Chapter 5
We got fighters incoming. Jean, look alive.
Let's hope, Jean answered back. Can you keep them off us?
Only one way to find out. Rogue swerved in the air and swung low, aiming to intercept the underbelly of the nearest F-14. She stuck her fists straight out in front of her, preferring to punch the airplane rather than ram it with her head. The sleet stung at her eyes, impeding her vision, but it was hard to miss an aircraft that big.
Oh, please, oh, please, don't let me kill the pilot.
Her body shot through the metal and electronics, the rough edges tearing at her already ragged pajamas. When she was twenty feet above the plane, she turned and looked behind her. The plane was diving for the steely-gray ocean below. In a flare of explosives, the ejection seat shot from the wreck.
Good. She hadn't wanted to fish him out, especially when she could barely see. She spun to follow the second plane, but it was already shooting towards the ground, still sparking from Storm's lightning bolt.
We're across the boundary, Jean announced. The X-Jet is away. Repeat: The X-Jet is safely away.
Good luck, Storm thought to Rogue as she shot away in the X-Jet's wake.
Hank, she heard Scott call, how's it coming?
Three minutes and counting. Let's get out of here.
Colossus, get that hole closed!
Non, attends! My staff! She saw a flare of lurid pink light from the gap in the library walls. Got pried outta my hand—
No time; you're gonna get—
Just a—
STAND DOWN!
Another flare, larger than the first, turned everything for a split-second to rose-tinted daylight. Then the shock wave hit her, sending her spinning in three backwards somersaults and leaving her head aching from the pressure of the explosion crushing down on her eardrums. She'd never seen Gambit do an explosion that big.
Got it, Gambit announced. The grim finality in his mental voice assured Rogue that 'got' didn't mean 'retrieved' . . . better to destroy the beloved weapon than to surrender it to the enemy.
There was another explosion on the north side of the house. Guys, they're breaching the kitchen! Rogue called.
Gambit, block the door.
Wid what?
With the staircase! We'll retreat through the floor.
Copy.
The whole house shook. Flames shot from the breach in the kitchen window, and red light flickered from the remaining gaps in the library. The scream and crackle of splintering wood was everywhere.
Kitty, are you ready to fly?
Yeah. Just hurry up, you guys.
Rogue tuned out the conversation. Something was happening on the edge of the lawn. She couldn't see a blessed thing . . . where was Gambit's night vision when she needed it? . . . but there was almost certainly a dark cluster of men and machinery. A tank, maybe? They could've brought a tank.
She dove down, trying to get a better view to see if this was something she needed to deal with before Velocity took off. There was a hiss and a roar, and something hit Rogue in the gut.
"My name is Scott Summers. I speak today as a representative of the students and teachers of the Xavier Institute for the Gifted."
"Good shot of you," Jean observed.
"Guess all Kitty's makeup tips really paid off," Gambit offered.
"Hey, shut up."
"Both of you shut up. Ah'm tryin to listen," Rogue ordered.
"I am a mutant," the Scott on the television screen continued. "So are all of my teammates. We are all U.S. citizens or legal U.S. residents. Many of us are minors. None of us has a criminal record."
"Yo' welcome," Gambit muttered.
"Shhh!"
"We have broken no laws. We are not criminals. We are entitled to the same rights and protections as any other Americans. Mutant Registration is a blatant violation of those rights. It is unconstitutional, unjust, and unconscionable."
"Ooh, 'unconscionable'," Hank repeated, nodding his approval. "Nice."
"Therefore, on behalf of all students and faculty of the Xavier Institute, I would like to announce here and now that not one of us will submit to being registered. Ever. And we offer all our support and solidarity to any mutants who will stand with us in peaceful protest."
Scott's face disappeared as the camera feed returned to the newsroom. "A striking and provocative declaration from the nation's only publicly known mutant organization, in full opposition to the Mutant Registration Act of last Thursday," the anchorman announced. "The newly formed Mutant Registration Bureau has not yet released any comment in response."
"I don't know, Paul," observed the anchorwoman, with an inappropriately perky smile. "If those mutants don't want to register, I sure feel sorry for whoever has to try to make them."
Storm switched off the television. "Well done, Scott."
Scott sighed. "So now we wait and see what they'll do. Maybe we've called their bluff, and maybe we haven't."
"But if they try callin' ours, we'll have a surprise waiting for 'em." Logan cracked the knuckles of both hands, his face grim. "It's about time they learned that X-Men don't bluff."
Kitty was shaking inside. She was scared to death. But years of training and danger had taught her to save the fear for later. She could hold it back, even though this was almost certainly the most scared she'd ever been in her entire life.
In a clatter of paws and bare feet against metal, the boys all came rushing up the hatch. All of them. Scott was limping, Gambit was bleeding, and Peter had Logan slung over his shoulder, but they were all there.
"Logan . . ."
Logan half groaned and half snarled as Peter dropped him unceremoniously onto the floor. He was slathered in blood from the waist up. "Just go," he hissed, his teeth clenched against the pain.
"Get us in the air, Kitty," Scott ordered. "Hank, see what you can do for him."
"I'm on it, Gold Leader." Hank was already unlocking the cabinet where the medical supplies were stowed.
Kitty closed the hatch and fired up the propeller. Rogue, we're ready to go. Are we clear?
There was no answer.
Rogue?
Rogue, answer de girl, Gambit ordered, pausing with his hands on his harness but the buckle still unfastened.
ROGUE!
Gambit was already lunging for the closing hatch. Peter grabbed him around the chest and flung him back into his seat. "The gunfire is too thick. I'll go."
Logan snarled again, the sound half aggression against the universe and half pain of trying to breathe through a dry and severed throat. AZA-CHAN, YOU ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW OR I AM COMING UP THERE TO GET YOU!
Uuuuuugh . . .
Rogue! Bien fait, chère. Take it easy. What happened?
What WAS that? Rogue moaned.
Show us, Scott ordered.
A picture flashed across their minds: the last thing Rogue had seen before she was knocked out.
Patriots, Scott decided. They brought patriot missiles to strike against a school. Rogue, can you take them out, or do you need backup?
Ah kin do it, Rogue groaned, soreness and exhaustion resonating through her head. Get the chopper in the air.
"You heard her, Kitty. Go."
"Hang on, Logan," Hank murmured, popping open the case of pre-measured morphine syringes. "Just a few more seconds. Take it easy." He uncapped one of the syringes, stuffed it under the skin of Logan's bare arm, and dispensed the drug. "Here it comes." He grabbed another, then a third, forcing them into Logan's system with reckless abandon.
Kitty took a deep breath and eased Velocity into the air. She had to phase out not just herself, but the whole craft and everyone in it and keep them phased until they were through the hangar doors. Using her powers was all about fighting back that little twinge of panic that told her she would become solid again at exactly the wrong instant. If she freaked out, she would go solid, and they would all die.
They weren't dying tonight. They were living through this. They were getting away. Come on, Rogue.
"So what'd you think?" Gambit inquired. "Advisor or eye candy?"
"Eye candy," said Bobby.
"Eye candy," Kurt agreed.
"Advisor," said Scott.
"You can't just keep guessin' de same thing so eventually you'll get one right, y'know."
Jean stopped at the doorway of the den and came inside. "What on earth are you guys doing?"
"Don't look at me. This was Gambit's idea," Scott protested. "I just wanted to watch the Senate session."
"Active participation makes learnin' fun," Gambit quipped, not taking his eyes off the screen as he put his feet up on the coffee table. "Regarde. Dey's two kinds of women on dis TV right now . . ."
"This is rapidly getting to be one of those conversations where I just end up hitting you with a lamp."
" . . . advisors an' eye candy. Advisors got education an' experience, and are workin' de behind-de-scenes t'get somethin' done. Good somethin', bad somethin', don't matter. Eye candy, par contre, is brought in so yo' enemies get distracted when dey tryin' to negotiate wid you. Standard practice in de higher criminal classes."
"But that's Congress!"
"And?"
Jean hesitated. "Okay, fair enough."
"De eye candy's gotta be dressed up t'look smart so dey ain't quite so obvious, an' de advisors gotta look like eye candy so people look at 'em when dey talkin'. So it's hard to tell 'em apart. Hence de game. Roberto's on fact-checkin'." Gambit leaned his head back to call to Roberto, who was in a chair in the corner with one of the house's laptops on his knees. "Robert, mon gars, what we got on de brunette in de blue suit?"
"Christina Hilleary," Roberto called back. "Master's in political science, Harvard."
Scott lifted his sunglasses and shot Gambit's feet off the coffee table, where they weren't supposed to be. "I told you so."
"Okay, you win dat one. How 'bout de one wid de glasses, dere wid Senator Graves?"
"Eye candy," said Bobby.
"Eye candy," Ray agreed.
"Definitely," said Kurt.
"You guys are pathetic," Jean announced.
"I would like to state, for the sake of my own reputation, that I am not playing," Piotr announced from the comfy chair in the corner of the room, deliberately not looking up from his sketchbook.
"Yo' concern is noted," Gambit told him. "She's eye candy."
"Yeah," said Scott.
"And the verdict is . . ." Bobby trailed off, leaving room for Roberto to answer.
"Quote, 'image consultant,' unquote," Roberto announced. "Full points for everybody."
The younger boys burst into cheers and applause.
"Okay, my turn," insisted Jamie. "The one with the ponytail, right there on the left side of the screen."
"Jamie Xerox!" Gambit chided, sounding scandalized. "Dat is Senator Preston of Ohio. Have you no respect?" He shook his head. "Kids dese days."
"Blonde in the white suit," said Bobby.
"I'm turning the tv off," Jean threatened.
"You don' like de game, go do somet'in' else," Gambit told her.
"There's nothing else to do. It's January. It's cold, and it's boring, and if I can't entertain myself by watching a movie like I was planning, I will at least entertain myself by driving all of you nuts."
Scott sighed. "Okay, you guys, she's right. We should've quit this an hour ago." He grabbed the remote and switched off the television.
Bobby moaned. "But it's only six o'clock! What're we going to do all night?"
"Monopoly?" suggested Jamie.
"You cheat at Monopoly," Roberto accused.
"I've got an idea," Scott assured them. "Go find Amara and meet me outside."
"If it involves 'outside,' I ain't playin'," Gambit announced.
"Yes, you are," Scott told him.
As it turned out, he did. It was hard to say no to an all-team hot tub party.
They didn't have a hot tub, as such. But they did have an empty pool, Iceman, and Magma. Inside of fifteen minutes (and most of that was devoted to wrestling the pool cover off), the pool was filled with gently steaming water. And five minutes after that, the water was filled with X-Men.
"I knew there was a reason Professor Xavier put you in charge," Bobby observed, bobbing to the surface after a fair-to-middling cannonball into the deep end.
"Thanks, Bobby," Scott sighed. "I appreciate your support."
"Ze man is a genius," Kurt informed everybody. "Look! If I stay out of the water long enough, I get frost on my fur!"
"Freaky," Amara told him. Kurt ported right next to her and wrapped her in a crackling, frost-covered hug, making her scream and squirm as she tried to free herself.
Kitty, with her ponytail holder slowly sliding down to the ends of her hair, dove under the water and surfaced right next to Peter. "Piotr, would you . . ."
Piotr grinned and laced his fingers together. Kitty took hold of his shoulders and put one foot in the stirrup he'd made. "Ready?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"A'deen, dva, tri!" He launched her up into the air. Shrieking with delight, Kitty flew over his head and came crashing enthusiastically but gracelessly down into the water.
Gambit laughed freely at them, wiping off the water that had splashed into his face. It was starting to snow again; he mildly suspected that Storm might have had something to do with that. But whatever the source of the sparkling flakes, their effect was magical. The night sky was black and silent, and the pool glowed green-blue from the underwater lights. His teammates' laughter echoed and chimed in the still, icy air. The steam of their breath mingled with the steam of the water, taking form and then dissolving into nothing.
Then a handful of snow hit the back of his neck.
He yelled to wake the dead and dropped straight down into the water. When he surfaced again, sputtering, all the team's laughter was directed at him. As soon as he could breathe again, he joined in whole-heartedly. It was hard not to laugh at the look of triumphant glee on Rogue's face.
"Gotcha good," she announced, dropping out of the air and into the pool.
"Got me good," Gambit agreed. "Gonna getcha back." He leapt through the water at her, snagging her around the waist as she tried to fly out of his reach. Of course she could have pulled away, but she let herself be caught, and kicked with only human strength as he dragged her down into the water.
Under water was a beautiful place. For a few breathless seconds, they let themselves be lost in a tangle of limbs and identities and gently drifting waves of hair. The gentle, soundless roar of the water pressed against their ears, and the world was filled with twisting coils of light bending in response to their movement. For a moment, Gambit almost wished he didn't have to breathe. It would be so peaceful to stay down here for a while, just the two of them, warm and together and safe from all the sufferings and sadness and fear of the world outside.
When they finally surfaced, gasping, they were both quieter. Rogue drew away for a second, letting herself settle back into her own identity, then drifted towards him and let her fingers trace the intricate black Mark on his shoulder. She was toning down her powers, as she'd learned to do in Japan. Gambit had learned the trick through her, and though he wasn't as good at it, he could ease up enough on his own absorption to let her think her own thoughts while she gently caressed the scar.
He couldn't do it for very long. Controlling this power required absolute concentration and absolute calm, which was absolutely impossible for any meaningful length of time when Rogue was this close to him, with her hand on his bare chest, wearing a swimsuit (even if it was a one-piece). Thankfully, she didn't hold the tension for very long; she pulled her hand back, freeing him to let his mind wander at will. Which it did.
"Smile!"
A blaze of white light cut through the blue-green shadows. Gambit flinched, shielding his sensitive eyes, and then splashed an armful of water at Jamie, who was standing at the side of the pool with a camera in his hand.
"Hey!" Jamie hollered in protest. "This was a Christmas present from my parents!"
"Then get it away from the pool, dinkus!" Ray told him.
"Leave him alone," Kitty ordered. "I want to see that picture, Jamie."
"It's a good one," Jamie told her, turning the camera so she could see the tiny screen. Everyone swarmed over to look. Bobby iced up a magnifying lens so they could all see without climbing on top of each other.
It was a good picture. Through either luck or extraordinary timing, Jamie had captured everybody's face. Some of them were smiling, some laughing. Bobby was tumbling off Ray's shoulders as Amara and Roberto won at Chicken.
"That's really cool," said Amara. "We should frame it or something. I want to remember that stupid look on Bobby's face forever."
Sam laughed and jumped on Bobby, dunking him underwater.
Kurt's face was pensive as he studied the picture. "Look at us," he murmured. "Ve're so silly. Vhy would anyone ever vant to hurt us?"
The laughter and the splashing died down in response to his question.
Scott put a hand on Kurt's frosted shoulder. "If they knew us, they wouldn't."
Come on, Rogue, Rogue instead to herself, gritting her teeth against fear and pain. She hurt all over, worse than she could remember hurting for a very long time. Breathing hurt. Thinking hurt. Flying hurt. That was the absolute last time she was letting herself get hit with a patriot missile. Never again.
Now she was going to let a patriot missile get hit with her.
She lifted herself into the air, squinting through the sleet to get her bearings. Fortunately, the weather was easing up; Storm was getting out of range.
The launcher was sitting on the front lawn, right on the edge of their training range. It was surrounded by soldiers with guns.
Behind her, she heard the blades of Velocity start slicing through the air. There was no time to debate this. The soldiers would hit the helicopter point-blank as soon as they figured out what was going on. The element of surprise . . . even the surprise of a helicopter melting up through a basketball court . . . would only last for so long.
She dove into the emplacement, seized the launcher in both hands, and pulled back. "How about you shoot at somebody your own size?" she snarled through gritted teeth. The gears underneath it shrieked and crackled as she wrenched them out of place.
"Stand down, mutant!" one of the soldiers ordered.
"Try and make me!" Rogue hollered back. "I bet all the barracks guys'll be real impressed your entire unit got beat by a girl." She shot upwards, where fewer of those darn bullets would hit their marks. The ones that hit her chest stung.
Velocity was clear of the basketball court. Rogue swerved above it. Just had to get into the air and out over the water . . .
Except that there was another set of propellers beating someplace, approaching fast. It was a combat helicopter, narrow as a snake, with missiles bristling along its sides. Rogue panted in a couple of deep, painful breaths and dove for it. She could take out a helicopter. No problem. If only her ribs would stop hurting . . . it was getting hard to move her left arm.
With her right one, she grabbed one of the landing bars underneath the helicopter and yanked it off course. It yanked back; the pilot was gutsy, and he was willing to fight her. Helicopters were more troublesome than fighter planes. They could maneuver better. She gave a heave that threatened to pull her arm from its socket and spun the helicopter away from Velocity.
It let a missile fly away.
LOOK OUT! Rogue shrieked. There was no way she'd outrun it, no way Kitty could dodge it . . .
A beam of red light shot from the plane and hit the missile in midair. Scott was leaning out of the nose hatch, his hand on his visor control. "Let's go!" he hollered over the roar of the propellers.
Rogue let go of the helicopter, swung over it, and flew straight backwards into the circle of its whirring blades. All four hit her in the back in rapid succession, shattering into pieces, and the chopper fell, smoking, towards the ground.
Velocity's flight engines roared, and the little craft shot forward over the ocean. Rogue followed it. She spared only one glance for the house . . . the Institute, her home, the only place she'd ever been accepted, been loved, been happy . . . then turned and fled.
Author's Notes:
Upon my life, we're done with flashbacks! And now that all . . . or some . . . of the background is settled, on to the linear plot and What Happens Next . . .
And we have some French notes!
Non, attends! No, wait!
Bien fait: Well done; good job.
Regarde: Look.
Par contre: On the other hand.
mon gars: Dude. (I think we already covered this one . . . I'm just being thorough, not trying to insult your intelligence.)
And a little bit of non-French: A'deen, dva, tri is 'One, two, three' in Russian. Or as close as I can come without learning to read the Russian alphabet.