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1X07 – El Chacal – Act I
“Until you turn eighteen,” the Professor was addressing Kitty in his office, Scott and Ororo standing off to the side, “and are therefore a legal adult, you are not allowed to go on any future excursions with the, um, X-Men. This includes recon missions and other seemingly benign events.”
“Isn’t this a bit hypocritical?” Kitty asked, her brow creased in annoyance. “You’re letting them do this, and I’m a stone’s throw from eighteen. What do a few days matter?”
“They matter to your parents quite a bit,” the Professor returned, “I’m sure they would not like to see you get hurt.”
“You mean you don’t want them to sue you if I get hurt,” Kitty argued back.
“The legal ramifications of what we’re doing is only one of the considerations that have led me to this decision,” the man couldn’t deny that the thought of her parents possibly suing the school had crossed his mind, among other things.
“Sure, fine,” Kitty didn’t believe him, but after what she had went through, he was not going to incite an argument with the girl. She needed time to recover, “Can I go now?”
Xavier nodded and the girl walked out of the room with a little huff in her step.
“When I was her age,” Ororo said after the door closed, “I had been through much worse.”
“And do you wish that on young Kitty?” he asked the tall, regal woman.
“Not on anyone,” she spoke sadly.
“She feels guilty for that man’s death,” Scott told them, “it wasn’t her fault, but right now she feels like she has to do anything to make up for it, including being on this team.”
“Yes,” Charles agreed with the man who knew about this better than most.
“She has asked Logan to increase her training regime,” Ororo told them, “and he has obliged.”
“You don’t sound like you like that idea,” Scott frowned at her.
“Everyone should learn how to protect themselves,” the woman pursed her lips, “but no one should be made to be a weapon, he should know better.”
“I will have a talk with him,” Xavier assured her, then turned to Scott, “I believe you should leave now if you want to be at the airport in time to pick up our guests.”
Scott looked down at his watch, “Yes, of course.”
The man headed out and Ororo looked down at Xavier, “Are you starting to regret your decision?”
“Ororo,” he sighed, “I’ve been regretting my decisions for a very long time.”
…
The clinic was back up and running, despite the wood boards over the windows the cold out until new could be installed. There was the smell of bleach which had kept the blood from becoming a permanent stain on the floor. The wall was hastily spackled.
“Not that long ago,” a man stood at the entrance of one of the exam rooms, his gold shield hanging brightly around his neck, “this was a crime scene. Now it’s full of patients again, don’t they know what happened?”
“This is what happens when people don’t have much of a choice,” Cecilia finished writing up her notes in the file, “the Baytown clinic closed down two months ago, there isn’t another within four bus fares and a trip down the rabbit hole.”
“Trying to figure out if that makes this clinic a bigger, or smaller, target,” the detective barred her from leaving with his wide stance.
“Isn’t that your job to find out, Detective Milson,” Cecilia replied wryly.
“Working on it,” he pulled an evidence baggy from his pocket, “I want you to have a look at something.”
Reluctantly, because she had patients to see and people to help, she took the bag. Inside was five bullets, all were blunted as if they had struck something solid.
“I’ve pulled more of these out of people than I care to count,” she handed the bag back to him.
“So I’ve heard,” Milson fiddled with the bag, “that nurse is going to pull through, thanks to you.”
“I just do what I can,” now she was just plane annoyed with the man who was blocking her way.
“Then perhaps you can help me,” he held up the bullets, “these were found around where you were huddled up with the Johnston’s. The ground, the bus stop, the wall, all show signs of being hit, the bullets broken apart… but yet, you and the Johnston’s didn’t get a scratch, and these bullets hit something with a little more give than concrete.”
“What do you want me to say?” she shrugged, then with her most sarcastic church-woman voice said, “Praise be, it’s a miracle?”
“Could have been,” Milson ignored the slight, “or maybe you were wearing a vest, maybe you knew it was going to happen?”
“And here I thought you were a detective,” Cecilia rolled her eyes at him, “my clinic got hit, my friend got shot, how much sense does that make?”
“About as much sense as these bullets right here,” he waved the bag and tucked it back into his pocket, “which tells me there is a connection here somewhere that I’m missing, and instincts are telling me you’re hiding something.”
“Well,” she gave him a serious but dry look, “I have been scamming the cotton balls.”
“You’ve been known to sympathize with gang bangers,” he said pointedly.
“I patch up kids with bullet wounds,” Cecilia shot back, trying to temper her anger, “put there because of a disproportionate socio-economic system that doesn’t give them much of a choice. They can’t get a decent education, they can’t get jobs, so they do what they have to.”
“And you make sure they can keep on doing it,” there was an unwarranted indignity in his voice.
“I save people’s lives,” she punctuated every word, “I don’t care what colors they’re waving.”
The detective gave her a long stare, then smiled, “I’m going to figure out what’s going on here, Dr. Reyes, sooner or later, and it’s in your best interest to come clean.”
Cecilia wasn’t fazed, he wasn’t any more tough than the average teenager, so with a very dry tone, she told him, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’m sure you will,” he gave a light nod of his head, then sauntered down the hallway.
Once he was out of sight, Cecilia let out a long deep breath. The thing is, she had a secret, a very big secret… but no one believed in super powers… in mutants…
she wasn’t going to be the one to change that.
…
“Are we late?” Scott asked as they managed to find their way towards the disembarkment terminal for international flights.
“Right on time,” Jean said as they reached the rather large gathering of people waiting for loved ones, “they’re in Passport Control now.”
“Good,” he tucked his hands in his pockets, then idly rocked on his feet.
The red head smirked at him, “Bored already?”
“Hhmm?” he hadn’t realized he was already starting to zone, “no, not really. Just thinking about something JP said.”
“About what?” she asked curiously.
“He thought we might put a runway in,” Scott was trying to imagine it, “you know, in that big plot of land at the back of the mansion.”
Jean thought about it for a second, “It would be long enough, at least for a small plane like your Cessna.”
“Yeah,” that had been easy to calculate, “but there is more land back there than I think we realize, could probably get a runway big enough for a larger plane.”
“How large?”
“Not the Spruce Goose,” he chuckled, “but a larger, more commercial, long distance plane. I’ve just not been able to find anything, not at a reasonable price anyway.”
“Well, it would be handy to have a runway,” the woman nodded, “it’d cut down on travel time, we wouldn’t have to wait around airports for our friends.”
“Yeah, I dunno,” he frowned, “international flights are kind of a question mark, I mean, you got customs, passport and immigration laws…”
“You’re right,” Jean furrowed her brow, “the Acolytes fly all over the place because they break the law, sneak in an out, pay off officials.”
“Exactly,” he sighed, “not something we can do.”
“Oh, we can do it,” she pointed out with a smirk, “we just know we shouldn’t.”
He couldn’t argue that.
Jean’s head turned and she smiled brightly, “Theresa!”
“Jean!” another woman shouted and within moments two of the most fiery red headed women on two continents were hugging.
“Mr. Cassidy,” Scott greeted the much older man who was trailing right behind his daughter.
“I’ve told ya several times, my boy,” he spoke with a thick Irish accent as he shook Scott’s hand, “call me, Sean.”
“Sorry, sir,” Scott said, “uh, Sean.”
“Oh, leave the poor boy alone, da,” Theresa laughed, giving Scott a friendly hug.
“You’re both looking well,” Scott said politely, it’d been awhile since he’d seen the Cassidy’s.
“Yes, yes,” Theresa grabbed both Scott and Jean by the elbows, hooking their arms with hers, “they’ll be plenty time to catch up, but first, please tell me this airport still has a Cinnabon!”
…
“There is a ton of information to sift through,” Pyro frowned as he had three laptops set up on the living room coffee table.
“We need to get all of it downloaded and remove any trace of the hack before they find it,” Rogue was sitting on the sofa behind him, laptop also in hand.
“Don’t worry about that,” he typed away at two keyboards at once, “I may not be a super hacker, but our tracks are truly covered, thanks to you.”
“I knew all that stuff I absorbed while Cooper had me would come in handy,” Rogue grinned, grabbing a piece of Melba Toast from the box sitting next to her.
“Speaking of,” Pyro moved exclusively to the laptop on the left, “I just found your file, it includes all the reports and evaluations. Want to see what the Homeland shrinks thought of you?”
“Let me guess,” she laughed, “I’m a ‘highly functioning sociopath’.”
“That’s not actually accurate,” he leaned in closer as he was flipping through pages, “Sherlock cared about people, he wasn’t a sociopath, I wish they had ‘done their research’, Irene Adler was never meant to be a love… interest…”
The Aussie trailed and when he was quiet for longer than usual, Rogue prompted him, “What you find?”
“An incident report regarding a certain guard and what he did to you,” the pyromaniac turned his head to look straight at her, a mixed look of anger and non-understanding on his face, he pointed to the screen, “Why didn’t you say something?”
She didn’t have to ask him what he meant, and so she shrugged, “I knew the risks going in, hell, I got off light, they could have done a lot worse. You saw Zero Dark Thirty.”
“Overrated film and what kind of excuse is ‘could have done a lot worse’?” he scratched his head then went back to the laptop, “seriously, this is not cool, you know it’s not cool, but if you’re going to pretend it’s cool, fine, but that doesn’t mean I have to,” he finished off his words by scribbling something on a piece of paper and standing up.
“Pyro…” the word came out strange, as if she wasn’t sure what she was saying or asking.
“Hey, Dom,” Pyro moved away from her, grabbing his coat from the back of a chair, “you’re driving.”
“Driving?” the man was half-way to the fridge, “driving where?”
“I’m gonna burn down a house,” he answered as if it was an everyday occurrence, though there was a slight edge to his voice.
“Oh, okay,” Dom shrugged and followed Pyro out to the garage, “can we go by the bar afterwards?
“Sure, why not,” the Aussie replied in the distance.
Rogue watched them leave, part of her wanting to go with them, the other keeping her rooted on the sofa. All she did was tuck her legs up under herself, trying not to think about anything… nothing at all.
…
“Girl wants to fight,” Logan told Xavier as they stood on the patio, “I ain’t telling her no.”
“There is a difference between learning how to defend one’s self, and learning how to fight,” Xavier frowned at him, “there is a subtle difference but I believe you are quite well aware of it.”
“Tell me, Chuck,” Logan crossed his arms and stared down at the man, “how many battles you been in? How many men you seen cut down?”
Xavier moved his jaw to speak, then nodded his head in acquiescence. There were many things Xavier knew, he was a brilliant geneticist and bio-engineer, but he knew nothing of the battlefield.
“Trust me,” the feral mutant drawled, “I know what I’m doing.”
“Sometimes,” he spoke honestly, “that worries me.”
“Worries me too sometimes,” Logan admitted.
Even if he hadn’t felt their arrival via his telepathy, the squeal of Jubilee was quite enough to let the mansion know that their guests had arrived.
Leaving Wolverine to deal with the issue regarding Kitty, Xavier rolled through the study into the hallway just in time to see Scott and Jean enter with Sean and his daughter, Theresa, in tow. Jubilee bounded down the stairs and gave the young woman a hug.
“Oh me word, Jubes,” Theresa laughed, “you need to stop growing, you making me feel old.”
“Excuse me,” Jean frowned, “you’re only five months older than me.”
“Now I feel old,” Sean replied dryly as he came around the group towards Xavier.
“Don’t we all,” Xavier sighed, then gestured towards James who had appeared at the end of the hall with Bobby and other students wondering what the commotion was, “James, please be so kind as to take the Cassidy’s luggage upstairs, they will be staying in their usual rooms. Jubilee can show you.”
“Sure thing, Professor,” the Apache came forward and started to scoop up the bags.
“That one’s heavy,” Theresa started to say but trailed off as James picked it up as if it was full of air, “oh, super strength, how handy. You get first dibs on the chocolate.”
“You brought chocolate?!” Jubilee perked up.
“Of course I brought chocolate,” the Irish lass rolled her eyes.
“Hey,” Bobby came forward, “let me help.”
“Sure,” James tossed the Iceman one of the bags easily, but when Bobby caught it, all the wind was knocked from his lungs and he sank to the floor.
“It’s like a comedy of errors,” Sean frowned, slightly shaking his head at the group who were laughing as they ascended the stairs.
“They are young,” was all Xavier could offer up as explanation, then glanced up at his friend, “and we are old, we have much to discuss before we get even older.”
The red head sighed, “Indeed we do.”
…
When Logan made it into the gym, Kitty was already at one of the wooden dummy’s, going through a specific strike pattern he had taught her. She was still a bit slow, but that was the point of practicing.
“You’re late,” she said between blows.
“When you get to be my age,” he crossed his arms, “you’re never late, you’re never early, you’re just there.”
“Please don’t go all Connor MacLeod on me,” Kitty frowned and stepped back, grabbing her towel as she was working up a sweat, “I haven’t had enough coffee today to deal with that.”
Logan thought it better not to ask, and followed the girl to the training mat, “We run katas for an hour then we’re done for the night.”
“Just an hour?” she turned and frowned at him.
“Got a poker game tonight,” he shrugged, taking up a stance on the other side of the mat, rolling his shoulders and neck with an ungodly popping sound, “friend of mind is passing through.”
“Oh,” Kitty looked disappointed, “maybe I can talk JP into showing me some Aikido.”
“He might,” Logan brought up his stance, “or you could help Bobby, apparently he’s stuck on some level of that new Bat game.”
Kitty seemed surprised, “Oh yeah, that came out like a month ago, didn’t it.”
“You tell me,” he gestured for her to get on guard.
She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head, “Ah, he’ll figure it out.”
Logan struck out and Kitty dodged, she was getting much better… mostly because it seemed she had less fear. The older mutant knew from experience that this could be very unfortunate.
…
Charles and Sean walked the length of the school, marveling at the beauty of Ororo’s garden and the shifting colors of the trees as Fall was settling in.
“And how is Moira?” Charles asked his friend.
“Busy, as always,” Sean replied, “her research has been fairly extraordinary.”
“Yes,” he nodded, “from what I’ve seen, she’s very close to isolating the mutant gene.”
“Or proving it dunna exist,” the Irishman pointed out.
“That too,” Charles wheeled over to stop next the greenhouse, “the better we can understand mutations on a genetic level, the better chance we have of not only helping mutants control their abilities, but getting the regular population to accept us.”
“Aye, there’s no doubt Moira’s work is important,” Sean frowned down at him, “so why you wanna turn her island into a penal colony?”
“Is my suggestion so crass?” he sighed, “I suppose it is.”
“Look, I know we’ve taken in some of the more… complicated mutants,” Sean sidestepped the subject admirably, “but they ain’t prisoners, we’re trying to help them.”
“I understand that, and believe me, I appreciate what Moria is doing more than most,” he spoke sadly and gravely at the same time, “but we cannot allow the government to imprison mutants, not until we are sure they will not try to turn them into laboratory specimens.”
“No, no we canna not,” Sean sighed, “I’m just not sure Muir Island is the best option.”
“Does Moria agree with you?” Charles asked.
Sean frowned, declining to answer.
…
One of the tables in the study was covered in opened boxes of chocolate, several students had gathered around and taken their cut before running off to play. All that was left to chat was Jean, Scott, Theresa, Bobby, Jubilee and JP.
“You always bring the best stuff,” Jubilee grinned as she unwrapped a Galaxy.
“Have to do my part to make living in the Colonies that much bearable,” Theresa laughed as she uncapped her Coke Zero.
“God Save the Queen,” Jean-Paul lifted his own drink up to toast with Theresa then paused, “wait, is Muir Island considered, Scotland, Northern Ireland or part of the Republic?”
“Scotland,” she grinned, toasting her soda with his, “you’re safe.”
“So, Muir Island,” Bobby asked between mouthfuls of chocolate truffles, “it’s actually an island?”
“What did you think it was?” Theresa made a face at him.
“Ugh,” he frowned, “an ironic play on words?”
The woman laughed, “It’s very much an island. Small one at that. We have a ferry and everything, though we grow most of our own vegetables and have a small amount of livestock.”
“But do you get wifi?” Jubilee asked the important questions.
“Don’t be daft,” Theresa grinned, “Moira piggy-backs off MI-5 satellites.”
“Does MI-5 know this?” Scott asked.
“Maybe,” she stifled a grin.
“If you don’t mine me asking,” Jean-Paul was picking through the leftovers, “what exactly do you do at Muir Island?”
“We’re a research facility,” Theresa explained, “mostly dealing with the genetics of mutations. Trying to figure out exactly what mutants are, end that debate once and for all. We also act much like this school, we’re a haven for mutants to be safe and learn how to control their abilities.”
“That boy we found in Alaska,” Jean spoke up, “we sent him there. How’s he doing by the way?”
“Oh, Chad, he’s a lovely lad,” Theresa smiled, grabbing a truffle, “his sonic ability works a bit differently than da and I, but he’s made great progress.”
“Good to hear,” Jean-Paul took a drink of his soda.
There was a small silence, then Scott asked, “How’s David doing by the way?”
Jean turned her head to stared incredibly at Scott, it wasn’t the right place, the right audience, to ask.
Theresa frowned for the first time since she showed up, “I’d like to say better, but really, he hasn’t changed no matter how hard we try to help him.”
“Who’s David?” Bobby asked.
“The Professor’s son,” Jubilee answered.
“Wait, what?” the Iceman paused with a bonbon inches from his mouth. “The Professor has a son?”
Jubilee pulled a face, “You didn’t know?”
“No,” Bobby glanced around at everyone incredibly, “how did I not know this?”
“I didn’t know,” Jean-Paul had a minor look of confusion on his face.
“Not helping,” Bobby frowned.
“Jean,” Sophia knocked on the wood frame of the door, “you have a guest, Doctor Reyes.”
“Cecilia?” the woman was genuinely surprised and stood from her chair as the doctor walked into the study, “always good to see you, doctor.”
“I hope you still feel that way after I say what I came to say,” the older lady nodded her hello to the rest of the group.
“That sounds ominous,” Jean frowned.
“Good,” Cecilia crossed her arms, “because I’m going to ask you the last thing I ever wanted to ask you.”
“And that would be?” she replied cautiously.
“I want you to save a lot of people’s lives,” the doctor told her, “by using your abilities and making someone forget they ever had an inkling of an idea.”
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