Chapter 13
In the early hours of the morning, before the students were up for training, the teachers of the Xavier Institute held a conference.
"I say we hunt him and we take him down," offered Logan, to nobody's surprise.
"But how effective would that be?" asked Professor Xavier calmly. "You can track him while he remains on foot, but how far will that go?"
"What of Cerebro?" asked Storm.
"I verified the logs from yesterday. Although it picked up readings from both of Sinister's accomplices, there was nothing from him."
"But that's impossible," Scott insisted. "He had powers . . . a kind of energy projection from his hands. I saw it. And no ordinary human would have lasted so long against my beams, not full-blast like I hit him with. Jean even hit him with a couple of pens, and he didn't bleed."
It's evident that he has abilities, but it is equally obvious that they are not abilities like ours. Whatever he is, he is not a mutant."
"But his henchmen are," offered Storm. "Perhaps tracing them would lead us where we wish to go."
"I'd vote no," offered Hank. "Not unless we could attack in force, with the entire team. Chasing after him with a smaller group would just be sending him more lab rats. If he wants us, then the wisest course would be to keep us as far away from him as possible. Here at the Institute, we're on our home turf and we have strength in numbers. He was wary of attacking us, and I think he learned his lesson when he tried. With the students here, and together, they are safe."
"He's got Rogue's blood in a test tube," Logan snarled. "He doesn't need anything that powerful, and she don't need another guilt complex about her powers."
Professor Xavier silenced Logan with a gentle gesture of his hand. "Scott, you said that Sinister had induced an early onset of powers in one of the Morlock children."
"Yeah."
"That's quite a trick, after only three weeks of experimenting," observed Hank.
"Not if you know how to do it," said Professor Xavier dryly. "This isn't the first instance we've seen of a mutant manifestation being artificially, prematurely induced. Sinister must have had the records from the first experiment."
"Who conducted that experiment?" asked Hank.
"Magneto. And his test subject was a second-generation mutant, like Jeff. Kurt."
Worried glances were exchanged around the table.
"That gives us somewhere to start looking for a paper trail. Hank, you and I will look into it. Scott and Logan, it's about time to wake up the students for training. Storm, breakfast."
"We've really got to work out a better system for breakfast," Scott observed to Jean, watching a foot-high stack of pancakes vanish long before he could get to it. "Like sitting down and eating at the table, maybe. Didn't we used to do that?"
"That was before we had a household of twelve people who all had to be at school on time," Jean told him. There was still an angry pink mark across one of her cheeks, like a sunburn, but she was awake and in good humor, not even limping. A very long night's sleep seemed to have done her a world of good.
"Just fight for it,mon gar," Gambit advised him. Then, to demonstrate, he slipped between Ray and Amara, pulled Kitty's ponytail to distract her, and snatched the box of pop-tarts she'd been reaching for. He took one and pitched the box to Scott.
"Safe," Jean announced, spreading her hands like an umpire. She reached into the box and pulled out a pop-tart. "But good luck getting to the toaster."
Kitty pouted and climbed up on the counter to find another box at the back of the cupboard.
"Hey," Jamie demanded. "Why is there three-quarters of a cheesecake in the fridge?"
"It's mine. Don't touch it," Rogue ordered, still pulling her left glove on as she entered the kitchen. "Ready to go?"
"Ouais." Gambit tossed the rest of the pop-tart in his mouth and maneuvered back across the kitchen to join her.
"Helmets," Logan ordered, entering from the hallway. He had one in each hand, and he shoved them unceremoniously into Gambit's and Rogue's chests.
"What do Ah need a helmet for?" demanded Rogue.
"What do I need a helmet for?" was the not unreasonable reply. "Professor's orders, Stripes."
Rogue rolled her eyes and obediently strapped it on.
"Come on, guys," Scott ordered the room at large. "Let's go. You're gonna be late. Kurt, keys."
He pitched the van key across the room to Kurt, who caught it one handed and vanished to the garage.
"Anybody seen my backpack?"
"It's in the hall."
"Amara, don't forget I need my notes back before fourth period, okay?"
"Shotgun!"
"I called shotgun yesterday!"
"You can't call shotgun yesterday; it doesn't count."
Gambit raised an eyebrow at Rogue. "You want shotgun?"
"Unless you're gonna let me drive."
"Ha! Absoluement pas."
"Pourquoi?" Rogue challenged, grinning.
"Parce que c'estma moto. En achete-toi une."
"Okay, lost me."
They left the kitchen, still teasing one another, and their conversation was lost in the babble.
Jean slipped her arm through Scott's. "I call shotgun."
When Scott pulled the convertible onto the driveway, Gambit and Rogue were already astride the motorcycle, Rogue settling her bag behind her so it would be out of the way. Gambit shot Scott a mischievous, provoking grin, and twisted the throttle on the bike. The engine growled, menacing and angry.
Scott hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether Gambit was teasing him, challenging him, or threatening him. Then he shoved the gearshift into neutral and pressed down on the gas. The convertible's engine purred, the musical sound of a powerful, subtle, well-cared-for machine. Gambit grinned his approval.
From the front door of the mansion, Logan snorted, knowing perfectly well that his Harley could out-snarl both their sissy engines any day of the week.
Scott's gaze lingered for a second on Rogue's laughing face, then darted to Jean's sweet but slightly mischievous grin. Behind him, he could hear Kurt backing the van out of the garage.
Is my team still in danger?
He'd meant to think it to himself, but had forgotten about his psychic girlfriend in the passenger seat. It's tomorrow's problem, she reminded him gently. Right now, we've got to get going or Kurt's going to t-bone us.
Right. Scott put the car in first and pulled forward, so that the convertible and the bike were side-by-side.
"Hey, Gambit," he called.
Gambit was settling the chinstrap of his helmet into place. "Ouais?"
"What did you mean, 'Breaking into the Louvre'?"
Scott had never seen a wickeder, cheekier, more gleeful look on a human face. Behind him, Rogue's eyes went about as wide as they could go, her mouth trembling with the effort of maintaining a neutral expression. She grabbed Gambit around the waist and hid her face against his back, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Gambit put the bike in gear and took off.
"He didn't,"Jean breathed, her expression hovering between horror and hysteria.
Scott let out the clutch and pressed down with unusual force on the gas pedal, shaking his head. "On second thought, I really don't want to know."
Logan shook his head as he watched first the motorcycle, then the convertible, then the X-Van disappear down the road. "Dumb kids," he observed, with gruff affection.
"Thank goodness they get to stay that way," observed Professor Xavier, from the hallway behind him. "Today, at least."
"One day at a time," said Logan. With one last glance at the distant vehicles, he went back inside and shut the door.
Absoluement pas: Absolutely not.
Pourquoi?: Why?
Parce que c'estma moto. En achete-toi une: Because it's my motorcycle. Buy your own.
And this, my friends, is the conclusion of another adventure. Will there be more? Quite possibly. I can't seem to close a story without leaving about fifty loose ends, can I? But while I work on that, I'd like to say thank you to you all for your inspiring and thought-provoking feedback. It's kept me motivated and on my toes. I hope you've enjoyed reading my chapters half as much as I've enjoyed reading your thoughts on them.
I remain, yours et cetera,
Seriana Ritani