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Harsh, wracking coughs quickened Matt’s steps as he approached Mr. Howlett’s room. He found him bent uncomfortably in bed, choking up viscous mucus into a white towel that Nurse Kinney held up to his mouth.

His condition wasn’t what alarmed Matt the most. It was the expression on her face before she acknowledged him that made him uneasy.

She was stricken, and her eyes were full of sorrow.

Nurse Kinney was unflappable. On any given day she gave terse, clipped instruction to everyone on her shift. Even the hospitalists onsite didn’t test her. In short, she was the charge nurse not to fuck with.

Nurse Kinney was a petite woman who walked tall. She never raised her voice because she didn’t have to.

Her lithe body contained wiry strength and perfect balance, not unlike a dancer’s. She wore no-nonsense scrubs in solid colors, unlike the busy prints and cartoon-charactered tops everyone else favored. She restrained her raven hair in a low, thick bun, adorned only with a pair of mother-of-pearl inlaid chopsticks.

Her eyes unsettled some. Rumor had it, she ate nails for breakfast and washed it down with gasoline.

Matt hovered in the doorway until Nurse Kinney finally snapped out of it. She and her patient turned in unison and beckoned him in.

“Don’t just stand there,” Mr. Howlett rasped before another wet cough escaped him. Matt came in and reached for a basin on the bedside table. Nurse Kinney let him take care of that chore while she tossed the towel into the soiled linen cart.

“How are you feeling, sir?”

“Don’t think ya heard me a minute ago, boy; I feel like crap. Do yerself a favor, don’t ever get old.” Matt was young enough to fear the alternative.

“Make yourself useful, Matt, and head over to clean utility. Bring linen for a bed change before you take him for his shower.” Matt nodded grimly. Logan suddenly cracked a smile.

“Quit lollygaggin’, kid. Gonna make you earn every penny of that minimum wage yer takin’ home. Grab me my good shirt from the closet, would ya?” His eyes were red-rimmed and tired and his cheeks were pale, but he was becoming more alert by the second.

Mr. Howlett went about his ablutions as capably as ever, but he needed help, surprisingly, opening the bottle of aftershave. “Damn, that smarts,” he muttered, rubbing his knuckles. The adamantium didn’t prevent him from developing arthritis.

“How they treatin’ ya today, kid?”

“Not bad.”

“Yer knucklehead friend still tryin’ ta put that band together?”

“Pfft,” Matt offered in reply. Logan grinned.

“Thought as much.”

“Where were you before, sir? Like, before you came here?”

“Hnh. Depends.”

“On what?”

“I didn’t really ‘live’ anywhere before I came here. Wasn’t pretty, Matt. Had a couple of safehouses. Saved every penny of my bank roll from Department H. Lived on a shoestring once my family was gone. Didn’t have any roots left ta put down. So I just left. Had itchy feet. Traveled around ta some of the places ‘Ro an’ me loved, but what I loved about ‘em in the first place was sharin’ ‘em with her. Seein’ ‘em through her big, beautiful blue eyes.” He stared into space for a moment. Matt held his breath and packed up Mr. Howlett’s shaving kit. “I had no place. No purpose.” He began to wheel himself back from the sink; Matt collected the damp towels. By the time they made it back to his room, his stubble was already growing back.

“That was that. I woke up one day on an operating table, despite the fact they gave me the strongest juice they had ta keep me out. Said they found me holed up at the sushi house where Harry’s Hideaway used ta be. Passed out.” Matt was nonplussed until he said “I got a metabolism five times as fast as a baseline man, kid. I don’t pass out with a little whiskey swimmin’ in my veins. Not even with a whole case. I burned myself out. It’s like my body knew it was time ta quit fightin’, and ta quit runnin’. In the meantime, though, I’m just fallin’ apart a piece at a time.” Logan settled back into his wheelchair and let Matt lay a blanket over his lap. Nightfall was coming earlier with each passing day, and the air was bringing a chill promising a long, early winter. “When the Department made me, they built me ta last.” Logan barked a harsh laugh that made him cough slightly. Matt poured him a pink plastic cup of water from the pitcher. “Too bad none of ‘em lived past my warranty, the bastards…”

“All of your family’s gone?”

“Yep.” He gulped down the water and wiped his mouth. “Ain’t the first time that’s happened, either, kid. I’ve got lifetimes of shit that I’ve forgotten, let alone lived. Old family connections, old friends, old loves, all scrambled in my head. That’s where I was in my life when Charles grilled me in his study for the first time over cookies. I didn’t have any anchor. That’s why I loved ‘Ro. She kept me steady.”

“It must have been something. Being X-Men. Worrying about each other getting hurt.”

“Ya don’t know the half of it. It was hell. But at the end of the day, kid, that kept me going. Fightin’ for her. Bein’ there for her. She knew I’d come for her no matter who or what came along ta try an’ take her away from me. I’ll always come for ‘Ro.” Matt noticed he didn’t use the past tense.

He felt his stomach sink.


*


Where am I?

No light or warmth pierced the gloom around him. He seemed to float adrift on it, untouched by sound or feeling. He didn’t know if his heart was still beating, making him feel even more unsettled.

“Beginning phase two. Subject’s sensory awareness has been fully suppressed.”

“Good. I don’t want anything or anyone getting through to him.”

“He’s nearly catatonic.”

“No. Adjust the feed. I don’t want him to end up a vegetable. Not yet. Our friend has work to do.” The scratch of his match was loud as William lit his Marlboro and then took a long, hungry drag. “God’s work, Phillip. I want him ready.”

“Yes, Reverend.”

In a different world, Charles Xavier and William Stryker might have been staunch friends, brothers in arms.

“He looks younger than I thought,” Anne remarked.

“Evil disguises itself becomingly to seduce the masses. You should know that by now.”

“Yes, Reverend,” she allowed. “There’s just something about him that surprises me.” She approached the reinforced glass containment tube and ran her fingertips down its cold surface in wonder. “That fragile, broken body of his houses one of the greatest minds on the planet.”

“Powerful mind, you mean. There’s nothing great about it. He’s mutant scum. He can make you think what he wants you to think.”

So could Stryker. Anne quirked her brow, then sighed. She backed away from the unit and sat beside William at the desk.

“How did he end up unable to walk?”

“Wasn’t he in the military?” Phillip asked.

“He might have served around the same time you did, Reverend.”

“Even our proud armed forces aren’t safe from the deceptions of mutantkind, my dear, but yes, he did.”

“So what’s wrong with sending mutants off to war on behalf of our country? What else are they good for?”

“Would you put a gun in the hands of a maniac and tell him not to shoot?” Phillip retorted wryly as he increased the levels of sedative in the tank.

“Unfortunately that mistake’s already been made,” William murmured. Anne stiffened at his hard tone. At times, he could be benevolent and charming, more of a father than the one who sired her, but this William brooked no disappointments, and no failures. “Our friend, Wolverine, served in the military and in the CIA before Xavier contacted him.”

“So, is that it? Is he training these muties to be soldiers?”

“Not any more,” William said. “He’s just made our job that much easier. He was even kind enough to bring along a couple of guinea pigs.”

“What if the rest of those kids at that school figure out he’s not dead? They’ll come after us.”

“We’ll be ready. But it’ll be moot, sweet pea. They’ll all be dead, soon enough. Have faith.” William patted her cheek fondly, and Anne relaxed.


*

Charles loved the lake. Moira stared out at its placid blue surface and remembered. A faint breeze stirred her hair.

There was so much to do. So many people to contact… her stomach twisted miserably and she bowed her face into her palm.

Sean heard her low sob as he approached, and then he hesitated.

Even from that angle, slumped and trembling, she captivated him. “Moira?” His voice was soft and full of concern. “Easy, lass. I’m here.”

“Nay, Sean…please.” Her words were muffled, but he heard her tears, barely catching her profile as she wiped her cheek on her sleeve.

“M’worried about ye, colleen.”

“Och. Hate it when I start blubberin’ like this. Feels like I kinna stop.” His heart wrenched as he looked down into her face.

“Don’t expect me tae tell ye it will be all right. I know from experience that nothing makes it all right when ye experience a loss like this.” He seated himself beside her on the pier and removed his sturdy loafers. The breeze picked up and buffeted them, chilling the tearstains on her cheeks. Despite the autumn chill in the air, he joined her in dangling his now bare feet in the lake; it felt cleansing.

“Then how will I go on? I kinna lose anyone else in m’life, Sean, and then try tae wake up tae another day. Not one more bluidy day.” He contented himself with her presence, not touching her yet except for the slight graze of her shoulder. She was close enough to lean on him, if she would allow it to happen.

“I took it one bluidy day at a time when I lost Maeve. I’d climbed into a bottle of scotch and didn’t come out for months. Night after night, I woke up passed out in me drink at the pub. She was my life.” He stared out at the water and pried a small rock loose that was stuck between the slats. Sean skipped it on his first throw. “Only thing that saved me was knowin’ it woulda broken her heart tae see me like that. I miss her most at night. She smelled like this oatmeal soap she loved.” They both sat in silence for a few moments. Moira listened to the faint plops of each pebble hitting the water. It amused her for some reason that Sean threw lefthanded.

“What was she like?”

“Eh? Oh, Maeve?” His voice became wistful. “Fun. Gorgeous, and she had a wicked tongue.” He gave her a slight leer that made her cheeks flush. “Get yuir mind out of the gutter, Miss MacTaggart.”

“Eejit,” she told him tartly.

“She loved me enough tae put up wi’ me even when I was assigned far from home.” He grew grim. “I wasn’t home when she died.”

“Och, Sean! Lad! M’so sorry.”

“When I lost me wife…I lost me child, too. Never even knew she was expecting a bairn.” He reached into his pocket for his pipe. Moira didn’t protest when he filled it with tobacco from a small tin and lit it. “Never knew what kind of da I would’ve made.”

“I think…ye would’ve done fine, Sean. Just fine.” Moira finished mopping her cheeks with the edge of her sleeve. “Ye may be the only one, then, who knows the ten kinds of hell m’goin’ through right now. Ye may know that Charles and I share a special friendship of sorts.”

“Aye. Well…nay. I…suspected there might have been something…?”

“There isn’t now. But Sean…Charles an’ me, we were engaged.”

His pipe slipped from his grasp in surprise. He caught it mid-air before it could land in the water, but burning ashes dropped onto the leg of his corduroy slacks. He cursed as he slapped them out.

“Jayzus…I dinna realize things ran that deep between ye.” She sighed.

“It’s complicated.”

“Aye, an’ that’s an understatement, lass.”

“I loved him. Och, Sean, I loved him so much, and it hurt me…so much, when he left. I sent him letters. I waited for him tae call whenever he was stationed somewhere new. Sometimes he was almost in close enough range tae reach me wi’ his mind.” The wind became slightly bitter, and she rubbed her hands to warm them.

“I didn’t know.”

“How could ye have known?”

“Ye simply never told me…Moira, I may have had the wrong idea all this time about yuirself an’ me.”

“What?” she cried.

“I understand if ye want me tae back off, if ye still have feelins’ fer Charley-“

“Do any such thing, Sean Cassidy, an’ I’ll never speak t’ye again,” Moira fired back. “Yuir not tae move a bleedin’ muscle, d’ye hear me? Dinna make me kick yuir bum. That’s what makes this so hard.” Her eyes were sparking with fresh tears. “I loved Charles, and I’m devastated now that he’s gone. I’m so raw and so lost, and I dinna know what tae do now at this damned school of his without him, but I’m guilty, too, Sean, because I…I’ve fallen in love with ye. An’ it’s na’ right. I shouldna be able tae love anyone else the way I loved Charley. There’s something wrong with me. I’m horrible, because…” She threw up her hands, and her voice quavered too much to continue.

“Lass?” Sean was dumbstruck.

“Ye know what I’m tryin’ t’say, ye bleedin’ eejit! Do I have tae spell it out? I love ye more’n I ever loved me Charley, an’ it’s killing me! I feel so…unfaithful. And now h-he’s gone!”

She slumped into his waiting arms, and he held her so tightly they ached.

“God, lass. Hit a man over the head wi’ it, why don’t ye?” Her answering sob was harsh. “An’ I’ve a confession t’make, Moira. I fell in love wi’ ye the moment we met. It keeps me up at night, an’ I’ve lost too many nights of sleep already wonderin’ how ye felt.”

“Hope it’s clear t’ye now, then.” Sean tingled and warmth spread through his chest. He exhaled with relief and a hint of satisfaction, but he remained somber.

“I’m here for ye; dinna ever doubt that, colleen.”

“I’ve lost Charley, and two of my babies,” she sobbed into his shoulder, dampening his Aran sweater. “Poor, sweet Ororo has no family to contact, but Jean’s fair beside herself!”

“Damn it.” Sean winced, then closed his eyes. His fingers clutched tendrils of Moira’s soft chestnut hair. His embrace was protective and warmed her.

“I’m so afraid of what she might do. Of what she can do.”

“We’re here for her, lass. All of us.”

“Nay, Sean. Ye dinna understand.” Moira leaned back but continued to clutch him. “Jean’s different, and it’s scaring me.”

“Why?”

“She’s so much more volatile in recent days.”

“Seems like her old sweet self whenever I’ve talked with her.”

“Sometimes she is. But sometimes, she’s not herself. I kinna describe it. She’s short wi’ everyone, and just…harder. And I’ve been monitoring her performance in the Danger Room since the incident in the city. Her power levels are stronger than they used tae be, and she came tae Charley about some difficulty she had wi’ screening out other people’s thoughts.”

“I dinna like the sound of that.”

“Aye, ye shouldn’t.”

“The worst of it is, I just feel…I dinna believe he’s dead.”

“Moira, the authorities said no one walked away from that wreck.” The accident made it onto the evening news, with footage of police arriving at the scene. The car was melted slag by the roadside, still burning as the news anchor announced that the explosion claimed three lives, with no probable cause.

No one wanted to call it a terrorist act or a hate crime.

“If Charley were gone…somehow I’d feel it.”

“How?”

“I’m not sure. But there’s something in me bones that refuses tae believe he’s truly gone.”

So Sean held her. Together they listened to the wind in the trees.


*

“Kitty?” Piotr knocked lightly and waited, listening for small sounds on the other side.

“Kitty,” he repeated more firmly. “Can I talk with you for a minute?”

There was a low scuffle, and then he heard sniffles that filled him with pity.

She yanked open the door, and her face broke his heart.

“What’m I supposed to do now, Peter?” she blurted. “What now?”

“I don’t know, Katya. I wish I knew what to tell you. Here,” he soothed, reaching out to her when her chin quivered. She threw herself into his open arms and sobbed into his shirt. Peter put aside the awkwardness he felt at their close contact and held her. She was slight, and he dwarfed her, but he felt her wiry strength and vitality. More than anything, he hated the new shadows under her eyes, and couldn’t begin to understand the events that put them there.

He would never understand.

“It’s all right.”

“No. It’s not. I’m so scared.”

“You’re allowed to be. Me, too.”

“You are?”

“Da.”

“But nothing can hurt you!”

“I don’t know that for sure, Katya. Most things can’t hurt me. Even so, plenty of things still scare me. I’m still human.” She nodded briefly against him.

“I was with her at the movies, and she told me I had to go home. It’s my fault.”

“What, Katya?”

“I got into a scrap at the parking structure. She didn’t want me to go with her to the station.”

“I saw those marks on your face when you came back. Must’ve been some fight.” It wasn’t the time to lecture her to be more careful, he decided.

“If I’d been with them, maybe…I dunno, maybe I could’ve phased them before the car blew up! Or she could’ve just come home with me, and she would’ve been fine.”

“Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault, and you could’ve died, too.” The thought chilled him; his embrace tightened, and he gently rubbed her back. She sighed gratefully.

“I guess.”

“It’s not.”

“They’re really gone,” she cried. “I’m just…so angry, and I want to kick something! I just got here. I don’t wanna leave, but right now…I just want my mom and dad.”

“Have you spoken to them yet?”

“No.”

“You can’t put it off, Katya. If it were my parents, they would be worried sick-“

“Are your parents worried about you, Piotr?” she asked, pulling back slightly and staring up into his face. He saw her genuine concern for him, despite her own sadness, and it touched him. His expression turned thoughtful.

“I suppose they are.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Of course. Always.”

“It stinks that they’re so far away.”

“Da,” he agreed, and a new gloom settled over him. He wondered how they, indeed, would feel if they knew any of the circumstances that had befallen him over the past several weeks.

“So they’re really gone.” She eased back out of his arms and straightened herself. Kitty tugged her dark, wavy hair back from her face and slid a cotton scrunchie from her wrist, looping it into a simple ponytail. The style made her look even younger and more vulnerable. She folded her arms and hugged herself protectively.

She’s only a child. Piotr silently cursed the Professor for bringing her into their midst, only to let her witness such danger, and to suffer three deaths on the same day.

“I don’t want to accept it any more than you do, Katya. Come on downstairs. Let’s find something for dinner.”

“Like what?”

“We’ll whip up whatever we can find.”

“I’m not as good of a cook as my mom, so I’ll just pretend, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan.”


*

“Elf?” Logan tapped on Kurt’s door, interrupting his low murmur in his own language.

“…amen,” he finished before answering the door. His yellow eyes were grave and dimmer than usual until he looked Logan fully in the face.

It was like staring at the wrath of God. Kurt clutched the silver rosary more tightly in his hand. “Gute nacht. Come in.”

“Hell, no. Let’s go out. Grab whatever shoes that ya’ve got,” Logan barked. “Time’s a wastin’. Then yer buyin’ the brews.”

“Logan…how can you drink at a time like this?”

“How the fuck can I not, Elf? Shoes,” he repeated.

Kurt didn’t argue with him. He tucked his feet into a loose pair of sneakers that the Professor had custom designed for him to allow him better balance when his toes couldn’t make tactile contact with the surface he was walking on. He tucked a small device into his jacket pocket.

“What’s that?”

“Just a helpful little toy Scott’s friend Henry came up with that he thought I would find useful.”

“Ain’t got time fer toys.”

“You haven’t said where we’re going.”

“Huntin’.” Unease dogged Kurt as they made their way out to the garage.

Cold dread filled him minutes later as Logan navigated the Jeep through downtown traffic. Kurt huddled further back into his seat and pulled his hat low over his eyes.

“Quit doin’ that,” Logan muttered bitterly. “Don’t be such a wuss.”

“I’d like to think the angry mobs that used to chase me made me more practical.”

“Uh-uh. Don’t use that as an excuse. The mobs didn’t ‘make ya’ anything. Yer the man ya choose t’be, Blue. Besides, yer in New York. If there’s anywhere in the world ya can expect ta blend in, Kurt, it’s here.”

“I’ll take my chances with Hank’s invention. And I’d think it would be helpful to remain inconspicuous now, wherever it is you’re taking us.”

“I bet ya a twelve-pack of Molson ya can’t walk three city blocks as yer big, bad, blue self in broad daylight.” Kurt shuddered.

Then he reminded himself that he’d beaten Logan at pool.

“Name the time and the day.”

“Attaboy.” Both men sat uncomfortably in rush hour traffic, each caught up in their own dark thoughts.

“I left John a message to call us,” Kurt murmured.

“Tell me ya didn’t tell him this shit in a voice mail!” Logan twisted in his seat to glare him into paste. Kurt’s eyes narrowed, seeming almost serpentine.

“Nein, Logan. I merely asked him to contact us. I feel horrible about this. He will be crushed.” Kurt’s hand absently tugged on the fine silver crucifix around his neck.

“Ya think?”

“Don’t you dare be so cavalier about this.”

“I’ll warn ya once, ‘Elf: Ya don’t wanna lecture me today.” Logan turned back to the traffic and put on his blinker. He chewed his cigar and remained quiet for most of the drive.

Logan turned the Jeep left at the next intersection and cruised past the television station where the Professor gave his interview.

“What are we doing here?”

“Followin’ bread crumbs. They would’ve gone this way. ‘Ro ain’t one ta take a lot of risks behind the wheel, so she would’ve avoided the worst of the traffic by skipping this stop and taking the back roads.” He demonstrated by doing exactly that. He inadvertently cut another driver off but shrugged off his resulting honk and single-fingered salute. Kurt tensed up beside him and gripped the passenger door’s vinyl rail.

“She mentioned she was going to fill up the tank on the way to the movie theater with Katzchen,” Kurt remarked.

“Right. So she didn’t stop on her way back from the station. She sent the kid home first, from what Kitty told me.”

“Thank God,” Kurt agreed. Logan’s knuckles tightened on the wheel at the thought of anything happening to the girl.

“It was early yet when this happened,” Logan mused. “Still some sun in the sky, just about time fer dinner.”

“Ja. So?”

“So whoever it was who rigged the car would’ve done it when they were at the station. And they would’ve triggered the blast by remote. Their attacker would’ve been just another average Jane or Joe headed home to warm up leftovers in the microwave.”

“Ach…”

“This is just our first stop,” Logan warned him. “I hope ta God ya didn’t eat anything today.”

“Why?” Kurt’s insides twisted.

“Because after this, we’re headed to the morgue.” Logan’s face was a stony mask, but he stubbed out his cigar in the ash tray.

All he could focus on was the task ahead. He could mourn later. Nightmares wouldn’t even plague him now; Logan hadn’t slept for forty-eight hours.

He remembered the smell of rain mingled with her hair as it tickled his lips. He’d held her, an act that could’ve become a habit, if she’d let it…


No. He needed anger more than regret right now. Pain was his friend; it kept him sharp.

They pulled to the side of the road. Logan parked roughly a mile from the yellow tape-fenced area. He wrinkled his nose at the stench of burnt metal and earth that reached him even that far away.

“It feels wrong here,” Kurt whispered.

“Feels like yer walkin’ on their graves, doesn’t it? We’ll pay our respects, ‘Elf, once we’re done. And ya can grieve then, if ya hafta.”

“If I have to?”

“This ain’t the scene of an accident. Think ya know that by now by what I’ve shown ya.” Logan pointed to the skid marks as they approached. “Look. There wasn’t much of a change in the tracks here when the car stopped. It was abrupt. The explosion flung the car off the road. I think Ororo overcorrected a little; maybe Chuck or Cyke got spooked and sensed there was somethin’ wrong.”

“So the Professor could have felt the thoughts of someone watching them,” Kurt reasoned.

“He just wouldn’t have been able ta figure out who, with all those cars on the road. One more way they coulda got the drop on him out here.” Logan broke into a jog to speed their way to the site. Kurt caught up to him and dragged him to a stop by the wrist; before Logan could argue, he “bamfed” them there in an instant.

“Shit,” Logan coughed. “That stinks.”

“Beg pardon, mein freund,” Kurt offered. “Let’s not linger too long.”

“We won’t. Almost got all of what I need. I…” His voice drifted off.

He smelled her. All three of their scents, mingled with others, but he smelled her.

“Aw, man,” he croaked, staggering back. His head reeled at the low, lingering stench of blood. He felt Kurt’s strong, three-fingered grip hoisting him up before he shook it off.

“Breathe,” he admonished.

“I’m all right,” he answered roughly, shaking him off, but Logan still felt raw.

“There,” he said. “More tire tracks. Second car. Probably the guy pulling the trigger, or whoever might have been hired ta make sure the trap was sprung…and there.”

“What? Where?”

“The bodies were dragged.”

“That makes no sense. The hospital listed them as dead on arrival.”

“Naw. Most they would’ve had to go on was the registration of the car ta know it was Chuck’s, and word of mouth of when he left the station. One female, one male accompanying him. Three bodies. They said on the phone they found Ororo’s purse at the scene, too, and they ID’d her.”

“I don’t see how you can be so sure.”

“I can only go by what my gut’s tellin’ me, bub. And my nose.” He tapped it. “It don’t lie. Charley, ‘Ro and Cyke were here, out of the car, but they didn’t die.”

“But how?!”

“Ya got me,” he admitted. “Must’ve been an act of God.”


*

Ororo would have begged to differ, but she was in too much agony to argue.

Almost as if in slow motion, she watched horrified as the hood of the car warped and flew back toward the windshield at the same time that she heard smashing glass and twisting metal from the rear.

Forgive me, child. I never meant this for you. She heard the Professor’s desperate call in her mind in tandem with Scott’s ragged prayer for mercy.

She hadn’t time nor breath to scream.

Ororo’s eyes sparked with energy, turning a brilliant, icy white.

Air.

She could summon it and manipulate it, blowing or static. She felt it around her, being sucked away by the force of the shrapnel and now burning engine fuel. Heat licked at her, promising pain both unfathomable and likely to follow them into death itself.

Ororo!

Hear me, sister…

Take my hand!

The flames engulfed Ororo, but they didn’t burn her.

She glowed with eldritch, cosmic fire from head to toe. Air pressure built up within the car, keeping the shrapnel at bay and replenishing the oxygen the conflagration threatened to consume.

Ororo harnessed the air around her, gathering it in her fist. She felt Jean’s presence in her mind as though she were seated beside her in the passenger seat.

Let it go.

Once starved of oxygen, the flames erupted from the car in a rush. The resulting shockwave threw the car into a cluster of pines.

The strain was too much. All three occupants of the car blacked out.


*

Upstairs in the bedroom, Jean’s scream shook the ceiling.

SCOTT! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

She couldn’t feel him. The chamber of her mind that he occupied was echoingly empty and ice cold.

Her pupils dilated before her irises began to glow with amber fire.

Live. Again.

The words were disembodied. She didn’t know where they came from.

She crumpled to the floor.


*

Ororo lost her tether. All she knew was pain.

Scott’s containment tank stood beside hers in the darkened chamber, which was bathed in an odd violet light. The chamber was nearly devoid of sound except for the low ticks of the pump that fed oxygen into the masks they each wore over their faces. Electrodes were implanted in their temples and the masks were equipped with tiny microphones.

They were stripped of their clothes, which were ruined by the crash and their rough transport from the roadside.

They floated suspended in the blood-warm liquid, occasionally spasming and causing ripples and bubbles. Narcotics discharged into their blood veins in half-hour increments, heightening their brain’s response to stimulus, specifically their pain receptors.

Scott’s face was a rictus of confusion and defiance; he rebelled at the constraints of the tank and of his own body obeying his signals. He saw nothing in the darkness surrounding them, and Scott cursed his eyes: His visor was gone.

He was powerless. He wanted to weep.

Stryker observed them from the other side of the glass. His smile was amused and satisfied as he raked his eyes over their bodies.

They were physically perfect, for abominations. Both of them were healthy and well-formed, with athletic physiques, their features flawless. Evil disguised itself with beauty; the woman was a Delilah, and she would die like Jezebel.

He liked them helpless. They would die like the ones Anne planted as decoys at the site of the crash, only he would make them more useful. They were still linked to Charles. While Charles was temporarily deprived of accessing his psychic pathways consciously, Stryker’s module sent signals to his cerebellum to maintain his link with his students.

They’re Satan’s spawn, Charles. You’ve succored evil.

William’s voice was a soft thrum as he spoke into the microphone. Charles heard it dimly as he slumbered. Nightmares clawed at him and pulled him under.

And I will execute great vengeance upon them with furious rebukes; and they shall know that I am the LORD, when I shall lay my vengeance upon them.

I rebuke thee, Charles.

Deep in the pit of his soul, Charles wept.


*

“Where are ye headed, lass?”

“Checking up on Jean. She’s destroyed, Sean.”

“Aye.” He watched her skip up the steps to the second level.

“Jean! C’mon down tae dinner, colleen. Jean?” He heard her low knock on the door. “Jean? Didn’t ye hear me? Come down, lass. Jean!” Her voice grew firmer and she jiggled the knob.

“Sean,” she hissed. He didn’t pause as he bolted up the stairs. His blood ran cold at Moira’s expression.

“Open it, open it NOW!”

“Easy, Moira…”

“Nay. Now!”

He tried to kick it down, but he felt something pushing against it.

“Her TK. She’s keeping us out,” he reasoned. Moira grew panicked.

“Try something else, then!”

“I’m open t’ideas!”

“Yer bluidy scream, then!” He was dumbfounded. He decided it was their best hope.

He clapped his palms over her ears and drew a sharp, deep breath through his diaphragm. His screech was more of a low roar, building in volume and pitch. The sound waves vibrated through them both, and Moira cried out as the floor shook beneath their feet. It was almost too much to bear.

His scream bent the air it traveled through, turning it into force. He cut the bedroom door in half, blasting back the force that held it shut. It hung splintered from the hinges, leaving the way clear into Jean and Scott’s suite.

Jean stared sightlessly up at the ceiling. Her body was sprawled like a rag doll’s.

“OCH! JEAN! Oh, my God, what’ve ye done t’yuirself!”

Moira had witnessed too many cases not to know when someone was catatonic. Jean was trapped within her mind.

*

“I’m so scared for her,” Kitty moaned into Piotr’s shirt again. “God, why her? Just tell me why. Why now?”

“Jean’s in good hands, Katya,” he promised, but Jean’s pallor and the apparatus monitoring her life signs chilled him.

They were down in the basement’s sub-level, ensconced in the med lab. Henry had been summoned and would arrive within the hour, compliments of the Quinjet Jarvis chartered for him. There were material benefits of being an Avenger.

They watched. They waited. Jean remained motionless and sightless, time ticked by, and they had run out of answers, not even know which questions to ask.

Piotr greeted Henry at the door grimly before showing him inside. By the time he reached the basement again, Kitty looked like she was at her breaking point.

“Let’s go.”

“Where?” she murmured dully.

“Out. Let’s get some fresh air.” Henry was already digging in his case of instruments and probes whose function he couldn’t guess. Piotr had seen enough.


*

“Let me know when you’re finished. Take your time.” Kurt braced himself while Logan stood stoic as ever in the cold confines of the morgue.

The attendant slid the platform out from the wall and unzipped the shroud. Logan asked to see Scott first.

The body was as tall as Slim, about six feet tall. Lean build. What was left of his hair was brown.

His body was marked with lacerations and bruises that were more mottled by the burns.

For all appearances, Logan was eerily calm. Kurt knew he was still working.

It wasn’t him. The scent was wrong. This man’s profile was slightly irregular, what he could see of it. Logan had seen Scott with his shirt off, a sight he professed burned his eyes, and noticed a café au lait spot on his abdomen, close to his belt line. This man’s abdomen was slightly flaccid but the skin was intact, not scarred as deeply as the rest of his body.

No birthmark.

Logan nodded for the attendant to return the body to its temporary home.

‘Ro was next.

Kurt grimaced and looked slightly ill. “Easy, Elf. Pull yerself together and put on yer big girl panties.” The attendant looked at him with distaste. His manner offended him; he had no tolerance for those who couldn’t respect the dead.

Logan’s breath caught as he undid the zipper. The shroud fell away and revealed a woman who was no doubt beautiful before her life was cut brutally short.

Tall and slender. Dark skinned. Long limbs and fingers. Her features were badly burned, but she had large eyes and a smooth, high brow.

She smelled wrong. All wrong. What he saw of her remaining hair was black. Strike two.

Beside him, Kurt fought for composure. His hands shook as he reached out to touch her hand and reverently stroke it. The image inducer masked him down to his eyelashes. He only saw a haunted young man with a slight build and dark good looks, mourning someone he held very dear.

She was covered carefully, almost lovingly.

Charles.

“Mein Gott,” Kurt breathed.

The body was hopelessly mangled, so much of the face burned away the exposed teeth formed a black, gruesome smile.

“Your friend must have been quite the athlete,” the attendant remarked.

“Ya think?”

“Look at those feet. Must’ve been an avid runner.” He reached down and flipped the toe tag away for a moment, pointing to a thick pad of calluses on the ball.

Strike three.





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