Chapter 6

"Scott?" asked Kitty, her voice a little shaky, as soon as the helicopter was safely over international waters.

"Yeah?"

"Can you fly for a minute? I think . . . I think I need to have a meltdown."

Scott nodded and unbuckled his harness. "I've got it. Take some deep breaths, Kitty. You did great. We're all okay. Here, switch me seats." He took the steering yoke from her. Kitty phased free of her seat belts and stood up, leaning on the control panel to help her keep her balance. Her hands were shaking. The heavy reek of blood in the cabin made it hard to breathe.

Piotr unbuckled his own harness and stood up to put a steadying hand on her shoulder. He was still metal all over; he hadn't yet recovered from the adrenalin rush of the battle, and it was hard for him to change back when he was still so keyed up. But right now, Kitty hardly cared. He was a very solid friend in a dizzying world. She turned and pressed her face against his steel chest, struggling to take deep breaths to prevent the hiccoughs she could feel coming on.

"They came into our house with guns . . ." she choked. "Our house . . ."

"It's all right," Piotr assured her, very carefully wrapping his arms around her. "The house doesn't matter. We're all safe."

"Who said I wanted to be a mutant?" she demanded of the universe. "Who said I could handle being shot at with missiles and semi-automatics? I can walk through walls, that's all . . . I never hurt anybody . . . They broke into our home . . ."

"We know, petite," Gambit assured her. "We're all feelin' it, too."

"I have a midterm tomorrow! I even went to bed early for it! I'm gonna flunk CAD and I've like never flunked a class before . . ."

No one in the helicopter had anything to say to that. They'd escaped alive, which was plenty to be grateful for, but their lives had just evaporated. Their classes and their research, their motorcycles and their cars, their contact with their families, their bedrooms, their favorite spots on favorite couches . . . all the security of normal life that Professor Xavier had tried to give them. It was all behind them now.

The radio crackled to life. "Velocity, come in," Jean ordered. "Velocity, are you guys okay? Come in, Velocity!"

"We're okay," Scott answered, holding the headset to his ear. "We're all okay. We made it out. What about you?"

"Bobby got hit, but he's iced up and passed out now and we think he's gonna be all right. Freezing in here, though. Storm was hit, too, but it's not serious. Just a flesh wound."

"Is Rogue in there with you?"

"No. She's still in the air. Watching our back."

There was a sudden movement outside the helicopter; Rogue flew up to the front windshield, waved, and zoomed off again.

"We're gonna ease up on our speed and let you catch up," Jean told them. "A slower pace will save fuel, and there's no knowing when we'll be able to fill up again."

"Right with you. Have you called Dr. MacTaggart?"

"We're trying, but nobody's picking up."

"Well, no big deal, I guess. 'Later' is a great time for giving bad news. They'll know soon enough."

Jean paused for a moment, then reiterated, "I'm so glad you all made it out okay."

"We hear you," Scott murmured back. "Fly safe and we'll see you on Muir."

Rogue wove between the two aircraft, compensating for their wakes with the ease of long practice, and circled around them in wide sweeps. The Professor had assured her that nothing could attack them this far out to sea that it would cause an international incident. But Rogue didn't trust politics to keep them safe. She would trust to her eyes, and her fists. If anything came after them, she wanted to know about it long before it got a target lock on either of the planes.

Her ribs still ached. She still felt like she wanted to puke. But flying under the stars in the frigid night air was good for her head and her stomach. She didn't think she could make it all the way to Muir, but she'd stay on guard as long as she could manage. She needed to be alone, in the dark and the cold and the rush of wind, to grieve for everything that they'd lost tonight. Everything had happened so fast . . . not just this, but all the months before it, full of worrying and debate, frantic activity to take their thoughts off what they could not control. It was already over, and she hardly knew what had happened. Her brain was struggling to cope with the idea that she couldn't go home again.

There was a bright, almost blazing moon out. It sparkled on the ocean below them and gleamed off the black surfaces of the planes. After all the explosions, the night was soothingly silent. Rogue found herself drifting in and out of consciousness as her adrenalin rush let down, leaving her exhausted and weary. Of course, the fact that she'd been jolted out of bed at three in the morning wasn't helping matters, either.

The horizon was growing pale; they were flying to meet the sunrise. Rogue had no idea how long she'd been in the air. It was probably time to retreat into the X-Jet and get some sleep. If the military had sent anything after them, it would have caught up to them by now. She fell back a little, squinting through the darkness to locate the top hatch of the Blackbird.

Something darker than the night fluttered at the edge of her vision.

She checked her speed, letting her feet drop underneath her, and tried to get Jean's attention. Jean, can you hear me?

Yeah, Jean answered inside her head. What's wrong?

Do you or the Professor hear anybody besides me out here?

No, no one.

It's becoming hard to hear you, the Professor added. Catch up, please. I don't want to lose contact.

Rogue obediently shot forward again. She swung under and around Velocity, dodging its blades.

Did you see something? Jean asked.

Ah thought Ah did, but Ah'm so tired Ah'm gonna be seein' pink elephants in a second here.

Maybe you should come inside.

Yeah . . .

"CHARLES XAVIER."

The voice slammed through the air like a sledgehammer. Rogue stopped dead. The Blackbird and Velocity shot past her, their wakes tossing her hair around her face. No . . .

Rogue? What's going on out there?

FLY! FLY! GET OUTTA HERE! GUN IT! GO! Rogue threw herself forward and veered right, her eyes frantically scanning for the source of the voice.

Her hand snagged on something.

She was in the middle of the air over the middle of the ocean . . . there was nothing to snag on. But her hand was stuck. The platinum ring she wore was locked in space and constricting around her finger—not enough to hurt, but enough to prevent her from slipping free.

She threw herself backwards as hard as she could, almost wrenching her finger off. The ring wouldn't move. She was writhing now, like a fish on a line, twisting and thrashing in every direction in a futile effort to free herself. The ring would pivot in any direction, but wouldn't move an inch.

Scott's voice sounded in her head. Hold on, Rogue. We're coming for you.

NO! Get away! Velocity was safe, immune, all plastic and ceramic . . . but Logan was in there, and Peter, and Remy with his staff and picks in his pockets . . .

He rose through the darkness and faced her. Rogue pulled back as far as she could and stayed there, heart pounding, teeth bared. She still had one free hand, and she'd fight to the death with it if she had to.

His eyes gleamed white from under his helmet, and his cape twisted and snapped in the wind as though it, like Rogue, were trying to escape. "Charles Xavier," he said again, and though his voice was quieter, it was no less authoritative. "I know you can hear me through this girl. I don't want to hurt her. I just want to talk."

"Oh, yeah," Rogue snarled. "You just wanna talk."

"You have been expelled from your home. You are refugees. I mean you no harm, Charles. Talk to me."

Eric, came a voice inside Rogue's head.

Don't you tell him anything, Rogue snapped.

"You are flying into a trap!" Magneto roared.

Rogue caught her breath. She could feel the Professor listening inside her head.

"Your government has pressured the United Kingdom into cooperation. They have soldiers and armaments waiting for you on Muir Island. Banshee, Psylocke, and Doctor MacTaggart have all been captured. Unless you listen to me, you and your students will be captured or dead by sunrise."

Rogue, the Professor whispered. Rogue, I must speak with him. Will you permit me?

Just get out of here, Professor. You can get away.

We won't leave you behind. And if he is telling the truth, all our lives may hang on this conversation. Please let me speak.

Rogue nodded. Professor Xavier's consciousness enveloped her own, gently but firmly cutting into her control of her voice, her mouth, the muscles of her face.

"You disappeared," said the Professor, his speech patterns conflicting with the drawl that was programmed into her tongue. "After the battle with Apocalypse. Your injuries were severe . . . I wondered if you were dead."

"Wondered, or hoped?" Magneto asked, his bass voice sardonic, but amused. "I have had work to do. Quietly. Preparing for the day that you and I both knew would come. Now it has come, and I am prepared while you flee your home with a handful of frightened children in their pajamas. Where will you take them if Muir Island is lost to you? Where will you hide them? Where will you run?"

"What do you want?"

"For tonight, I want to offer you safety. Your students need shelter, and food, and rest. Let me bring you to my haven. When they are taken care of, you and I can discuss what is to be done."

"Why would you help us?"

"Because, despite your endless protestations to the contrary, you are mutants. And now, all we mutants have is one another."

"You have Rogue as a hostage, and most of my students are in a metal craft thousands of feet above the north Atlantic. I'm in no position to say no, but I am also in no position to trust anything you say. Even the playing field. Remove your helmet. Let me see that you mean us no harm."

"I do that, and the odds are entirely in your favor."

"Would I find anything in your mind that would lead me to harm you?"

"Probably. We've never agreed on much, you know. Give me your solemn word that you will act based only upon my immediate intentions, and I will take it off."

Xavier nodded Rogue's head. "Tonight, I will act only to protect my students. If you are no threat to them, then I am no threat to you."

"We have a truce."

Magneto lifted the helmet off his head, releasing his long, thick white hair that twisted in the wind. The blank glow of his eyes faded, revealing irises and pupils again. The pupils lost focus almost instantly as Professor Xavier's focus moved from Rogue to Magneto. Rogue sagged in the air, hanging most of her weight on her still-imprisoned finger, trying to get her breath back and remember how to control her own body.

Whatever passed between the two Omega mutants happened in silence and was over in seconds. Rogue's ring ceased to be a shackle and became just a ring again, leaving her to support herself with her own powers. The Professor's command sounded in her head: Come inside the plane. Everything is arranged.

Ah don't trust him, Rogue hissed.

But you do trust me. Come inside. We're circling around for you.

She heard the Blackbird's engines coming up behind her. Against all her instincts, she turned her back on Magneto. The top hatch was open. She dove inside, as though the flimsy metal craft could offer her some protection.

Her teammates were all still in their pajamas. There were spare uniforms on the jet, but nobody had bothered with them, even though an unconscious and ice-covered Bobby had frosted the bulkheads and the air inside was colder than the Atlantic winter night outside. Rogue's own clothes were barely more than rags by now, but nobody said anything. It didn't seem that anyone had even noticed. All eyes were on Professor Xavier, sitting quietly in the co-pilot's seat.

She probably knew more about what was going on than any of them. "The Professor and Magneto are cuttin' some kind of deal," she informed everybody. "Magneto says he has a safe place for us to go. He says Muir Island's a trap."

"Muir Island is a trap?" Kurt demanded. "And Magneto isn't?"

"Look, Ah dunno what's goin' on, but Magneto took off his helmet, so that's gotta mean somethin'." Rogue sat down on the floor of the plane and put her back against the wall; her clothes were too torn up and she was too tired to risk sitting on one of the benches. She wouldn't be touching anybody tonight. She curled up with her knees against her chest, making herself small. She didn't want to be brave anymore. She wanted to hide, close her eyes until she fell asleep and woke up safe in her own bed.

"Are you hurt?" Kurt asked her.

Rogue's hand strayed to her aching ribs. "No, Ah'm okay." She managed a half-laugh that cut off when the movement hurt too much. "Just got hit in the gut with a freakin' patriot missile is all." She felt the laughter rise up again at the absurdity of it all. Hit with a missile and Ah hurt like heck . . . Ah'd be in bloody little pieces all over the lawn if Ah was human. Oh, mah gosh, Ah ain't human . . . they shot guns at me 'cause Ah ain't human no more, ain't been human since Ah was a little girl . . .

She was starting to laugh. Tears were seeping out of her eyes.

Storm stood up and went to the locker in the back of the plane. After a few seconds of searching, she found and pulled on the white gloves that she wore with her uniform. With her hands protected, she knelt down and took Rogue by the shoulders. "Rogue, look at me," she ordered. "Look at me."

Rogue looked, shaky and scared from the laughter that wouldn't seem to subside. Storm's strange blue eyes were fierce, clear as a summer sky but somehow as powerful as lightning. "You are all right. Calm down."

The tempests brewing inside Rogue's chest began to recede, held back by Storm's impervious calm and undeniable authority. Storm's memories had taught her how to control herself once; this was just a refresher course. Her breathing eased from tangled gasping and panting into deep, steady inhalations.

Ah'm okay," she told Storm. "Ah'm okay now. Thank you."

The plane shuddered.

"It's all right," Professor Xavier assured them as Jean fought with the controls. He flipped a switch on the panel. "Scott, you'll have to follow us."

"Yeah," Scott answered back, though everybody could hear the reluctance and the defensiveness in his voice. He was still ready to fight. He still believed he was going to have to. Bless Scott. He'd blast his way into Hell and blast his way back out to protect and support his teammates.

Rogue felt her body press down against the floor as the plane accelerated upward. Up? How high could they be going? They were already flying plenty high.

Hank's voice cracked across the intercom. "Velocity's having trouble. The air's too thin. There's nothing to fly on."

"Ah'll go give 'em a push," Rogue offered.

"No," the Professor told her. "There's not enough oxygen out there for you. Jean, can you keep them with us?"

"Well, since I'm not flying this plane, I've got nothing else to do," Jean sighed. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.

The two aircraft rose in unison, their engines still running although they were doing very little good. As they rose, the sun burst over the receding horizon, flooding the cabin of the plane with flaming orange light. Jean flinched away from it, putting a hand over her closed eyes.

Kurt squinted into the light. "Was ist das?" he demanded.

Rogue raised her head to look. A black, massive thing was in the air in front of them.

"It looks like Asteroid M," Rogue murmured. She grabbed for the comm headset. "Scott, you blew up Asteroid M, right?"

"Right," Scott affirmed. "And when the Summers brothers blow something up, it stays blown up."

"Man, you sound like you're starting a rock band," Kurt observed. "The Summers Brothers."

"He does wear sunglasses all the time," Rogue offered.

"Can we focus, please?" Scott asked.

In the background, Rogue could hear Gambit's voice. "When you guys get some concert t-shirts, lemme know, 'cuz I want one."

"Shut up, Gambit."

Rogue smiled. "Sorry you got stuck on the guy-plane, Kitty."

"It's okay," Kitty assured her. "I'm, like, breathing through my t-shirt so I don't get cooties." Rogue could hear her voice waver up a little too high, and knew that behind the flippant words, her roommate was struggling for composure.

"'Cooties'?" Piotr repeated in the background. He wasn't very good at American teenage slang, though Kurt had been coaching him.

"Never mind," Kitty told him.

Rogue took a deep breath. We're still human. We're still teenagers. How else could we be joking about rock bands and cooties when we're leaving the atmosphere at the mercy of a crazy super villain?

Of course we're still human, Jean told her. Losing our home wouldn't hurt nearly this badly if we were anything else.

From old reflex, Rogue glared at her. That wasn't for you to hear.

Sorry. I'm tired, and I'm stressed, and I'm having a hard time tuning out. Her hands danced across the controls as the plane shuddered and went silent. And our engines just died, so we're now officially helpless.

Rogue sighed and forgave her. Ah guess you don't have the luxury of just putting on gloves when you're too tired to control your powers.

Maybe a lead helmet. I've never tried. Jean turned her attention back to the plane's controls and sensors. "So any guesses on what that thing is?"

"It's called 'Avalon'," the Professor offered. "Undetectable by any technology on Earth, stockpiled to keep hundreds of people alive for months."

"An orbiting fallout shelter," said Jean.

"Exactly."

"That doesn't sound like Magneto," Scott observed across the comm channel. "He'd build a military fortress, not a hiding place."

"Could be both," Rogue offered.

"If it were both, why would he bring us to it?" asked Jean. "He knows what we'd do to any military facility he tried to build."

"Take it easy, Jean," Hank instructed her. "Worry about it later. The ride's getting a bit rough over here, and Logan shouldn't be moved any more than we can help."

"Why? What's wrong with him?" Jean demanded. "You told me you guys were all right!"

"JEAN!" Scott snapped. "He is all right. He's healing, and he's under enough painkillers to put an elephant in a coma. But don't shake the helicopter."

Jean gritted her teeth and gripped the edge of the control panel.

Now that they were closer, Rogue could see structures on the surface of the asteroid and weaving through it. There were corridors, observation decks, launch doors. The thing was enormous. Three or four Xavier Institutes could fit inside it, with wiggle room to spare.

She could see Magneto gliding on ahead of them. His hair was no longer moving; there was no air to move it. He was a statue, moving through the blackness of space as though he were riding on a conveyor belt.

Two massive doors slid open at his unseen bidding. The X-Jet glided into them and came to rest without the slightest bump towards the left side of a wide aircraft hangar. Rogue could see the muscles in Jean's arms and neck tense with the effort of carrying Velocity. The helicopter landed just as gracefully next to her larger sister.

Jean sat back and exhaled, radiating satisfaction. "He can kill all of us with one thought, but at least he's no better at landing planes than I am."

"Let's all keep our heads and remember that we're not here to fight," suggested Professor Xavier, unbuckling his harness.

"Good thing, too," Kurt observed. "Because 'here' is a really bad place for fighting."

Scott was laying plans as the chopper touched down. "Colossus, whatever happens, don't armor up. It'll just give him further advantage. Kitty, I need you to stay in here with Logan. How long do you think you can keep him phased out?"

"As long as I need to," Kitty told him. She knelt down next to Logan and placed her hand on his head, wincing slightly as some unknown soldier's blood adhered to her fingers.

"Do everything you can. You're the only one that can protect him right now. And it shouldn't matter if you stay phased, but are you wearing jewelry?"

"Nope, I'm okay. What about your visor?"

"Plastic," said Scott, tapping it with one finger just to hear the dense, comforting thunk of the perfectly safe material. "Hank . . .?"

"I never sleep with my tongue stud in," Hank informed him with a flawlessly straight face. "I was thinking ahead to just such an emergency."

Scott couldn't stifle a snort of dry amusement—leave it to Hank to never succumb to the seriousness of any situation. "Gambit, I know it's a bad idea to ask you what you carry around in your pockets, but—"

"But nothin'," Gambit interrupted. "He won' hurt me. De man was my boss, an' he owes me three months' back pay."

"Me, too, actually," Colossus added.

Scott opened the hatch. "Just stay on your toes. I don't trust anything about this whole mess."

The four of them descended to the floor of the hangar. The Blackbird team was disembarking, too. Jean was in the lead and pulling away, in a dead sprint as she ran into Scott's arms. He caught her and held her, probably crushing the breath out of her body. His sloppily bandaged leg was throbbing, and his head was spinning, but Jean was alive and unhurt and safe. They'd all made it out. They were hurt, exhausted, half-dressed, but they were alive and they were together. That counted for a lot.

Scott raised his head, sparing a moment's attention for the rest of his team. Amara was leaning heavily on Sam, looking a little green, and Jamie was white as a sheet. Ray and Roberto were missing; probably still inside the plane, watching over the unconscious Bobby. Rogue's pajamas were so shredded that Scott hardly dared to look at her for fear that one of them would die of embarrassment. Rogue, however, didn't seem to care. She and Gambit met between the two aircraft, their eyes locked. Rogue reached up and placed her fingertips against Gambit's cheek; he mirrored the gesture. For a few long, breathless seconds, they stood perfectly still, communicating wordlessly through their skin.

Jean's shaky voice sounded in his head. I was so scared . . .

Me, too, Scott admitted. We're okay. We're gonna be fine.

What about Logan?

Kitty's with him. He's still under. You know it's for the best; he couldn't do any good here, but there's no way we could have talked him out of trying.

I know.

Scott loosened his grip on Jean and held her away from him so he could look her over for injury. With an ironic half-smile, he observed, "I knew I should have gotten you pajama pants for Christmas instead of that necklace."

Jean glanced down at herself; the long t-shirt she wore to bed barely fell to her mid-thigh. She managed to smile. "I still liked the necklace better."

The team was around them now. Though Scott didn't want to tear his eyes away from Jean, they both knew that the other students needed him. Jean slid out of his arms, settling her hand into his.

Professor Xavier was the last down the X-Jet's ramp. Kurt had taken Storm's usual place behind the Professor's chair, since Storm had taken a bullet through the thigh and was staying in the air to keep her weight off the injury.

Magneto set his feet on the ground well away from the assembled team. He was massively outnumbered, and yet it was the X-Men who recoiled in worry and distress.

Professor Xavier went out to meet him. Kurt stayed with him every step of the way, not removing his hand from the back of the collapsible wheelchair they'd had stowed in the jet. If anything happened, Kurt would teleport the Professor away . . . away somewhere. At least he'd try. But there was no way he could teleport all the way back to the surface of the planet. They were trapped up here.

"I must return to the surface," Magneto told Professor Xavier. "There are others who are in need of a sanctuary tonight. You and your students are welcome to all the hospitality of Avalon until I return. We will talk then."

"Thank you, Eric. Whatever happens tomorrow . . . thank you for this."

Magneto bowed his head in acknowledgment. "Whatever happens tomorrow, you're welcome."

French Lesson:

Petite: literally 'little' in the feminine form; here used as a diminutive, like "Little One."