die like this.