Of Tethered Wings And Haunted Dreams

by Jaya Mitai

Jean grimaced with the effort, pushing past her own shields to project a telekinetic field around her son. He was going down more often, and pride had its limits.

She knew she'd succeeded when she felt a pressure and watched the Dark Rider bounce off a thin, sparkling rosy glow. She wasn't going to risk tailoring it to allow Cable to move through it, though; she was simply too tired and he needed the break.

#Cable - just stay there for a few seconds.# He was still on one knee, braced tensely against his psimitar, and she heard a hollow chuckle in his mind.

*No argument here.*

She gave his hanging head and metal-laced fingers one more look before returning her gaze to the sky. She was supposed to be handling the fliers, and standing around in a telekinetic bubble might be relatively safe, but not particularly helpful.

There had been a surprising number of Dark Riders in the air, and a combination of her TK and Gambit had gotten them low enough to treat as ground. Then the downed fliers were attacked by Logan - or Remy finished them himself. Their body count was going to be high on this one, but she didn't have any illusions that there was any other way to handle Dark Riders.

A *zak!* to her immediate right made her flinch, and she glanced in her husband's direction in time to catch the look he was shooting her.

#Sorry.# She followed the blast, which had headed out to the dunes. She didn't see anything -

There. A mutant popped up, let loose a volley of energy blasts from his fingertips, then vanished again.

With the same sense of futility, she used her telepathy delicately, probing for a mind she knew she should have been able to detect, coming back with nothing. Maybe if she had all her power to spare on that mind she could at least locate it, but supporting two TK shields and keeping a light psychic rapport with the X-Men were draining too much of her energy. #I can't get anything.#

*Wasn't asking you to. Just keep an eye on them - they've decided to start noticing you.*

Them . . . must be more than one. She glanced back at Cable, surprised to find him on his feet. He was staring at her.

#You can let me out now.#

She would have loved to remind him of the last time he'd said that to her, which technically hadn't even happened yet, but they didn't have the time, and she nodded and dropped half the field, so his back was still protected. But it wasn't necessary; his balance and grace were magically restored, and he plunged back into battle with scarcely a pause.

Jean ducked instinctively as a shadow crossed her face, and looked up to see the biggest June-bug she'd ever seen. Reminded of Snowbird, she used the freed-up TK to swat the mutant to the ground, and with a whoop Gambit flew through the air, dispersing glowing . . . sand, it looked, like orange pixie dust over the spot the mutant had gone down. He ended the flip flawlessly, dusting his hands of the remaining sand. This sand was normal-looking; he'd reabsorbed the charge.

She couldn't hear the noise over the battle, but sand was flying up, and a startled-looking feminine face briefly appeared before Logan came onto the scene.

Jean stumbled forward with a cry as intense pressure on her TK shields translated to pain in her mind, and she turned, furious, to see a head disappearing behind a drift.

She couldn't take those hits forever.

Jean moved to a place closer to the center of the battle, relentlessly swatting any Dark Rider out of her path. They were really starting to get the idea that she needed to be taken out, and she was forced to a crouching position on the sand to make the TK bubble around her smaller, thicker. Another onslaught of shots, which she again managed to withstand.

Jean was still seeing stars when a voice near her ear grunted. "Never thought I'd offer, but you want me to take care of that?"

The voice alone was enough to make her instinctively lash out, and she had to catch herself, opening still unfocused green eyes to stare at the black moustache, the long, sallow face.

The Marauder Scalphunter.

It took a second longer still to figure out what he'd said. Offer to shoot the Dark Riders centering on her. Jean shook her head slightly, then stood, reinforcing her field. Scalphunter watched her impassively, apparently completely unconcerned by the battle raging around him.

"If you have nothing else to do," she managed as causally as she could. She certainly didn't want to indebt herself to a Marauder, but at the same time it would make things a lot easier on Scott.

And Domino . . . she missed Scalphunter's smirk as she turned, scanning the battle. Last she had checked, Wolverine and Domino had been trading Sam duty, and a glance found Domino there, looking as alert and capable as ever. Jean watched her carefully for a second, ducking again as a blast went right past her head, as Domino sighted on one of the snipers out in the dunes and fired. She came very close to hitting him, and Jean was relieved to see that Domino had no interest in shooting into the main battle.

She had to know, then.

There was little pain for her, it had to be just a creeping weariness and general disorientation. And she was on the defensive, giving her a chance to sit marginally still and not exert herself too greatly. Maybe if the battle wasn't too long, maybe if they could get her back in time . . .

Maybe they ought to send her with the Askani sister who was so hellbent on taking Nate.

Jean felt a surge of anger and reached out with a great TK arm, swatting a feral-type mutant with particularly pointed, yellow teeth that was trying to sneak up on Scott from behind. Her eyes fell on Sinister as the other mutant fell back, and she quelled surprise as she saw him bring his hands together and cut a swath through Dark Riders in front of him.

She wouldn't have expected to see him fighting - and then all became clear as he stood on the fringes and started observing again.

Looked like Domino wasn't the only one on defensive duty.

But neither one of them had much to do. Other than the snipers in the dunes, it looked like the X-Men had won this fight. She did a mental count and ducked again, making herself a smaller target.

She was missing Gambit.

This wasn't a particularly alarming discovery, as it happened quite frequently. He was sneaking around somewhere, or he was deeply unconscious somewhere. Usually it was the former, and as she scanned the smatterings of black armor for a brown duster, she relaxed. He didn't look downed.

Scott came up to her, panting, looking her up and down. She shook her head.

#I'm fine. I think Gambit is out there somewhere, don't get him by mistake.#

*Noted. Can you get all the short-range fighters into a TK bubble while we handle this?*

#I think so.#

Jean moved quickly towards Domino, extending the field to cover her, and got a sheepish look.

*I look that bad, do I?* Jean heard, and again had to filter through the haze to hear the voice. She hoped Cable didn't notice it, but found it hard to believe. He had to know . . .

Cable wasn't exactly a long-range fighter, and while Logan was headed over, checking the downed Dark Riders, Cable was staring off at some point on the horizon.

#Nathan.#

He glanced towards her. *Palace is over there,* he gestured with a hand. *It's a long walk. We need to find some way to keep Sam out of the sun.*

Logan was thinking the same thing, and as he passed through her TK shield he moved over immediately to Sam, with a nod to Domino. She nodded back, watching Logan settle on his heels next to Sam. He looked worse; his breathing was weaker and he was conscious less and less of the time. Counting on Sam not to die of exposure and dehydration was not the constant it had once been.

They still didn't know what Sinister had done, but Jean had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with Sam being External. And if Sinister had found some way of countering that . . .

#Nathan. There's no more you can do. Come over here.#

She sensed a wry grin, and Nathan left his place to head toward them. He was doing the same thing Logan had done: checking the downed Dark Riders for any surprises. Jean found herself wondering if war really was any different in his day than present day. Soldiers never seemed to change.

"Hey, Sam. You still with us?"

It struck her as odd that Logan hadn't succumbed to a berserker rage. With all the blood, she would have thought it nearly impossible, but there he was, as controlled as ever. He had been even when he'd scented Scalphunter. Who was standing next to her husband, and they were clearly having a conversation. She tried not to stare at them.

Having Sinister and the leader of the Marauder team on their side was disturbing at best and terrifying the rest of the time. Sinister showed no signs of wanting her protection, and she didn't press him. She knew from Scott's attempts that shooting Sinister with any sort of energy blast was a very difficult thing to do.

An explosion behind a dune caught her attention, so she didn't notice until Logan leapt up with a snarl that anything was the matter. It happened so fast, all she could do was focus on Cable, ten yards away flat on his stomach, a four-armed Dark Rider straddling his back. He reached desperately for his psimitar, just out of reach, as she used one hand to haul back his head, another to draw a blade to his throat -

Then they vanished into the sand as though they'd never been.

* * * * * * *

Something heavy crushed into him, driving Cable to the sand with a cry as painful, inflamed flesh met the hard edge of the T-O. The virus was greedy, it was spreading rapidly, and Cable gasped as the wind was pushed out of him, staring blankly at T-O laced fingers before he realized they were empty.

His psimitar hissed through the sand, coming to rest only inches from his outstretched hand.

He felt the weight on both sides, straddling him, and he threw back his head, striking flesh with a satisfying snap. He brought his left arm back and twisted his right hip down, hoping to knock his attacker off-balance. The arm was caught expertly, and the other hand came to rest in the sand beside him, keeping balance. Momentarily trapped, but at least his attacker couldn't do anything else -

His head was yanked back, thin fingers in his hair, and a - fourth? - hand brought a blade to slip across his throat.

For a split second they were both still, then Cable found himself drowning in sand.

* * * * * * *

James shifted his bulk in the chair, eyes following the information with a determination that Paige found unsurprising. Sam had written about all his teammates, and while Proudstar seemed impassive and immovable, it was obvious anger was fueling this relentless search.

Relentless in that he had been reviewing those records for hours now without even the briefest of pauses or breaks. Paige knew you were always more efficient if you paced yourself, but she wasn't sure she was welcome to make that suggestion. Instead, she'd been interrupting him periodically to bring him a soda or snack and he'd simply viewed her as trying to be overly helpful.

"Nothing," he finally growled, leaning back and crushing the can of soda absently, strong fingers wrapping around the thin aluminum. The chair groaned dangerously beneath him, but he didn't seem to pay it any more mind than he did the now-dense coaster sized can in his fist.

"James," Paige began.

"Jimmy." It was almost a grunt.

She tried a smile. "Jimmy. I . . . do you think I could go ahead and go over it again? I really like to research . . ." And I sound like a babbling idiot. "There just has to be something there."

He nodded, continuing to crush the can. Just keeping his hands busy, she realized. "I know. It's there . . . tell you what. It's about morning. Can you see if your mom is up, and if she remembers anything else? A symbol, a type of weapon. An accent. Anything." They were only going through a list starting the day the boy had died playing Cannonball, but it was exhaustive.

The curious thing was the license itself. It was registered to no one. Where the name and address of the owner should have been listed, instead there was only "B & S." and a P.O box. The P.O box was no longer being leased to anyone, and "B&S" could have been one of thousands of businesses across the country, offering rental services to installing pools. As it was there were more than ten businesses that could be abbreviated to B&S within a fifty mile radius of the Guthrie farm.

And there was no guarantee that this had generated so close to home.

Paige nodded, but sat and stared at the records. They were cross-checking the make of the van to automobiles purchased by these companies, and thanks to Shatterstar's memory they had the model and thus the year, it was a three year old vehicle. It could have been purchased from a rental agency, it could have been purchased used between friends. Many of those transactions wouldn't even be reported, and certainly not available on the internet.

There was going to be some footwork involved, and everyone had itchy feet.

Jimmy grunted after a moment, finding her still there. "You were gonna ask your mom something?"

"She'll find me when she wakes up. Trust me."

He shrugged. "Fine. You go through the list from about 500 on, and I'll review before that. We can switch off when we're done."

She nodded, grabbing a chair as another monitor sprang to life within the board. She typed a few keystrokes experimentally and watched it respond to her. "What're you lookin' for?"

"To see who bought a van like that. Once that list gets narrowed down, we'll start digging a little deeper."

She nodded. "But you said you didn't find anything."

He had his hand on the trackball, his palm swallowed it. "I didn't."

* * * * * * *

Scott crouched beside Sam and Domino, eyeing the distant structure critically. The walk there in this heat was going to do more damage to them than the Dark Riders had, and it was obviously what Apocalypse intended. If he had another small army waiting for them when they arrived . . .

Domino was standing beside Sam, shading her eyes with a slender hand. "Hell of a walk. He won't make that." No need to ask who Domino was referring to - it was on Scott's mind, as well.

Samuel Guthrie was not in any condition for a march through a desert.

The heat index had to be pushing 110„aF, the sand shimmering with the heat it was reflecting right back into the air. There was no relief to be had from the sun, short of digging a cave in the sand. They had no water. And unless Scott had forgotten everything he'd ever learned about the sun, its position indicated the latter part of the day was just beginning.

Sinister was waiting with what seemed eternal patience for the collective group to realize that they had no choice but to continue. And unless he was willing to teleport them back, which Scott Summers disbelieved with all his soul, they really were nearly optionless.

Nearly.

*Jean?*

The red-haired telepath turned slightly. #I can't find a sign of him, Scott. Not a single thought.#

Cable's disappearance didn't bother Scott so much as it might have under other circumstances. What Jean had shown him, what she had seen, was an abduction. Apocalypse wanted Cable alive.

And he was in for a surprise. The T-O out of control, no telekinesis . . . Apocalypse might possibly help Cable just for the opportunity to fight him on somewhat equal ground. Or he might simply crush Cable, helpless to defend himself.

There wasn't anything to be done about it either way. They couldn't all fly the many miles to the base, and it was even less likely they could penetrate it in time.

*See if you can contact Kurt. Or . . . Lila Cheney.* She and Sam had dated at one point, if he wasn't mistaken, and had parted on good terms. The rest of them had to stay to find Cable, but getting Sam out would make that a lot easier.

Jean nodded, sending her thoughts out, but they both knew it was a vain attempt. Unless Nightcrawler was actually on Muir Island, or Lila happened to be touring the Middle East or Africa, there wasn't much hope of finding either one. Not without Cerebro. But the energy wasn't wasted. Jean's telepathy would be of little help once they reached the fortress and what was waiting for them there.

He stood, touching Domino on the shoulder. She jumped at the brush, then gave him a look. "No link, remember?" It was a hard voice, curiously bereft of any emotion. Tightly controlled. He shook his head.

"I was going to ask you to take my spot and shade Sam's face. I have an idea."

She looked slightly chagrined and did as he asked. It was just an excuse to get her off her feet, and Scott wasn't sure she didn't know that. Jean had confirmed what he'd already seen - hemorrhaging. Her brain was swelling from it, and it was only a matter of time before loss of consciousness, coma, and death. Cracking her skull open in the middle of the desert to alleviate the pressure would only speed her death, and Jean suspected the damage had been done telekinetically, not telepathically.

Irreparable.

Cyclops headed through the small group, past Logan, keeping a sentry position, and stumbled his way over to Gambit. LeBeau was wrapping what had once been a black glove around a deep scratch on his left arm, and looked up at the sound of feet approaching in the sand.

"Oui?"

"I need to borrow your coat."

Gambit smiled lazily. "I t'ink it might be a bit long in de sleeve."

Cyclops twitched his lips on one side. "Then it'll look ridiculous on Logan, won't it."

Remy LeBeau finished attending the cut and shrugged off the coat, removing his retractable bo staff and a few decks of cards before handing it over lovingly to Scott. "T'keep Sam alive?"

Scott turned, checking the opacity of the fabric. It was sufficient. "Oui."

Remy whistled. "Y'accent need work."

He approached Logan, who accepted the coat after snorting distastefully at the scents rolling from it. He got the message, but caught Scott's arm at the elbow. "What about Neena?"

It was the first time Logan had ever referred to Domino as 'Neena' to Cyclops, and a symptom of his worry. Summers nodded. "I'll keep an eye on her."

No one made the obligatory pun about having only one eye, and Scott found his feet carrying him one at a time towards Nathaniel Essex. Like as not, he was going to have to establish some sort of civil communication.

Essex had plainly come to the same conclusion. "The longer you wait, the longer it will take to reach the fortress." No recrimination there, simple clinical fact.

"Is Sam going to die of exposure?"

Nothing in his voice. Just cold emotionless flatness.

Essex drew back his black lips. "He may die, but not for long. I don't know what sort of regenerative capabilities he's maintained, if that is what you are asking. He is, after all, immortal."

"Still?"

"He always has been," was Sinister's reply, and he looked back towards the group sharply. "The mercenary. Domino." It was a demand for information, a statement expecting a response.

Scott wondered why Essex was interested, and things were slowly starting to add up. "You brought your own sharpshooter, Sinister. I wouldn't expect you to be concerned for her."

A speculative look at Scott. "Her powers are what I am interested in. I will need details if I am to help her."

At that Summers balked. 'Help' in Sinister's mind was vastly different from the normal definition, and indebting Domino to Sinister himself without her permission was something he was not willing to do.

"There's nothing you can do for her here. If you're offering to teleport her back to your laboratory -"

"There's no time for that," Sinister snapped. "You know as well as I reversing the effects of brain hemorrhaging would take a great deal of work."

"You just need her alive long enough to make sure her luck powers work for you," Scott said slowly, and it dawned.

Scalphunter. Shooting Apocalypse. Needing a little luck. For what? For something to penetrate Apocalypse's armor. To render En Sabah Nur into the same state as Sam Guthrie. Or worse.

"Very astute," Sinister murmured. "The longer we wait the less chance of her surviving to that point."

Scott kept his voice low, very quiet. "Your disregard for human life is going to catch up with you one day very soon."

But there was no arguing with the logic. If Sinister really did think he had perfected a method for rendering an External's immortality inert, at least for a time, it was going to take luck and skill to execute. And speed was of the utmost importance. Within minutes the team was bandaged and on their feet, ready to go. Logan looked a bit like a walking tee-pee, Gambit's coat collar stretched across his forehead, the cloth draped over him as he carried Sam in full shade. He was being protected from the sand-radiated heat on three sides, and from the sun completely.

Jean had taken point with LeBeau, and Scott walked towards the middle, keeping a wary eye on Domino. She looked a little dazed but stumbled no more frequently than the rest of them. They made their slow, weary way towards the sand-colored fortress on the horizon, shimmering pleasantly like poisoned water in a dying oasis.

* * * * * * *

He was looking out the window of a plane.

But then when he tried to look at the interior, all he saw was more of the same. An impenetrable cloud layer, cumulus and cirrus and nimbus all around him, light coming from both above and reflected from down below. There was no sense of motion, as he cut gently through one of the clouds. Like a damp fog.

He decided he must actually be the window of the plane.

It was relaxing. He was simply floating along on a current of air, almost gliding, but even more effortless than that. He still felt as though he were holding something back, as if he were afraid that releasing that last bit of tension would hurt, or pull a muscle or joint.

"Coward."

It spoiled the peace around him as easily as someone banging pots and pans in his ears. Now there was less light, more tension.

"Just relax, Dayspring. Float away from it all. I'll take care of everything."

Now the voice was syrupy-sweet, the disobedient child trying to weasel a treat. Only this was a treat he really shouldn't give the naughty little boy with his pots and pans.

"My, we're not very coherent. I'm surprised the pain got to you so deeply. Really, you should try to just let it go. It's easy, it's the first thing Sanctity taught you, isn't it."

Sanctity . . . yes, she had taught him that. Blaquesmith had taught it better.

He looked around the clouds, a little less misty. Hadn't Blaquesmith been there? He was almost sure of it -

Even as the thoughts started solidifying, he started falling. He felt it, tried to catch himself - even listening to Stryfe was better than going back. But once he thought of Stryfe it was an inevitable tumble back down to consciousness, to awareness.

To pain.

Cable felt strong hands on his back, whacking him with far more force than was necessary, and reflexive coughs still petered from a bruised diaphragm and lungs. He was on his stomach, flat out, and he remembered giving a few last weak pulls as he'd succumbed to the sand. Apparently only seconds before they'd arrived at their destination.

The mutant doing a crude version of CPR didn't need to tell Nathan where he was. He was in that spot on the horizon, and that dread gave him the strength to leap upwards, this time knocking the mutant off his back, and he rolled to the side, coughing violently.

Gritty mucus came up with his efforts, and he spit the stuff out, screwing unwilling eyes open to see his attacker and surroundings.

A four-armed woman was rising lithely to her feet with a sneering expression and eyes that reminded him so much of Blaquesmith he had to blink to make sure he wasn't still unconscious. Large, full, insectisoid eyes, a tiny bow-shaped mouth, a prominent brownish lump on each of her temples.

"You die too easily, Cable," she murmured buzzily, slinking towards him more on her hands than her legs. There was something very unsettling in the way she moved, and Cable found himself thinking uneasily that she could probably walk up the wall on those arms.

The walls were the same strangely-patterned metal, and Cable suppressed a groan as he pushing himself to his feet, sizing up his opponent. He decided not to respond to her taunt, curling an arm up over his stomach as though his lower ribs and diaphragm were paining him more than they were.

Oddly, this stopped her advance with a screech.

"He will be displeased!" she shrieked at him, then leapt forward using all six appendages. He attempted a dodge but she caught him under the elbow with her lower left hand, dragging him with her to the ground. Once there, he was again easily pinned, and she stroked his cheek with her upper right fingers. They were long, unusually long, and very thin.

"He will be displeased indeed." She tried to dig an encroaching tendril of T-O out with a fingernail, just tearing at the infected, dying flesh beside it, and Nathan used every technique he knew not to show the pain. She opened that tiny mouth, emitted another deafening screech, and showed him the strip of flesh dangling from a delicate-looking fingernail.

With a tiny, perfect bowed smile, she raised that hand and her other free fist, bringing them together before hurling them at him. pummeled his lower abdomen, again and again on the place he had been cradling, and Cable stifled a gasp, tightening the muscles there. He could feel the bruising beneath her ministrations, feel every internal encroachment of the virus as her systematic beating revealed it. Once noticed, it was impossible to ignore; he felt as though he could feel cold water traveling through his entire system.

Cable did his best to twist out of the way of the blows as she continued her work, like any other merc pinning an enemy and working him over. That was what this was. A working over. It was no different than being held down by one man as another simply beat him to death. There was a quiet laugh somewhere near the clouds.

It's so easy, Dayspring, the voice chuckled. So easy . . .

But he resisted the urge. He needed all his power for the fight with Apocalypse. It would happen soon, before the rest of the X-Men came to the fortress. It would be soon, and it was just a trickle of power, just a tiny trickle. It was all eaten up by the T-O, he couldn't let it into his brain. He _wouldn't_ let it into his brain, destroying him, killing him alive. He couldn't.

Another good, solid hit. She seemed to be enjoying her work, secreting some sort of oil rather than sweat. Another hit. Another. Another torn muscle. Another bruised joint. Adding a centimeter or two to the fracture in a rib.

So easy, Dayspring. It won't take that long . . . she won't feel it long . . .

Nathan felt his stomach churning, heard himself siding with the logic, with the cloudy voice. Knowing where the idea had come from, who the technique had come from. Another hit. He couldn't fight Apocalypse like this, he _had_ to fight Apocalypse. No matter if it weren't _that_ battle. How was he so sure? How did he know Xavier and Magneto and the Living Monolith wouldn't somehow show up, like the Prophecy foretold? How did he know others wouldn't take the place of the fallen?

Two places. Sam and Domino.

Bright Lady. If he'd had the strength, tears would have welled up at the sudden realization. Sam and Domino. #She felt something, didn't she,# he hurled at the clouds savagely, watching the thought tear through the damp mistiness in search of that voice. But he couldn't watch all day, and another blow came.

Cable took a shallow breath. Steadied himself. To save himself, he would do this. It didn't make him like Stryfe. It was just taking advantage of a foe's strategies, learning from his enemies. He'd done it before, that his enemy had used this technique against one of his own only made it more fitting that he should use it in defense of more than one of his own. He took that last, tiny bit of TK he could control, he held his breath. He concentrated, he probed for the exact point.

And the female mutant slumped across his chest, moaned softly, took three breaths. And died.

And over near those clouds, the quiet laugh continued.

* * * * * * *

Terry sucked in a deep breath, coughing a bit as she woke fully. Her legs were asleep, numb to the point she couldn't feel them, and her neck was screaming from the movement of the cough.

"Ah'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

Theresa blinked her eyes a few times, rapidly, then pulled a smile out from somewhere behind the sleep she still needed. "Ye didnae bother me. Needed to be up, at any rate."

She was curled in an observation seat besides Tabitha, staying with her until the girl returned to consciousness. Henry McCoy had said her surviving through the night would go far in indicating her chances, and there she was, alive and breathing. Sometime in the night McCoy had managed to get ahold of a blood bank and call in a favor, because a bag dribbled the last dregs into Tabitha's pale left arm.

Paige tentatively took the other seat, elbows on her knees, leaning forward with a rapt expression as though she expected Tabitha to suddenly wake up. There was almost no chance of that, Terry thought; Tab looked pretty far into the world of the unconscious. But her pulse and BP were good, steady and low but climbing.

She was pretty sure Tab was going to pull through, and it made the late night and early morning a lot more bearable.

Terry gave Paige another once-over. Strong, capable-looking. Fairly calm, voice mostly non-accented by effort, as that slip had just proven. She had the ability to change her skin into whatever material she wanted, giving her the name 'Husk.' Useful in close combat, very ambitious and very much into researching her enemies and problems. Not enough practical experience to be a leader, but well on her way.

Sam had told her that Paige wanted to be in the X-Men, wanted to be like her big brother. She wondered what Paige was thinking about now, what Sam would say if he saw her. She'd done well, considering her entire family had almost met their end at the hands of fanatics and Marauders. Sam would have been hard-pressed to handle things any better, as a matter of fact.

Paige hadn't said boo when the X-Men had left to retrieve her brother, and now she was sitting by the bedside of a woman she hardly knew, a woman that had taken a bullet for Lucinda.

A woman who had saved her mother's life.

Paige was clearly growing uncomfortable in the silence. "Jam-er, Jimmy and I are going over some leads. So far nothing, but I find I work a little better if I take short breaks now and then." She gestured with her clasped hands at Tabitha. "Is she getting better?"

Terry smiled genuinely, stretching her arms and back. "Aye. Tab should be back tae foolin' around in no time."

Paige blushed, and Terry almost bit her tongue, moving her legs to get circulation back in them. "That's nae what I meant -"

"I know." Paige was smiling to cover the lapse. "I just . . . heard she was a little promiscuous, that's all."

Terry cocked her head, wriggling her toes pleasantly. "Tab has a good heart."

Paige took that to mean the same thing as the southern phrase 'bless her heart.' It mean anything stated before or after, no matter how insulting, was off limits due to this global disclaimer.

"Sam said the same thing in his letters, a long time ago."

It was a gentle dig, but a dig nonetheless, and Terry drew circles with her toes on the tile, the tingling painful needlepricks. "They were close, for a time. Long time. He was good fuir her, made her grow up a bit."

Paige had the good graces to remain silent, and Terry felt her smile fade a little. "We're glad yuir here, Paige. Ye've been a big help to us all."

Paige nodded, then leaned up, sitting straight. As though she'd come to a decision. "Well, Jimmy's waiting for me to get back." Both women had the suspicion that wasn't what she had planned to say, but she stood nonetheless. "Let us know when she wakes up?"

"A will," Theresa promised, and Paige left the room with the quiet hiss of the doors.

* * * * * * *

Shatterstar watched over Jimmy's shoulder as he scrolled the data downwards. It wasn't very entertaining, but for once Star was less worried with being entertained and more worried about finding these enemies that had taken their teammate. Cold rage burned in him, and his swords were ready for combat.

"What do you look for?"

Jimmy looked over his shoulder, grinned a little, then looked back. "Sorry, Shatterstar. This stuff is boring. Do me a favor, and go surf the news channels for any word?"

Shatterstar straightened. "I already did," he said flatly. "The Friends of Humanity have denounced responsibility for the attack. They say they wouldn't be so cold to fellow humans as to threaten churchgoers on a Sunday." Why a Sunday would be a holier day than any other was a mystery Shatterstar had never solved. Religion he could sort of understand - Za, of course.

Jimmy shrugged. "Gee. Wonders never cease."

Shatterstar pondered that for a moment, adding it to his bank of 'sayings' used here. "What are you looking for?"

"Looking to see who might have purchased the vehicle."

Shatterstar nodded, sitting in the spare seat and watching Jimmy work. It didn't look particularly straining, but it was very tedious and soon Shatterstar had a new respect for Proudstar's ability to concentrate on something so boring.

Then the screen stopped scrolling.

Jimmy highlighted one, copying the information to another window, another type of searching screen. That screen quickly revealed more long tables of data, and Jimmy popped up a text box, typing something and having the program search the information for him. This seemed a far more efficient system, as it yielded results immediately.

"Is that them?" Shatterstar gestured at the name highlighted.

"I don't know." He pushed his chair, complaining loudly, across the floor and grabbed another keyboard. This time he brought up a list of employees. "Star, get over here and see if any of these employees are affiliated with the FoH and if they've used their credit cards in Kentucky in the last week."

Shatterstar had made himself familiar with the technology easily - however complex it was here, it was nothing compared to what he was used to in Mojoworld. He imagined the young of this world, who had seen their technology grow by leaps and bounds in the last ten years, would understand him. While the commands were sometimes tricky, he understood the concepts completely.

He completed his FoH crosscheck on one machine while looking up the credit information on another. He'd noticed his other team members had trouble splitting their attention as he was doing now, but he hoped with his demonstration of the possibilities they would attempt to develop the skill.

Then again, he needed to strengthen his own ability to concentrate on boring things. Maybe if he considered it a duel . . . yes! A duel of concentration. Determination to out-concentrate Proudstar filled him, and he looked at the screens with a new determination. There must be a strategy involved . . .

The FoH check came back empty. "There is no affiliation," Shatterstar declared, and Jimmy chuckled.

"Good. Found another two you can start. That Guthrie girl is good."

Shatterstar looked up briefly as his hands danced across the keyboard. "Paige Guthrie?"

"Yeah. She left this list of 'promising leads' for me to check more thoroughly."

Shatterstar tucked this information away while he continued his work. He checked the credit report several times. Kitty Pryde had originally written the application that allowed them to access credit information as though they were a legal business, like a car dealership. They had slightly better search capabilities, of course, and could look up specific names and their current credit cards and balances.

The numbers were not available, nor the expiration dates, to prevent them from ripping off the cards of people they didn't like, of course, and she'd be horrified when she remembered they still had it, kept from their New Mutant days. Of course, it was starting to be less and less useful as the credit access changed over time, but luckily it changed very little over the years. Changing the country's credit checking system would have required upgrades of all the many businesses that used it, and that was usually resisted full-force.

Shatterstar took the new information and went through the same monotonous process. When a match came up on a credit card, he was forced to look for the state abbreviation 'KY' under the purchases, and while he had found KS, NY, and WY he had not yet found one that matched both letters.

Jimmy shifted, detecting the sound of footsteps before they entered, and the unfamiliar sound of them made Shatterstar turn slightly, catching a feminine shape in his peripheral vision. Samuel Guthrie's sister Paige. He tracked her progress across the room absently but paid little attention to her, scanning the credit cards. Star was beginning to think Jimmy would win this duel of concentration when he finally found 'KY' under the credit card purchase.

"I have found one."

He felt Paige bending near his face, her blonde hair falling across his shoulder. She tucked it behind the ear nearest him with a small, apologetic grin, and he found himself returning an expression between a scowl and a friendly look. She had been very polite around them, but her proximity was breaking his concentration, and in his approximation Jimmy was beating him at the concentration game.

"That's the gas station in town." She frowned. "And almost $50 worth of gas." She looked to Jimmy, who had that hard look again.

"Let's get the rest of the list done. Anyone who drove a van like that would have that bill to pay. We need to be thorough."

Shatterstar gave Proudstar a strange look.

He shrugged. "Terry'll beat us if we don't."

* * * * * * *

Domino began to get a clue that something was wrong when she was bodily picked up off the ground.

The second clue was that the person who picked her up was as pale as she was.

Domino struggled once - just once - and the viselike grip tightened with a frightening speed. There was no muscle tremor, nothing to suggest that the terrific pressure Sinister was exerting was anything close to the maximum. He was staring at her eyes, or maybe the birthmark, but that didn't make much sense -

"Release her. Now."

The voice was Summers', painfully familiar even without the strange accent. She found herself wondering if Sinister was a telepath, if he was going to start acting funny like all the other telepaths had started doing around her. That son of a bitch Blaquesmith had done something to her. Maybe made it so no telepath could build a link to her, to prevent Nathan grounding himself in this time, so they could whisk him off to the future with no baggage attached -

Maybe it had to do with this numbing dizziness. Maybe it had something to do with what Stryfe had done to her. But surely Blaquesmith could undo something like that. Stryfe hadn't gotten the sort of formal training with his telepathy that the Askani had forced in their cult.

Sinister had her quite firmly by the collar, her hands on his arms supporting her a little more comfortably, the sand still falling from her knees. She seemed to be stumbling in the sand a little more frequently than the others, there was no way she could hide this oddly painless disorientation. Maybe the good doctor was diagnosing her?

She cocked an eyebrow. "I know Nate said we couldn't kill you, but I'm willing to give it a damn good try."

Sinister's eyes narrowed fractionally, and he lowered her slowly until she had her feet under her and she released his steel-corded wrists. He exchanged a venomous look with Scott Summers, who likely looked just as frightening beneath that visor, and continued, picking up the pace.

She walked on a few moments more before coming to a complete stop. Watched Scott reach toward her, as though he were afraid she was going to fall over again. Dammit, they all knew! What the hell was going on?

"I'm in bad shape, aren't I." She said it quietly but with assurity. If nothing else, Logan would confirm it for her, since the telepaths and the 'team leader' were keeping it to themselves. "Someone did something to my mind, didn't they."

Sinister continued walking as though she hadn't spoken, Scalphunter with him. The X-folks stopped, Logan the closest, Sam asleep in his arms.

God. The idea of Cable losing Sam was bad enough, but if Stryfe had managed to ensure her death somehow, it was going to take everything Scott and Jean had to keep Nate in this timeline. The kids wouldn't be enough to hold him here.

Scott took responsibility, though she had the impression Remy had been about to open his mouth. "Not if we have anything to say about it. But yes. Stryfe did damage to your mind, and . . . and it is Jean's opinion that the damage is fairly extensive."

Well, that explained the dizziness. But if her brain was actually damaged or bleeding, she should be behaving erratically and have a painful, pounding headache -

But she had, before Blaquesmith had lifted it. She had been behaving erratically, frightened of touch.

The words came back again, unbidden. "If he knew he'd only have control for a short time? He'd do it in a heartbeat."

That meant she didn't have a lot of time left.

"Well then I guess we should get going." She tried to match Sinister's pace and stopped worrying about weaving. It was stupid to put effort into hiding the symptoms if they already knew she had them.

It was Remy that walked beside her. Him on one side, Logan on the other. One she wasn't sure she didn't absolutely hate, the other it hurt to let see her like this.

"I'm not going to drop dead right here," she said after an awkward silence.

Logan looked at her from beneath a cloak of Gambit's trenchcoat. "Damn straight. You ain't paid me back yet."

Domino smiled a little, glad of the lack of pain since she didn't feel anything besides general weariness. Not even a side cramp. "Does Cable know?"

"I t'ink maybe you should wait t'see him to ask that question."

"Geez, two manipulation tactics in two breaths. You guys need help."

* * * * * * *

His knees cracked sharply on the floor, and Cable bit the hiss back, tightening the muscles of his throat so no air could leave him, no sound. It was important not to make a sound.

"Is this all that is left of the great Dayspring, my destroyer?"

No sound.

He could feel the footsteps through the floor. Heavy. Measured. Carrying a dense, maybe eight foot frame steadily towards him. Consequence coming steadily towards him.

"I must say," the voice rumbled impassively. "I am gravely disappointed in you, Askani'son."

The odd tone baffled Nathan, and he looked up before he could stop himself.

A powerful hand came from nowhere and struck him, sending him flying into the wall before the flight even registered. He crashed into the joint of floor and wall with something that sounded sickeningly between a clank and the dull thud of flesh, and he found he could not move, could not breathe for the pain.

It hadn't just been the pressure. The pain of the virus gleefully crawling all over him, the pain of infected flesh surrounding every encroachment. He hadn't felt this pain since he had learned to contain the T-O as a boy, never felt it to this extent. His head ached from the damage he and Stryfe had done to it, and his frame screamed from the beating it had received at the hands of Dark Riders in battle and the insect woman.

Pain was his friend, his guide. He let it course out of him until only emptiness remained. He took a calming breath, feeling the air pour in, run through him like a stream of clear water in a desert riverbed.

"You have wasted time, and now time has wasted you."

He sensed the foot coming, it had to be with telepathy, he brought up his T-O arm and Apocalypse's foot mercifully connected with it, leaving him rattled to the teeth but without broken ribs and internal damage. With a vicious swiftness the backhand came into play again, this time battering Cable against the wall and ricocheting him back into the open floor.

"Was this not to be your final glory, Dayspring? The finest hour of Xavier's children as they defeated me, making it so your future was reduced to a memory?"

Cable squinted, clenching his eyes shut as they stung with blood. Where was he bleeding? He wiped them frantically against his arm, blinking them, trying to get a fix on those inexorable footsteps.

"And here you lay, a broken man. At my feet, in the very heart of my fortress. Helpless." The rumble was as relentless as those footsteps. "Did your Prophecies forsee this, Askani'son? Did your precious sister send you to your doom?"

Cable managed a dry, cracked laugh, and the footsteps faltered, slowed. He continued blinking, trying desperately to see anything more than an indistinct blur. "She sent me to yours, Nur."

"A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing," was his measured reply, and Cable laughed again, the sound rasping in his throat. Things were starting to come into focus.

"En Sabah Nur, a classical man. Never suspected."

"There are times when a knowledge of literature soothes an idle mind." The tone was oddly conversation, almost soft. Deceptive. Cable blinked once more, and for the first time focused on Nur's face.

It was a mask of fury, completely at odds with the tone of voice. "Instead of words written by men that have left a lasting legacy, you have fretted your hour away and have nothing to show for your efforts. I cannot express how deeply you have disappointed me, Dayspring."

Nathan willed himself not to fear that face, those eyes. "Looking forward to dying, are you?"

"Not by your hand!" he roared, and he struck with a speed that Cable wasn't sure even Proudstar could match. There was no getting out of the way of the blow; by the time he saw the slightest motion it was already too late. Cable couldn't breathe, didn't know where the floor was, all he knew was that he was being struck again and again. It was an oddly painless death, he observed absently. He felt the pressure of the blows without a single nerve doing more than tingling slightly.

The clouds were welcoming, and he peered through the bottom layer, watching detachedly as his arms came up reflexively, ineffectually. Apocalypse finally picked him up by his head and jaw, he watched his hands prying at those immovable, large, thick fingers.

"We are finished." It was spat out with contempt, and the blow even dimmed the clouds so that Nate wasn't really sure he could see anything at all.

* * * * * * *

Theresa looked the solemn group up and down. They were seated around the kitchen table, laden with baked macaroni and cheese casserole, green beans, baby carrots, and crispy fried chicken. The Irish woman did have to admit - having a real mother in the house was a blessing.

Domino had never cooked them comfort food en masse.

Lucinda was none the worse for wear, only a thin red graze to show for nearly being murdered by a Marauder. Paige's eyes lingered on it all during the cooking, and now her mother had retired to take a portion of the food to her brood, knowing X-Force had some talking to do.

How much she knew of what had been discovered was anyone's guess. No one doubted that Lucinda fully backed their strategy. The sooner they discovered and isolated the threat the sooner Lucinda could move herself and her children back on the farm.

"First I want tae say that Tab woke up and whined a bit afore she went back to sleep. Dr. McCoy thinks she's on her way to a full recovery."

That was met with a few whoops and relieved smiles. When the general noise had died down, Terry inclined her head to Proudstar.

"Jimmy? Do the honors, would you?"

Proudstar had never been the brains of the outfit, but he had unearthed some very important information. "We think we've narrowed it down to the business that supported the attack. The business owns the van we saw outside the church, and credit reports indicate that several of the employees were in Kentucky at the time of the attacks. There were two others that had been in Kentucky at the time with the same make and model of van, but neither were anywhere near Cumberland."

"Third time's the charm," Dani murmured.

"What are we waiting for?" Shatterstar demanded, jumping up from the table. His eyes were flashing dangerously.

"Sit, 'Star," Terry murmured. "We're waiting on the specs of the building. We dinnae find out if the business supported the attack or the employees just organized and used their work transport tae avoid being identified."

Confronted with something as logical as strategy and intelligence on the enemy, Shatterstar sat.

"There was something else," Paige voiced as the silence stretched on, and all eyes fell on her. It was a formidable team, X-Force. Dani Moonstar, the Valkyrie with the psipowers of the group. James Proudstar, the fast muscle. Shatterstar, the otherworldly warrior. What was it with all those stars?

There was Theresa Rourke, raised by Black Tom, daughter of Sean Cassidy with his same powers. And there was Julio Richter, or Ric, who caused seismic waves to emanate from his hands.

And they were all flat, angry stares.

Paige plowed ahead. Under the circumstances, she didn't think she looked much better. "It looks like the Kentucky Highway Patrol gave them a little help." She pulled a crisply folded sheet of paper from her back pocket. It was a copy of a speeding ticket, but instead of the offense it read "Refer to car 251 if you run into any local trouble."

"There's a record of who had that car the day Sam got attacked." Jimmy's voice was even more flat than usual. "We've got his name and address."

"We'll leave tomorrow at three am." Terry's voice brooked no argument and no one was interested in questioning that decision. "So we might as well get a good meal an' a good night's sleep. We're down two teammates and might be runnin' into more of those inhibiting generators, so we're all going armed with whatever handgun we've had the most training with. Also, if she wishes to join us, A'm prepared to welcome Paige Guthrie to th' team on a consulting basis."

There were nods of assent all around, and Paige tried not to blush.

"This means a mandatory training session this evening, at seven o'clock." Two hours. "We should have finished digesting this wonderful food by then."

"Let's dig in," Ric grinned, and the atmosphere lightened considerably from anger to anticipation as the clinking of silverware and the fighting for dishes commenced.

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