A new X2 fic: Sinister Designs (PG13 - R for adult situatio

[Nightmare]

Woof... excellent as always, Maelstrom. I just read up to the last chapter on FF.net last night, so this was perfect timing for me.

Your fight scenes are always so well written... /envy... =)

[Maelstrom]

My apologies for the hold-up. This really should have been done months ago... :

------------------------------------------

Sinister Designs: Chapter 13

The lab was finally cleared of combatants. The few guards that survived the X-men's intrusion were swiftly restrained, and Moira found some very potent sedative that she made sure to pour into Nathaniel's open wound. As for the rest of the crew, though Logan caught several unfamiliar scents, they were long gone from the building. It was assumed that the rest of Nathaniel's men must have escaped at some point, but whether they made it into the countryside, or were currently orbiting the earth with the rest of the tornado-strewn debris, was up to anyone's guess.

When Kurt finally took the time to poke his head through the hole in the basement, and really, really look at the landscape, he saw... well.... he wasn't sure how to describe it. For a several hundred foot radius, the land was scoured to the ground. Tiny bits of rebar marked the outline of the lab. Decorative shade trees were now ugly stumps; in three cases, they had been yanked out by the roots. The asphalt was all that survived. Yet past that point, rye still swayed in the breeze, and the trees had all of their leaves firmly attached. It was as if God's hand came down, touched a small section of the Earth, and left everything else unscathed.

Kurt casually pulled himself onto what was left of the laboratory floor and walked to Ororo's side. Her eyes were fixed on some gray clouds as they moved swiftly out to sea.

"That was draining," she said. "Very, very draining."

"Where will all this 'stuff' land that the tornado took up?" Kurt asked.

"The heavier things will land in the ocean somewhere between here and Ireland. The lighter debris...." She shrugged.

"It would seem that out fat friend has a long swim ahead of him."

"By which time we should be long gone--" She stopped herself and held up a hand, tilting her head in the direction of her comlink. "Yes, Moira, we did that the first thing....Iceman froze the coolant...." Her eyes widened. "You're not serious...? No, wait, hold on: I'm going to put this on speaker for Nightcrawler."

Ororo removed her headset and held it between her and Kurt as she activated the exterior speaker.

"We're on?" Moira's slightly distorted voice asked.

"Go ahead, Moira," Ororo answered.

"I'm down here in the control center with Henry, and we're both thankin' God ye shut the power off. If ye hadn't, this whole place would be flooded with nerve gas by now. He had lasers, he could seal off corridors, it's like somethin' out of a movie down here.... What, Hank?.... Oh sweet Lord...." Moira's voice shook with rage. "Hank says the bastard had a secondary disposal for the rest of the test subjects. He'd just pump a cocktail into their I.V.s.... God, he could've done this any time...."

Kurt let out an explosive sigh and crossed himself. "May God be praised that he never found that time."

"We've got five 'subjects' that we can save," Henry's now very deep voice rumbled. "Two of them... we'll see what we can do. Moira says she has room at her lab until they recover. If they do recover."

Sparkles of light shone dimly down the road. Light in shades of white and red, alternately flashing.

"We've got company," Ororo said. "I think it's only fire and emergency vehicles, but there could be a SWAT team as well. It depends on whether or not Nathan called for help."

"Let me take it," Moira said. "I'm comin' up."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, 'take it'?" Sean interrupted. "What do you mean, 'take it'? You're not just gonna go out and talk to them, are you?"

"Why not?"

"They'll confiscate everythin' and everyone on the grounds! We should be evacuating all these people, not playin' with the Brits!"

"Pardon my intrusion, Banshee, but that's a logistic impossibility," Hank said. "These people down here need treatment and handling that the Blackbird is ill equipped to handle. We might be able to get away clean, but we'll lose half of these poor devils in the transfer. Like it or not, we must rely on the constabulary's good graces."

"Nathan isn't the only one with pull upstairs, Sean," Moira added. "Of everyone here, they wouldn't dare lock me up and throw away the key."

"I've heard that before," Sean grumbled. "Right before the wind shifted."

"Banshee, your caution is commendable, but the fact is that these victims come first," Hank said patiently. "Besides, with such personnel as we have available to us, how long do you think any unjust incarceration would last?"

"I hate to interrupt, people, but those lights are getting closer than I feel comfortable with," Ororo said. "Moira's staying here, that's decided. Hank, what about you?"

Hank's sigh was clearly audible across the link. "I'm a material witness, I'm evidence, I'm one of the only ones who can make sense of all the data. I'm everything combined into one tidy package. As concerned as I am about my legal status, I can't afford to leave, either. However, I highly recommend that you leave to avoid international entanglements. If they want you, they can file a subpoena, but it's more likely this will never see the light of day."

"I'm more worried about the two of you never seein' the light of day," Sean mumbled.

Moira made a frustrated noise. "In that case, ye can come down with trumpets blarin' an' have your jailbreak. Happy?"

"What about the soldier?" Kurt asked. "He's definitely American."

"And from what I heard he has certain politically and diplomatically embarrassing affiliations," Hank said quickly. "Considering that Stryker still has enough allies in the government to make sensitive evidence disappear, I strongly suggest our new friend avoid any legal entanglements for the duration."

"Did Henry just say to take Herr Martin with us?" Kurt whispered, low enough that the comlink couldn't pick it up.

"Take him with us and don't let anyone know he exists," Ororo answered just as softly.

She glanced up at the rapidly approaching fleet of vehicles. They were close enough now that she could distinguish fire trucks from police cars. It seemed that this was indeed an emergency response as opposed to a military one. Good. That would be much easier for Moira to talk her way out of, if necessary.

"It's time for us to go," she said. "Moira, Hank, you two stay in contact with us. Call as soon as possible."

"Let's just say we have your number memorized," Hank replied.

The rest of the X-men clambered up at various points from the ruined lab. Even Sean chose to climb up, rather than risk his voice giving them away. Piotr came up last, cradling Sergeant Martin in one arm as easily as if he was a doll. They were airborne before the authorities were close enough to hear them take off.


+ + + + + +


John waited wherever he was for the Professor to return. By now the gigantic amplifier suit had been dead for several minutes, all electronic impulses long since gone. He waited there, feeling a bit alone, all of his other senses shut down and with only the electrical "chatter" of the institute for company. It was definitely a relief when he heard the Professor's voice again. As a matter of fact, he actually saw the man walking towards him in the darkness. Boy, did that look strange.

"John, I want to thank you for all that you did a few minutes ago," he said. "You were instrumental in the fight. And also, I want to apologize. I had... ulterior motives for shutting away your senses as I did."

"Um, okay, whatever," John answered. "Can you put everything back now? This is feeling really weird."

"Of course."

The Professor extended his hand and touched John on the forehead. All his senses began to return. It felt like someone slowly turned up the volume, giving him time to adjust to the influx. He was someplace quiet, with a fair amount of equipment, and it sounded more enclosed than the echoing, cavernous Danger Room. When John opened his eyes, he was slumped in one of several chairs in the medlab, with Professor Xavier retracting his hand from his face.

Medlab? Was that the "ulterior motive" that the Professor mentioned? He'd been injured, and maybe the pain would have made it harder to concentrate? John sat up straight and looked down at himself. He was still dressed in the same nightclothes as when all this started, and he didn't look like he'd been hurt.

Xavier sighed and looked over to the right. "No, Jonathan, you aren't the one who was injured, though you're very close to the reason I shut your senses down."

John followed Xavier's lead and looked in the same direction. On a table he saw Jamie, plugged into tubes and machinery and computers and God knows what else. What little of Jamie he could see was bruised and swollen.

John gasped in horror. "Holy shit, Jamie!"

"Jonathan, please," Xavier chided gently.

"I... I'm sorry, Professor... but.... Jamie's not dying, is he?"

"Not anymore."

John stood up. This wasn't supposed to happen, Jamie getting hurt so bad. He was supposed to have his dupes go out instead. John started to feel sick. Here he was, all safe and sound inside the school, and Jamie was getting mangled out there. He moved closer to Jamie's bed, stopping a few feet away at the Professor's gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Is he gonna have to go to a real hospital?" John whispered.

"This is the 'real hospital'," Xavier answered. "You'll be hard-pressed to find an emergency room in all of New York that is willing to treat a mutant, let alone one with James' ability."

"That is so racist," John growled. "If someone did that to Mexicans or something no one would put up with it."

"In this case, they have a valid point. James' ability is purely reflexive, unaffected by his state of consciousness. What do you think would happen if a duplicate was created during his operation?"

John paused. "Jeez. That'd get messy."

"It might even cost James his life."

John looked around at the other beds. Three of them were occupied by Jubilee, Judy, and Kate. Jubilee was propped up watching TV with headphones on, with her head all wrapped up. Judy and Kate seemed to be just sleeping, but looked pale and sick, like they had the flu. All three had electrodes on their head and somewhere on their chests under their clothes. Okay, so Kitty and Jubes got hurt outside, the same as Jamie, but the "princess" was in with the rest of them. What was her problem?

"What happened to Judy?" John asked.

"Judith is suffering the after-affects of pushing her abilities beyond her current limits," Professor Xavier said. "James came in with a crushed ribcage, and Judith put that ribcage back together."

John's jaw almost hit the floor. Judy wasn't supposed to be able to work with living material; only artificial stuff, or stuff that has been dead for a while. And he just couldn't believe that Little Miss Panic could hold things together long enough to do anything like this.

"Whether or not her actions seem to be in character, the fact stands that she saved James' life, and she did so of her own volition," Xavier continued. "I know that Judith has had a difficult time adjusting here, but it would be very good if you could give her a bit of breathing room in the days ahead. I think she has proven herself beyond any shadow of a doubt."

John just nodded, dumbfounded. A wall intercom beeped for attention, and Xavier quietly excused himself from John's side to answer it.

"I wanted to let you know a couple of things, Professor," Scott said through the intercom, his voice flat. "Our Rockem-Sockem-Robot doesn't have any conventional munitions onboard, so we didn't have to worry about any booby-traps. The power source is another matter, but it had safety interlocks, so Kitty shut it down instead of setting it off. And we've finally gotten down to the cockpit in the chest."

"Is the pilot still alive after Catherine's disruption?"

"Mostly. He's another old friend of ours. Three guesses."

Pause. Xavier closed his eyes. "Harold Trask?"

"Bingo. And he's twitching like an addict going through withdrawal. His eyes are open, but he's not tracking me or blinking. It also looks like he's trying to scream, but he's not making any sound."

"Was he 'plugged into' this vehicle in the same manner as the other pilots?"

"Yes and no. Instead of being curled up in an artificial womb, the cockpit here is more like a conventional fighter pilot. He has room to move, he's wearing an actual jumpsuit, and he seems to have a row of input jacks running down his back as well as one at the base of the skull. I'm not sure whether I should unplug him or not."

"I'm going to take a look inside from here. Give me a moment, Scott."

"Holding."

Xavier closed his eyes and slowly, ever so carefully, looked in highly agitated mind of Harold Trask.

Harold's eyes were open. He could see. His jaw ached. His tongue was dry. His body twitched. He could feel the warmth of the seat behind him, the shockingly cool air of the night in front of him. He heard the wind rustle the leaves of the trees that still stood. He saw the stars up ahead. But when he tried to swallow or close his mouth, he discovered that he had no control over his muscles, even those that focused and moved his eyes. He was forced to passively experience his world, until a memory reared up to overwhelm his senses.

Harold was a young boy, watching as father ranted against the coming mutant storm. Mother tried to calm him. It only made father shout more, even shove her away. Father was such a strong man.

Harold was back at the institute. The stars were overhead. The night was cool. The trees' rustle was much softer. Cyclops was looking down at him. Looking? Dear Lord, all he had to do was open that visor of his, and Harold was a dead man--!

Harold was dissecting a dead Talon, marveling at its input jacks and neural technology.

Harold was back at the institute. Cyclops was out of his field of vision. It was deathly still. In fact, he couldn't even hear himself breathe. His jaw didn't hurt so much. Wait, did he even have a jaw or tongue? He couldn't feel his feet--

Harold was in college, leaving a White Power rally, disgusted with its inhabitants. Didn't they realize who the REAL enemy was? The Klan paid lip service to the mutant threat, but they'd never amount to anything with this kind of racial separatism attitude. How much hope did mankind have if you divided it into petty races?

Harold was back at the institute. This moment of comprehension lasted long enough for him to fight through the disorientation of the flashbacks. He had the time to become utterly terrified. He was at the mercy of mutants. He couldn't so much as blink. Cyclops was staring at him again, and so was the girl, Rogue. Their lips moved, but he heard nothing.

Harold was a teenager in training, running at the regional track meet. They called him a superman. It wasn't enough. He knew it wasn't enough. Not if the mutants took over. He'd be nothing. Everyone here would be nothing. The knowledge was at the forefront of his mind every day.

Harold was back at the institute. He couldn't feel the breeze on him, now. He couldn't feel the seat under him. He couldn't taste the air. He felt nothing at all. Only the stars were there. The mutants had left him alone....

Xavier pulled back as another flashback came forth from Harold's memory. This wasn't traumatic stress, nor mental illness; it was disruption on a massive scale. Neurons in portions of his brain were firing randomly, others shut down completely. The cascade of neural failure telegraphed its eventual end with brutal clarity. Soon Harold would be in a permanent state of physical detachment. He would be left without sight, hearing, taste, smell, even the most basic sensations of movement or touch. In the meantime the random firing of his memories showed no signs of slowing down. Harold was becoming a prisoner inside his own body, utterly removed, utterly alone, unable to stop the relentless onslaught of flashbacks.

A fate Xavier would only describe as Hellish.

"Can Mister Trask blink?" Xavier asked softly.

Pause. "I just brushed his eyelashes, and he didn't blink. We're looking at severe neurological damage, aren't we?"

"Yes. Close his eyelids, Scott. Otherwise his eyes may dry out and become damaged."

"My heart bleeds," Scott intoned robotically. "Maybe I should close his mouth too so he doesn't inhale any bugs."

Even though Xavier had pulled away from Trask's damaged mind, he clearly heard the man screaming.

NO! I'M NOT DEAD, DAMN YOU! DON'T CLOSE MY EYES! I'M NOT DEAD! I'M NOT--!

Trask's mental screams silenced under the weight of another triggered memory. This time, Xavier made a more concerted effort to block out the man's thoughts. Listening would only make him feel worse. This was a physical problem; there was nothing a telepath could do.

"Professor, not that I give a rat's ass, but what's this guy's problem?" Rogue asked. "He just opened his eyes and his mouth again. Is he froze like this or what?"

"Give me some duct tape; he won't be opening anything again," Scott grumbled.

"Is the man still breathing with regularity?" Xavier asked.

"Slow and regular," Scott said. "Don't tell me you want me to take his pulse, too?"

"The alternative of bringing him down to the medlab is somewhat less desirable."

"You're kiddin'! After what he did to Jamie? He don't deserve nothin' but a bullet!" Rogue said.

"To withhold life-saving medicine when someone is helpless is 'legally troubling', Marie," Xavier answered. "And it's highly likely the authorities will come here again, once the satellites pick up the image of a three story battlesuit in our backyard. We have to keep our hands as clean as possible."

"Well, at least he doesn't need life support," Scott said. "His pulse is regular too. Rogue, go and grab me a couple of cinch straps, a washcloth, and a blanket. We may have to keep him alive, but that doesn't mean he's getting a bed in the institute." He paused. "Hell, it might kill him to take him out of the suit. I guess we'll just have to leave him in there, cinch his eyes and jaw shut, and put the blanket over him."

Xavier had the feeling that moving Harold wouldn't injure him, but he said nothing. No one could legally fault Scott's reasoning, and the last thing Charles wanted was for Harold's presence to disturb the rest of the children. He'd be damned if he was going to put that madman's welfare over that of his own students. He looked back at his students, his eyes lingering on John and what was left of poor James.

God damn Harold. God damn the man. And Charles thought about what Harold Trask was going through, and decided that God had already done so.

+ + + + + +

"We just passed Iceland," Bobby said as he looked at the map display. "Think it's all right to give the Professor a call?"

Ororo nodded. "I'll hail him now."

She sent out the initiation signal with a casual touch. It took longer than she thought it should for the response to come back, and the responding voice made her stare at the instrument panel in disbelief.

"Hello?" Artie asked.

"Artie?" Ororo asked back. "What are you doing at the relay?"

"Ms. Munroe! Professor said for me to take it while he and Scott and Rogue and everybody took care of things!" Artie's words came out in a breathless, barely articulated rush of excitement. "You're not gonna believe what happened to us!"

Kurt swallowed nervously, his mouth suddenly very dry. "Please, God, tell me that the school didn't get attacked again?"

"It was just huge!" Artie went on. "The ones before were about ten or fifteen feet tall but this one was as big as the whole school! It just popped onto the school grounds, kind of like how Regis pops in and out? And then it went after Rosa, and Jubes got in the way, and it was like firing into the pool and everything--"

"Artie, is the Professor or Scott available right now?" Ororo said loudly over Artie's voice.

"I think I can get the Prof, he's in the medlab, gimme a minute."

"In medlab-- Artie is he hurt?" Ororo gave an irritated snarl as she realized she was talking into dead air. "I swear, I am never leaving the school grounds again."

"Sonovabitch," Logan said from the back of the plane. It wasn't so much a curse as a surprised statement. "I just figured out who this guy smells like."

Kurt turned completely around in his seat. "The soldier?"

Logan had insisted on tending to Sergeant Martin in the back, for the obvious reason of figuring out what was so familiar about the man. Currently, Richard Martin was strapped in one of the seats, wrapped in a blanket, carefully sipping from a mug of hot instant soup. Logan stood nearby. He glanced back at Kurt and Ororo in the cockpit before turning his attention back to Martin.

"Rich, you got any relatives? Sisters, cousins?" he asked.

Richard answered without looking up. "Yeah. Got me a little sister."

Again, Logan glanced back at the cockpit. "Her name ain't Beth, is it?"

Richard then looked up, his grip tightening on the plastic white mug. "Beth? You know about Beth?"

Kurt unstrapped himself from the pilot's seat and moved back there as fast as his aching body allowed. Ororo leaned back in the seat and looked up. No, it couldn't be. This had to be a coincidence. It couldn't be the same Beth Hidoshi they'd met in West Virginia. Beth was a popular name. In fact, the poor man might be just latching onto whatever name Logan lead him with. That had to be it.

Logan must have been thinking the same thing. He asked, "Tell me her last name, just to be sure?"

Richard looked frantically between Logan and Kurt. "H-Hidoshi? Is she OK? God, she's still alive, ain't she?"

Logan looked to the back of the plane and muttered, "Jesus, the whole fuckin' world revolves around this woman."

Kurt knelt down and helped steady Richard's mug before he spilled it all over himself. "She's fine. We just didn't expect a coincidence like this, that's all."

"Storm, this is the Professor," Xavier's voice emanated from the speaker. "Is everyone well?"

"I was about to ask the same of you," Ororo replied. "What happened at the institute?"

"Something to make me think that we may be safe from further incursions of this sort for quite some time."

"Is everyone all right?"

Xavier paused. "No. I'm afraid not. There have been no deaths, but there have been injuries... some of them quite severe. I will have to contact James' parents once things settle down."

Goddess, no. Not one of the children. Anything but one of the children. "How severe?"

"His condition warrants intensive care, but he has stabilized. As for your mission?"

Ororo glanced back at Isidro, then at their latest addition, Sergeant Martin. "A success. For legal reasons we had to leave Moira and Henry behind, but Isidro's here, along with another one of Nathaniel's prisoners. He has some sort of ties to Stryker, but we're not sure what. He's not in the best shape."

"More mutant experimentation," Xavier said softly.

"No, sir, not in this case. We found plenty of 'experimentation' victims, but Moira's going to take care of them. This is a human male, military, a Sergeant Richard Martin. He recognized Kurt as someone who managed to escape Stryker's labs, and he doesn't harbor any ill will to mutants, so we're not sure what happened there." Ororo caught sight of Sean pointing to the control panel and mouthing his daughter's name. "Professor, we have Banshee here with us: is Siryn all right?"

"She's fine. At worst she may have a short-lived case of laryngitis. Can I assume Sean will be joining us in the states for a visit?"

Sean relaxed and nodded.

"Let's just say we aren't going to drop him off anywhere along the way," Ororo said.

From the back of the jet, she heard a muffled squeak. She turned about again, wondering just who or what could have made that noise. Kurt, still crouching in front of Richard, was holding his nose and leaning forward.

"After all that stuff with the silver nitrate, it started bleeding again," Logan said, shaking his head with a slight smile. "You're in for a world of hurt."

"Everything will taste like burned silver for the next month," Kurt moaned.


Next: Epilogue

[LadyErin]

There is only one more part?! Noooooooooooooooooooooo!

LOL, seriously Mael, I love this story.

[Rowena]

This story is really excellent. You're such a wonderfully talented writer, and you handle action and suspence so well! It's amazing how you can have such a huge cast dealing with such complex, dark, and violent situations, yet still manage to get the reader to know them all and care about them as individuals. I'm really looking forward to the epilogue!

[Maelstrom]

It's been a long time getting this done, and I appreciate everyone for putting up with this quirky schedule.



Sinister Designs: Epilogue

As difficult as that night had been, the coming day wasn't much better.

The NSA came down literally fifteen minutes after Xavier spoke with Ororo. Not the FBI, not the BATF; the NSA itself, with forensic units, ambulances, vehicles designed for tank removal, and much more equipment and military personnel than Xavier felt comfortable hosting. The school was cordoned off, air traffic diverted, and what little calm the students enjoyed completely shattered. The Blackbird would have to sit tight somewhere until it was all over, sometime about mid-afternoon.

Then the parents started coming in.

The X-men returned to a flood of cars in the normally empty parking lot. Only half of the students actually had guardians of any kind, but it seemed that all of them had arrived at the school the second the government presence abated. It felt like the aftermath of Stryker's invasion all over again, with one crucial difference. This time, most everyone knew what their children were. This time, there would be no mass "disownings".

Team SOP was to debrief in the first few minutes after a mission, then let everyone go their separate ways. When there were walking wounded (which was more often than not), that debriefing took place in medlab. But now Xavier and Summers had a lot of "damage control" to do, and medlab was a very crowded place, full of students and parents. They would be hard-pressed to find room for Kurt to squeeze through and tend to his bloody nose, to say nothing of their latest "addition", Richard. Therefore, once the Blackbird landed, most of the X-men drifted apart to less-impacted parts of the mansion. Sean met up with his daughter, Piotr and Isidro split up in their search for someplace quiet, and Bobby waited for Rogue at the elevator. That left Logan, Ororo, Kurt, and Richard heading for medlab on their own, Kurt holding formerly white tissues to his face that now resembled a mass of red carnations.

Bringing Richard to the medlab was a definite risk, considering his instability and the tense, fragile atmosphere. But it was Charles himself who suggested it, so it stood to reason that Charles would be able to control the situation as well. Ororo kept telling herself this as they rode the elevator down. She couldn't afford to waste time and energy worrying about Richard when her students were in such bad shape.

Scott and Rogue met the four of them in the steel underground corridor, just outside the elevator. Neither had changed out of their uniform. Logan guided Richard out of the lift first, gently pushing him to Scott, who took over easily enough. Richard could move without help. He simply walked in a daze, without direction. Scott noted the nape of Richard's neck, and set his lips in a grim line as he saw that distinctive, circular welt. How many people had Stryker done this to?

Scott guided Richard to the side. "How's he been? Any more activity?"

Logan shook his head. "He's in shock." He edged further into the elevator as Ororo and Kurt left. "It's all just sinking in." He looked at Rogue and his nose twitched. "You okay, there, pun'kin?"

"Gettin' there," Rogue answered softly. "Ain'tcha comin' out yourself?"

Logan glanced down the corridor, in the direction of medlab. "Nah, too many people down here. I'm headin' back up for a while."

Rogue stepped in the elevator. "Y'all mind sharing the elevator on the way up?"

He gestured to the empty space beside him. She walked in silently and took her place by his side. She was rubbing her neck muscles with both hands as the doors closed.

The walk to the medlab featured dead silence. Inside was another matter. It wasn't so much the volume; conversations were quiet, hushed affairs, for the sake of both privacy and politeness. It was the tension, the emotions barely contained. Both of Kate's parents were there, while Judy and James only had their mothers present. Ororo's heart sank several levels. Jamie looked like he had literally been hit by a freight train. And, as expected, Jubilee had no parents to stand by her at all. She looked at Jamie, unconscious but stable, and flanked by Ms. Madrox and Professor Xavier. Then she looked at Jubilee, trying to act unconscious in the middle of all this. Right then, Jubilee needed her more. She didn't need to signal her intent to Scott or Kurt; it was understood. She moved to Jubilee, Kurt climbed up and clung in an upper corner, and Scott patiently steered Richard to the other side to sit in a chair against the wall. Along the way, Ororo caught clips of whispered conversations.

"You should've seen it, dad," Kitten said, her voice hoarse with exhaustion. "Rogue made twenty of herself and kept that thing pinned like it was on spears."

Mrs. Pryde's voice wavered. "Considering what I'm seeing in here, I'd rather I never saw any part of this battle."

Mr. Pryde stroked his daughter's long, curly hair. "Kitty, I'm all for fighting the good fight... but I never though you'd start so soon...."

Ororo passed by Judy Colombrate and her mother.

"...I don't care what your father and I thought, you can't stay here!" Mrs. Colombrate hissed, tears streaming from her eyes. "This is the third time in one year. In one year, Judith!"

"Mom, please, don't take me away from here," Judy pleaded. "Don't. Let me stay here."

"For God's sake, you're in danger here!"

"But nobody spits at me here. No one pours soup in my locker or anything. The teachers don't glare at me. Please, mom, don't take me away...."

Ororo pulled up a rolling stool and sat by Jubilation Lee's bed. Jubilee opened one eye upon hearing the noise to her right.

"How're you doing, Jubilee?" Ororo asked softly.

"Okay," she answered. "Better'n Jamie. Just wish people'd stop waking me up every hour."

"That's to make sure you aren't slipping into a coma. You've had some pretty nasty 'blunt trauma' up there."

"Well, duh! I got whacked by a tree!"

"How'd it happen?"

Jubilee shrugged. "Don't remember a lot. They probably told you everything by now."

"No, they didn't. With the NSA so close by, they didn't want to risk revealing our position with a communiqué, so we haven't heard much."

She looked directly at Ororo. "Are you serious? You don't know what happened here?"

"We know very little."

It wasn't quite true. They knew some of the situation; Xavier had briefed them in transit, before the NSA descended on the institute. But if a little white lie got Jubilee to talk, it would suffice. Sometimes that girl was more Loganish than Logan himself.

Kurt watched the entire room from his vantage point, unobtrusive and unnoticed. Well, mostly unnoticed. Kitty saw him up there and insisted on not just waving, but pointing him out to her parents. (Since Kurt needed at least three limbs to cling to the smooth metal walls, and one was occupied with his bleeding nose, he tentatively waved back with his tail.) The conversations were all murmured sounds, unintelligible in the echoing room, for which he was grateful. There was enough pain here; he didn't need to listen in on it as well. After a minute or so, Scott and the Professor switched places, with Scott standing by Ms. Maddox's side and Xavier moving to a spot by Richard Martin.

At that time, Kurt started to feel a bit dizzy and light-headed, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath. Perhaps being up in the corner wasn't the wisest of moves. He dropped silently to the floor, head bowed between his knees as he crouched in place. Over the next two seconds a migraine blossomed out of nowhere, he started to feel incredibly nauseous, the world tunneled in front of him, and then everything turned a dark purple. In a room full of grievously injured, he was about to faint from something as minor as a bloody nose. Wonderful. Well, at least, those verdammt silver sticks wouldn't hurt so much now....

He didn't completely black out (purple out?). He was vaguely aware of his name being called, and someone hauling his arm over their shoulder. It was utterly unfair that the world shot back into focus with a nasty burning sensation in his sinuses. He shouted and jerked his head back, but found himself restrained.

"Whoa," Scott's voice said from the left. "Easy, there, big fella."

"I'm done, Kurt," Ororo said quickly. Her voice came from the right. "The stick is out. All done."

"What happened to smelling salts?" Kurt asked groggily as he opened his eyes.

"We had to do this anyway," she answered. "At least we were almost done before you awoke." She looked into his eyes then gave a rueful smile. "You've got a matched set now, Kurt."

Kurt looked around. The three of them were alone in the small side room, surrounded by diagnostic equipment. They had placed him on a small gurney.

"Matched set of what?" he asked as he slowly sat up.

Scott looked at Kurt's face. "Yeah, I see it. Another blood vessel burst, Kurt. By tomorrow, that right eye could be solid red like the left. It's pretty impressive."

Kurt smiled weakly. "Hours without trouble in the plane, and everything goes to hell when I get onto solid land. I hope the parents won't think too badly of me."

"You're a lot better at flying when your nose isn't gushing like an uncapped oil well. You'd better take it easy for the next day or so. How are you feeling?"

Strangely enough, except for the stinging in his nose, he felt far better than he had before he blacked out. He swung his legs over the side of the gurney. "Much better. I'm sorry about this. It happened so fast...."

"Well, there's no sign of skull fracture or swelling in the brain," Ororo said as she looked at a few displays of Kurt's head. "Do you think you can make it back to your room? Without teleporting?" Ororo added that last point in a bit of a rush.

Kurt stood. Traces of dizziness remained, but nothing to stop him. "If I am not stupid about it, then yes. This means I can sleep in my own bed, ja?"

"We're a little short of room down here," Scott admitted. "And make sure you get something to drink before you go to bed. I don't have to tell you how short you are on fluids."

Kurt nodded, trying to think of a beer cache that was close enough for him to get to right then. Maybe he could get Logan to go after it, seeing as he'd created the stashes in the first place....

Beer is the last thing your body needs right now, Kurt, Xavier's mental voice gently chided.

Spoilsport, Kurt fumed.

+ + + + + +


There was no debriefing that day. Nor that night. Exhaustion, mental and physical, didn't loosen its grip until the next morning. One by one, the group shuffled down to the teacher's lounge for breakfast, where Charles was waiting with coffee, bagels, and bagel-related accessories, and a quiet request for each person to stay for a morning meeting. Sean and Isidro showed, and stayed, as well. For once, Kurt was the last one down. True to prediction, both Kurt's eyes had "reds" instead of "whites".

"I know, I know," Kurt yawned as he received stares of astonishment. "I look like something out of a cheap horror movie. Not my fault."

"Good Lord, Kurt, how'd ye manage that?" Sean asked, staring at Kurt's red-on-gold eyes.

"At least they're symmetrical," Kurt muttered, pouring himself a huge cup.

"You can see all right?" Piotr asked, watching Kurt pour the hot coffee with great concern.

"Danke, Peter, I am fine. It's just the whites of my eyes, not my pupils." He looked to Professor Xavier. "Sir, have you heard anything from Herr McCoy?"

"No, but I have heard from Moira," Xavier said. "Henry will be calling us within the hour, I believe. That's one of the reasons for this meeting."

Kurt took his spot on the kitchen counter by the sink, and settled in as one would get comfortable at the table. Xavier maneuvered his chair to face everyone in the kitchen.

"Jonathan has been channel surfing most of the night, but has yet to see anything on what happened here, or in Britain," he began. "I doubt that either government wants this kind of information getting out to the general populace, so unless someone gives the Sun or the Mirror another big scoop, we'll be 'safe' for the time being. For those of you who don't know, we found Harold Trask himself in the huge man amplification vehicle that attacked the institute. In the ensuing battle, feedback from the suit caused Harold extensive brain damage; he currently seems to be in a level 5 coma. Since he was unquestionably one of the main minds behind this technology, I believe that we may not see too many more of these suits for a while. The chances are we've bought ourselves some breathing room."

"Anything happening with Friends of Humanity?" Logan asked.

"Nothing public," Scott answered. "And since Hank's contact in the FBI is still in ICU, I'm not going to try giving them any information for the time being. Someone in there tipped Larry and FOH off to Isidro and Hank's whereabouts. Until we know for sure, I'm doing a communication lockdown."

"Please, I... I don't want to interrupt..." Piotr glanced from face to face. "But has anyone found out anything more about Mr. Essex?"

"First of all, Piotr, rest assured that Nathaniel is not some long lost brother of yours," Xavier said. "There isn't the slightest match between the two of you. In that manner."

Piotr seemed quite relieved, until he heard the last sentence. " 'In that manner'? Is there another way we could be related?"

"This is something that took both Henry and Moira's efforts to untangle. Apparently -- and they're not sure how -- Nathaniel has discovered a way to 'graft' mutant abilities onto him. One of his successes... was yours."

Jaws dropped across the room, followed by startled denials. Piotr's face reddened.

"He 'steals' powers from other mutants? How could he do that to me? I have never seen him! Not once!"

"All he needed was some good DNA to work with," Xavier answered, a bit wearily. "Your hairbrush, some blood or skin samples from a legitimate doctor...."

"But he would need to know what I could do before he went looking! Not even the government knew what I could do when I came here! Not America and surely not Russia! I was very careful to hide it! Otherwise they would never have let me go!"

"I don't know, Piotr. That's a mystery to me as well. In any case, he seemed to have grafted several abilities onto himself. According to Hank, he also seemed to have some of Fred Dukes' physical resistance to damage and a kinetic ability that his DNA code alone could not produce. And Nathaniel is apparently a mutant himself, albeit one on a low enough level that it would be difficult to pick up."

"Oh really? And what ability would he have?" Ororo asked coldly.

"Again, this is just a hypothesis, albeit a well-educated one. It appears that Nathaniel Essex's cellular regenerative level has remained at that of 35 to 40 year old man for over quite some time. It will take a detailed genealogical investigation to see how far this goes."

"Make your own Dracula joke here," Bobby mumbled.

Xavier's voice grew soft. "There is more here on this, I'm afraid. Nathaniel apparently had four mutant experimentation labs. A few hours after the battle, the British government launched a massive raid on all of his properties. They found one of his experimentation labs still occupied by more unfortunate test subjects. But after that one...." He paused to take a steadying breath. "There must have been some communication between the labs, because two of them exploded seconds after the first. One went up as it was being stormed."

Kurt's hands started to shake. He set his mug aside before he slopped coffee all over the floor. Bobby paled. Storm pressed her hands to her forehead, as if trying to quell a fierce headache. How many had died? How many more had that butcher killed by this?

"Two major explosions and the media doesn't see a damn thing, huh?" Logan muttered. "Nice censorship, there. Be interesting to see how long it lasts."

"The rest of his labs were just as they looked on the outside," Xavier finished. "It is highly doubtful the scientists there had any inkling of what went on at the other sites."

"Does Moira have room for them all? All the 'experiments'?" Sean asked.

"Will any be comin' over here?" Rogue added.

"Some may, but not until they're in better shape," Xavier said.

"How about our pal Richard?" Logan asked. "Guy's military or ex military. He's gotta have a record."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Martin." Charles steepled his hands in front of his face as he took a moment to collect his thoughts. "According to his public record, Sergeant Richard Martin is missing and presumed dead in a barracks fire."

"Everybody raise your hand if you're surprised," Rogue said with dull resignation.

"And now for what the public record doesn't say," Xavier went on. "Richard came to Stryker's notice because there was a mutant in his Ranger troop, and the troop as a whole refused to treat him any differently, let alone turn him out. So far as they were concerned, they went through basic together, served together, and nothing was going to split them up. You can imagine the row it created upstairs." He paused again. He had to give out a great deal of appaling, horrific information in the past minute, and it didn't get any easier with practice. "Stryker arranged for Richard to be transferred to him for a week or two. He must have just been perfecting his control serum at that point, and wanted a human subject, because that's what Richard went through. And to test the serum's effectiveness... Stryker had him kill his entire troop while they slept, then light the barracks on fire. Considering the fact that the weapon of choice was a silenced pistol, I have to assume Stryker hand-picked the arson investigative team as well."

Isidro stared at the table, doing his level best to keep things in check. Kurt gripped his upper arms so hard that the skin started to blanche under his fingertips, thanking God over and over for that one bullet that grazed his skin. That one bullet that stopped him in the Oval Office.

"But it seems there is one crucial difference between mutant and human physiology when it came to Jason's serum," Xavier went on. "For a mutant, it one application might last for a few days at a time, unless prematurely ended by a shock of pain. In Richard's case, one application lasted for months, despite outside stimuli. He received some shrapnel damage while under its influence, yet he remained under its control. In fact, the control wouldn't fade until over a month after Alkali Lake."

Isidro's eyes closed, and he looked as if the words struck him like a physical blow.

"Where has he been all this time?" Bobby asked.

"He's not sure. The memory of what he was forced to do is all too vivid, but despite his apparent lucidity during combat, he's been in mental shock for several months. At some point Nathaniel captured him for the purpose of seeing if one exposed to the serum could be genetically reprogrammed to create it on their own, but fortunately his attempts proved futile."

"Contacted Dick's family yet?" Logan asked quietly.

"Not yet. I don't doubt that Beth's presence would be good for him. His memories are clear on their close relationship. But there are obvious logistical problems with bringing a dead man back to life, especially considering the mechanism of his disappearance, the fact he's technically still enlisted, and that we are the object of governmental scrutiny. Besides, this man has the worst case of post traumatic stress disorder on record, and I want to stabilize him a little more before bringing his family into it."

As he finished speaking, the phone rang. Hank, perhaps? Scott went to the wall and looked at the caller ID: Moira's lab. He picked up the receiver.

"Xavier Institute," he began. After a moment, he said, "Sure thing, Hank." He then punched the speaker button and stated, "You're in the kitchen, and it's an open mike."

"Good morning, everyone," came Hank's voice through the speaker. "I want to let you know that in case the bottom drops out of this whole science trend, I'm considering taking up life as a Barry White impersonator."

Even with the distortion from the amplifier, everyone could hear the differences between the Hank they knew and what he was now. Hank's voice had always been rather deep, but now it positively rumbled, like the growl of a great cat. There was also a slight lisp to it, from the inclusion of pronounced, simian fangs.

"Currently I'm working with Dr. McTaggert to stabilize our patients and attempt to undo their very undue damage," he went on. "But I must say that the locals are somewhat bemused by my presence."

"Are those the same locals that tried to burn Rhane at the stake?" Ororo asked cautiously.

"It can't be proven, but I fear so. It's difficult to tell behind the protest lines they've formed outside the facility. But on the brighter side, my fur appears to have excellent heat retention properties. I appear to be perfectly suited to Scottish weather. I wonder if Nathan was good enough to consider that?" He paused, then added, "Moira is less than happy with me when I come in from the rain. Something about smelling like a wet dog, I believe."

The jokes were the kind of things they tried to smile at, and it was better than the tension that would so surely result from any other approach. But, still, there was an edge to it that couldn't be denied, and they were all too drained to try.

"You're not in any danger, there, are you?" Scott asked.

"Currently we have discreet government support here, and by the end of next week it won't be necessary at all. She was in the process of moving to Muir Island before she left. To be honest, I doubt seriously that any of the protesters will take to water to get at us."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a second or two. It was up to Professor Xavier to break it. "After the move is complete, what are your intentions, Henry?"

They could hear Henry exhale slowly in a long sigh. "Truly, I've been so concerned with what's in front of me that I hadn't given much thought to days ahead.... Moira has told me that her invitation still stands, that she'd welcome my addition to her crew. Of course, that means a work visa, and photographs, and all sorts of unwelcome government involvement."

All things that were easily enough accomplished, but his tone made it clear he wasn't wild about the idea.

"You sound like you'd rather return to the states," Sean observed.

"Yes, I would, Sean. But I'm not sure what I would be returning to. It's going to be difficult to return to my former position with Genentech." Pause again. "It's going to be difficult just walking around the streets."

"I know the problem," Kurt mumbled.

"You do know that you will always be welcome back at the Institute as well," Xavier said. "For starters, we have great need of a surgeon and a geneticist."

"Not a combat medic?" Hank asked back, a slightly bitter edge to his words.

"Membership in the Xmen is voluntary, Henry," Xavier said softly. "Without exception. It always has been. And right now, we surely have as much need of a healer and scientist as a combat operative."

"Among other things, there's a little girl here who could use some cleft surgery," Ororo added.

"So your pictures showed," Hank said. "It would be a simpler procedure if she had some control over her abilities. It will take some testing to determine the right approach for her."

Another pause. There were far too many uncomfortable pauses in this conversation.

"Professor Xavier, would you be kind enough to arrange the transfer of my personal effects?" Hank finally asked. "It would appear--..." His voice caught. He tried again. "It would appear... that I have nowhere else to go."



Finis

[HoodedMan]

An excellent end to an excellent series. I thought your Epilogue was quite good. A quiet and tense finish with possibilities ahead.