Cyclops was fetched downstairs looking worse for wear. His outfit (Mr. Rogers sweater, faded t-shirt, oil-stained jeans and sneakers) screamed "security blanket" and presented a bit of a cognitive disconnect with his combat visor. He plucked the mobile from Blond Boy's hand.
"Hank, are you hurt?" The answer was far lengthier than just "yes" or "no."
"But you are in a safe place? ...Right, for a given definition of safety. Okay. I think I can get Warren to send someone with a car out to you."
Another pause.
"No, not yet. All of our communication is down but we probably just need to patch some lines, and I'm sure he doesn't know about the emergency phone Bobby's mom gave him. …Yeah, even that. Probably for the rest of the morning. We'll be as quick as we can. Stay alert."
His voice softened a little. "I've got to go deal with stuff… stay safe Hank. …I'll do my best. Bye."
He hit the "end" button and rolled his shoulders back. "Bobby, I need your phone. We're going to try and get Hank here today." He gripped Blond Boy's shoulder. "He's not hurt; everything else we can deal with."
Blond Boy, apparently Bobby, nodded mutely and sat back down in the chair he'd been in when I came upstairs. Cyclops turned to me.
"Who let you out of the quarantine room?"
"I did," Nightcrawler confessed without hesitation.
Cyclops looked very stern and teacher-ish. I was expecting him to lecture, but what he said was "Ok then. We need an extra set of skilled hands right now, anyway. Toad, consider Kurt to be your Jiminy Cricket."
It seemed like everyone but Nightcrawler was looking at him like he was crazy. I ignored them and made my eyes even wider and rounder than usual. "Oh, gee. If I do everything he says will I get to be a real boy?"
"That depends on if you're willing to let go of your strings."
Bastard.