Charles's throat was thick as the boat made its way to shore. It was inky dark out, the kind impossible in cities. He'd seldom even seen it in the confines of Westchester where a light was never too far from hand.
Instead, only the moon and stars were there. That and the steady blink of the flashlight on shore. Hank had radioed in only a moment or two before and the coordinates, as well as the blinking light, had appeared. The voice indistinguishable on the other end, and Hank said the signal must be poor.
A foot away from him Peter retched over the side. It appeared that the sea didn't agree with him, although he wondered just how it was the sea that made him ill when he regularly moved faster than the speed of light.
"Everyone, get ready," Charles said.
The teens nodded, bundling in their jackets over their uniforms. They'd brought extras for when the discarded the ones they were wearing. The hope was they would stash them and grab them on the way back. Moira might not have a jacket suitable for the weather, and Hank was so worried he'd actually packed a backpack with a thermal blanket in it.
As the boat drew nearer, Charles thought he caught a flash of blonde hair. He frowned. It was his sister's favorite hair color when she was in disguise, true enough, but it was longer than she usually wore it. Longer and brighter.
He put two of his fingers to his head.
Hello? he said.
Jesus Christ!
Charles started, but immediately narrowed his eyes. The thoughts sounded young, but he'd learned the hard way that wasn't the same as non-threatening.
Who are you?
What are you doing? How can you-?
I'm a telepath, Charles said.
He felt an irrational surge of impatience. He didn't have time for this. Not now. Her confusion, however, was enough to make him pause.
A mutant who can read minds, and right now I'm reading yours. I would ask that you tell me who you are, because you're not my sister.
Um, Scott blew up a tree at the school?
Charles relaxed slightly.
Alright, so you are connected, he said, But who are you?
Jimaine. I mean, Amanda, I mean...I mean...this is really uncomfortable.
He sighed. Hank looked over at him, a question on his face.
"It's not Mystique waving us in, but I think it's a friend," he said.
Hank looked doubtful, but Charles cast his eyes back to the shore. Now that he concentrated, he could just make out two figures, one very much smaller than the other. He raised an eyebrow.
You'd best tell me everything, he said, I know this isn't the most pleasant experience, and, no doubt, it feels like an itch in your hypothalamus that you can't scratch.
Um, yes. Yes it does.
It's a common feeling, said Charles, But I need to find out why it's you here instead of my sister and Kurt. Can I look through your memories? Just for a moment or two?
He could feel Amanda hesitate. For a second, she looked down at the smaller figure. Was it a child? Her daughter, sister?
Alright, she said, Just, no offense, this just feels really weird.
I understand, Charles said.
He carefully sifted through her memories of the past 24 hours, the ship. He saw Kurt intervening, saw his sister arguing with the woman. He couldn't hear what they were saying, Amanda was too far away, but he saw how much more urgent Raven became afterward.
"Can I dock?"
He looked over at Hank, surprised. His oldest student was looking at him expectantly, and he realized the rest of the X-men were paying close attention. Yes, of course. His words hadn't exactly been reassuring.
"Yes," Charles said.
He glanced back at the shore.
We will not harm you. You will be safe.
Charles retreated from her mind before she could answer. Amanda had made it plain that the experience of having a telepath in her head was a new and unpleasant one. It did, he admitted to himself, take some getting used to. Moira was the only one who had faced the experience head on, and even then he'd felt her squirm in his mind.
Moira. He swallowed as the boat bumped against the sandy bottom near the shore.
"Everyone, they know we're coming," Charles said.
"I thought you said she was okay!" hissed Storm.
"And she is," Charles said, "But something happened on the boat, and Nightcrawler and Mystique's cover was blown. They've gone ahead, no doubt to try and make up for lost time. I'll try to get in contact with her soon but this does call for a change of plans."
"An extensive one," said Hank.
Amanda moved forward, the little girl staying where she was. The other X-men eyed her warily, but it soon became clear she was trying to help pull the boat up onto the shore. If they'd had more than one person it might have worked, or someone jumping out to assist.
As it was, Jean merely waved her hand, and they were securely moored. Amanda took a step back, looking nervous, but not apprehensive.
"We've lost the element of surprise," Scott said, "We're gonna have to try something different now."
"Not entirely," said Hank, "I mean, they know we're coming. But they don't know how or when."
"That's not great man," said Peter, pushing himself and looking green.
"No," said Charles.
He eyed Peter thoughtfully. Peter held up his hands.
"Hey, look, I'd be glad to run down there, beat 'em up, take their wallets, that kind of thing," said Peter, "In fact, I really want to. It'd be great. But this guy has some sort of mad teleporter dude there, and I'd like some back up."
"Quicksilver, calm down," Charles said.
He gave him a small smile.
"I'm not sending you in alone, and I'm not sending you in first."
Peter frowned and Charles looked over at Storm. It was, perhaps, too much to ask of her. While she had summoned up a hurricane of extraordinary power under Nur's tutelage, she had been restricted to smaller stunts recently.
However, lightning wasn't what he wanted.
"Storm, I have an idea," he said.
Moira didn't recognize the woman tugging and pulling her down the hall. She'd already learned not to irritate her though, as she'd already hit her twice. Whoever she was, she made Martinique look patient.
Struggling wouldn't do much good anyway. Not until she could find a way to get a weapon and escape. Opportunities had been slim, but maybe that meant she would just have to look closer for a way to get away. A plan was already forming in her mind. She'd get out, get Emma if she could, and they would run. If not, she would get out and tell the X-men where to find Emma later.
The brush with Charles's mind seemed like a dream. Moira wasn't even sure that it had actually happened. However, she knew she couldn't wait, not with the little life growing inside of her. She might be able to endure harsh conditions, but the baby wouldn't.
Escape would still be a difficult maneuver, considering that her hands were bound by zip ties. They were uncomfortable, but her hands had been tied in front of her. The woman was in a hurry, and that could be taken advantage of. Moira might not present a formidable opponent in her weakened state, but put a gun in her hands and she knew she would still be able to shoot.
The woman shoved open the door to what looked like an amphitheater. She narrowed her eyes. The lighting was, at best, murky, but the design was familiar. There was something in the middle of the room which she couldn't quite make out.
It moved, and Moira started. The woman laughed and gestured to a chair.
"Sit, or I'll toss you," the woman ordered.
Moira did so, trying to look small and helpless. The other woman didn't know her. She might be easier to fool than Martinique.
"You can put up the fence now," the woman said.
There was a grating noise, and the room filled with the hum of electricity. Light skittered across the walls, and Moira blinked at its harshness. The woman laughed and crossed her arms.
"Your boyfriend won't be finding you in here," she said.
Moira's heart leapt. She'd long figured out that something was keeping Charles out, or he would've found her already. However, the knowledge that they'd moved her somewhere new with the express purpose of hiding her was interesting to say the least.
Did that mean they were close? Moira prayed they were. That made escape a little easier. Her heart beat a little faster at the idea of fresh air, of seeing her son, of Charles's hands over hers, of telling him of the life inside her.
The woman moved slightly, and Moira saw what was in the middle of the room. Emma was sitting there, looking around with wide eyes. Her hands were strapped to the chair, as were her feet. Her filthy hair was hanging around her, only just obscuring the collar.
Something hung over her, a dark mass of metal arms.
"Oh, you know her?" the woman asked, "Did my sister introduce you two?"
Moira didn't say anything. Martinique had a sister? The woman shrugged.
"No matter," she said, "Emma knows me, don't you?"
She saw Emma's eyes glower for a second before panic washed over them. How long had the young girl been there? How many years had passed, alone and being tortured?
"Now, Emma," the woman said, "I'm going to take off the collar in a moment, and then you're going to do exactly as I say."
Emma looked over at Moira, her eyes a warning that Moira couldn't quite read.
"Emma?" the woman snapped.
"Yes Miss Regan," Emma said, her voice toneless.
Regan snapped her fingers and two guards appeared. She pointed at Moira.
"Watch her," she said, "If she so much as breathes wrong, I want you to shoot her."
"No you won't."
There was a crackle as Martinique walked in, pulling at her sleeves. Her face was a mess, and she looked pissed. Regan made a face, but Moira's mind went to the X-men. They were close.
"Trouble sister?" she asked.
"Go jump off a cliff," Martinique said pleasantly, "Essex wants you upstairs as soon as possible. And you two, do not shoot her. If you must, shoot her in the foot, but only if you can guarantee she doesn't fall."
Martinique grinned nastily.
"Essex wants the baby nice and healthy," she said.
Moira felt her insides turn to lead. They knew.
"Wait, seriously?" asked Regan, "That guy's in a wheelchair. I do not want to picture that."
"I don't want to picture your face, it'd frighten even this place's rats away, but, unlike you, I don't have the option," Moira snapped.
Regan whipped around, narrowing her eyes. But the lead was slowly turning molten. No. She'd already decided they weren't going to make her lose the baby. It was hers, hers and Charles's.
And they were never going to lay a finger on them.
"Don't," Martinique said, "He really wants the baby."
Her sister snarled irritably and waved her hand.
"Fine, take the little trollop, do whatever," she said, "I've got more important things to do."
The dull sound of distant gunfire filled the air. It was quick, but not quite quick enough to be machine gun fire.
"Go do them," snapped Martinique.
Regan made a face and then walked over to Emma.
"No funny business," she said, "I know. Remember?"
"Yes Miss Regan," Emma said.
With a smile, Regan gave a thumbs up to someone Moira couldn't see. The room continued to thrum and Martinique rubbed the back of her neck.
"Sorry about the noise," she said pleasantly, "But we haven't quite figured out how to make it run quietly."
Moira pinched her eyebrows together, trying to figure out just what she was seeing. Regan reached up and pulled one of the arms down, a helmet on the end. Worry prickled the outside of her molten mind, and, as Regan buckled the helmet under Emma's chin, she realized what was happening.
"Oh, if you think that's impressive," said Martinique, "Just wait until it powers up."