Chapter Fifty-Seven: Burn

Travelling along these undulating roads reminded many what driving was all about. The act of guiding one’s car along was transformed from a means of getting from A to B while isolating the driver from the "tangibles" (warm and cold, sunshine and clouds, wind and road noise) into an invigorating experience of being behind the wheel. The historic route wended past small towns, farms, and vineyards. From hiking to kayaking to perusing the goods offered by the farmers markets, locals and tourists alike had every reason to take advantage of fresh-air pursuits in this part of the state.

For Jubilee, thoughts of visiting the many orchards and riding along the nearby equestrian trails were far from her mind. The drive from the Drake home in Long Island had been a bitterly lengthy one. There were several points during the journey where she was forced to pull over. Between the aching sensation in her chest and the tears that stung her eyes, driving was torturous. As evening touched down, she wondered if she would ever make it back to Xavier’s.

“I can’t do this anymore, Jubes.”

The words echoed in her head throughout her journey. They ate away at her, burning holes into her heart and causing her stomach to twist and turn repeatedly. It was hard to believe that they came from the one person she loved and trusted the most in this world; the one person she thought would never ever hurt her.

Bobby.

For a moment, Jubilee wondered if this was all a terrible dream. The sequence of events and the manner in which they transpired was so surreal. As for Bobby, his behaviour was completely out of character. Gone was the open, loving man who made her cherish every waking moment for almost two years. In his place was his complete foil—evasive, withdrawn, and…cold. Even his eyes, those perpetually twinkling, grey eyes, had taken on a steely quality, devoid of any emotion. The impassive tone he had used with her was foreign to her ears. This man standing in front of her had to be a stranger. Surely, he was not her Bobby.

To accept what occurred hours ago as part of her reality would be beyond devastating. It would mean that everything she knew about her world was wrong. It would mean that her happiness was now gone. Yet, here she was, making the lonely trek to Westchester, desperate to see the road through her tears. Her hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Despite the chaos that seemed to permeate around her, there was one question that continued to resonate.

How did it all come to this?

In an effort to wrap her mind around what happened, Jubilee replayed scenes from her tête-à-tête with Bobby from earlier today. His response to her arrival had been the first indication something was amiss. What she had hoped for was pleasant surprise but was confronted with annoyance, turning into anger over the course of their conversation. It was as if he could not fathom why she had taken the initiative to drive out and see him. As he admonished her over her actions, it was clear how much he did not want her there. His insistence that she had somehow disrespected his wishes and disavowed his requests for privacy served to fuel his outrage. What made the exchange even more painful was his seeming indifference to her feelings, as if he could not care less that he was hurting her. The image of the pitiless expression he wore while she cried haunted her still.

At first, Jubilee suspected that the strain associated with acting as caretaker to both his parents was responsible. Bobby himself had even alluded to it. His haggard appearance seemed to be evidence of the toll. One could only imagine the pressure he was under. His father probably had a variety of needs in the wake of his stroke, including arranging medical care and assisting him with everyday tasks that had once been second nature. At the same time, Bobby was almost certainly worrying about his mother and how she was dealing with her husband’s illness. The closeness of their relationship guaranteed that he was doing all he could to alleviate any stress she was experiencing. Given all of this, it was hardly surprising that he was so removed from his usually easy-going self.

Then there was her confession. Admitting what happened on Thanksgiving was difficult. The anxiety surrounding the incident had been too much to bear alone. Granted, the timing of the disclosure was poor considering what was already on his plate but Jubilee honestly felt that being open was the only way to move forward. She took care to explicitly state that the kiss was a one-time occurrence and in no way did she have any intention to hurt him. Unlike the Bobby she knew, this man was expressionless as he listened to her lay out the details. When he finally addressed the issue, this Bobby was focused on feelings of betrayal and the kiss. Her repeated attempts to express her genuine remorse fell on deaf ears. He had already decided what she had done was too much, pushing him to render his verdict regarding their relationship.

Although Jubilee understood where Bobby was coming from, the speed in which he chose to turn his back made her head spin. Considered in the context of their relationship, his reasoning made no sense. The logic he used appeared to convey that their shared experiences meant so little when compared to this single misstep. Had he forgotten all those declarations of love and devotion? What about those promises of never letting one another down? Were those conversations about a future together devoid of any truth? As these questions swirled around in her head, the more convinced she was that there something else. Bobby appeared eager to let her go. While most people would accommodate some rational discussion of the issues, he made it clear that no amount of talking would change the course.

In retrospect, Jubilee wished she had not left so quickly. She wondered why she had been so compliant with his request to leave. Taking a sharp right onto Graymalkin Lane, she began to recall the disconnect between her mind and her body. While every part of her psyche screamed at her to stay and fight for Bobby, her feet seemed willed by some invisible outside force. Perhaps there was a part of her that wanted to give him space to think things through. With time, Jubilee hoped that her Bobby would return, reassuring her that they were going to be fine. This was countered by another part of her that believed in challenging him until he saw the error of his decision. Queries could have been made with respect to other motivating factors. If she had stayed, maybe Bobby would have relented, dropped his defences, and explain what was happening. Then the two of them could work things out and be together once more.

Disconcerting as the day’s events were, she found herself troubled by another matter. It weighed heavily upon her mind, resulting in turmoil she had never experienced before. Confusion, fear, guilt, and sadness competed for attention. Tried as she did not to dwell on the subject, she was finding that every aspect was never far from her consciousness. This included the individual who was directly tied to the situation, who elicited these myriad of mixed emotions, and who seemed to be just as lost as she was.

Sam.

Jubilee could still see the Southern gentleman’s handsome face as she continued the drive towards home. She had never seen him look as tense as he did that morning. His pale eyes were filled with some unreadable emotion as he held his tall, lean frame awkwardly. Moreover, he seemed consumed by some deep-seeded melancholy that radically changed him. Gone was the laid-back, confident demeanour Sam Guthrie was known for. This version seemed edgy and conflicted. When he informed her of his impending departure, his voice indicated a despondency she never heard before. Seeing him in that state stirred up those feelings of confusion and guilt she had been battling for the past few weeks. However, they were quickly placed aside in favour of her sympathy for him, which almost compelled her to step out of the car. There was nothing more she wanted to do than to lift those shadows away. By doing so, things could go back to the way they were.

But something held her back. Initially, she interpreted this as doubt or uncertainty in her abilities to comfort him as a friend. Sam looked dejected enough without her making some verbal faux-pas. While on the road, Jubilee had more time to think about her reaction. Upon further reflection, she realized her conclusion was not completely accurate. Yes, apprehension motivated her restraint. However, it was not only rooted in fear of any potential gaffes but also in anticipation of another incident.

It had been several months since Jubilee and Sam shared that kiss. Yet, the sensations were as vivid now as that fateful night. Every time she thought about it, her lips tingled, her skin became flushed with emanating warmth, and her heart raced a million miles per minute. She could still feel the Southern gentleman’s arms holding her tightly. The memory of his calloused hands racing up her back made her light-headed. It was the sort of kiss that was so sweet; she wanted to cry out in the wake of its wonder.

At first, she tried to purge the incident from her mind. The rational part of her was quick to point out the inherent wrong of the act, eliciting feelings of guilt and shame. Despite her determination, Jubilee was fixated. Not a day passed without the event being replayed. With her psyche betraying her, she was left confused. Why on earth was she obsessed with this? There was no reason for her ruminate. She was already involved with someone she was deeply in love with. And Sam was probably caught up in the moment as she was. Surely, Logan’s observation those many months ago was wrong. He would never think about her in that way. She was like another young sibling to him. Nothing more.

Unfortunately, her rationalizations did little to lessen the intrusion of the memories. Furthermore, the strength of these arguments was weakened by the depth of feeling and intensity communicated through the kiss. She could feel the power and tenderness of his heart though his touch. It evoked sensations previously thought to be reserved for someone else. For Jubilee, it was as if such an embrace was a whole new experience—changing and deepening to the point which left her overwhelmed. In the wake of the evidence, it was becoming difficult to deny how deeply affected she was.

When denial failed, avoidance seemed the next logical step. In the beginning, this was quite easy. Attending university classes and living with Scott and Jean provided convenient guises. Much to her dismay, this approach, too, did little to lessen her confusion. In spite of the distance placed between herself and Sam, she continued to think about the kiss. It was as if some aspect of her would not allow her to forget, telling her that she did not want to disavow what happened.

Compounding things further was the dinner Roberto forced them into. She had been leery about attending but her determination to clear the air between them won out. However, Jubilee’s resolve faltered once she saw Sam. She quickly found herself drowning in the same thoughts and feelings that ate away her since Thanksgiving. Although nothing transpired that evening, she was mindful about the possibility. Such awareness made her wary of Sam, forcing her to put up defences she desperately wished were not necessary.

Then there was that morning Jubilee came across Sam in the woods. He seemed to project pain and vulnerability that broke down those barriers she tried to impose. Her instinct to flee was overtaken by her empathy and a need to offer him comfort. She remembered as she wrapped her scarf around his neck, how close she was to him. His breath warm against her cheek. Her eyes were captivated by his handsome, earnest face, and its guileless, yearning expression. It was at that moment she began to lose herself. She was overwhelmed by the poignancy of the moment. Memories of what they had shared before made her heart race and her skin tingle and burn with a radiating warmth. Had the X-Jet not flown overheard, she was almost certain that there would have been a repeat of Thanksgiving.

So when Sam told her that he was leaving, Jubilee thought she would have been happy. This meant that she would not have him as a constant reminder of her duplicity. Instead, the prospect of not seeing him around at all left her reeling with sadness and emptiness. Even more disconcerting was her role in all of this. Not only was she responsible for his ongoing anguish but for his exile as well.

As her yellow Beetle pulled up to the wrought-iron gates leading to the mansion, Jubilee felt as if her whole world was crashing around her. Maybe I’m not good for anyone…

This early spring evening found Logan in the fitness room, which was restricted to field team members and instructors only. The space had recently gone through a renovation that was overseen by Worthington. The low ceilings and harsh lighting were gone in favour of nearby lounge seating and ambient lighting. Bulky equipment was replaced with elegant devices crafted in Italy. The blond CEO of Worthington Industries consulted with various architects and designers to create sophisticated machines, which married utilitarian with sleek. There were the treadmills with touch screens that allowed the runners to watch television, use the telephone, browse the Internet, and listen to music on their iPods. Attached to the walls were the newly installed kinaesthetic machines. Parallel bands with rotating pulleys allowed for at least two hundred floor and posture exercises as well as Pilates and even Tai chi. With the turn of a digital dial, users were able to adjust the bands' resistance to challenge balance, strength, and flexibility. Some of the machines were upholstered in soft leather while others were panelled with mirror or wood.

According to some of the staff, notably Kitty, working out the machines resulted in the same addictive, endorphin-boosting tingle of a deep yoga class. After spending the last hour and a half testing the newly installed machines and equipment, the gruff loner was not that impressed. To him, a lot of money was spent just to make the room look nice. He did not necessarily feel any better following his workout. If anything, Logan was rather annoyed that he had to use a damn computer in order to exercise.

Tossing his sweaty towel into the laundry bin outside of the doors, the laconic Canadian made his way to the showers. He quickly stripped and sought refuge under the hot, cleansing waters. His mind mulled over the multitude of things on his plate, including his upcoming assignment in Madripoor. Logan had delayed his departure to help Scott, Kitty, and Piotr with monitoring duties at the mansion until Alex’s team return the following day. He was scheduled to relieve Scott from the security tower in less than an hour. In addition to these responsibilities, he was also tasked with caring for Ororo’s “children” while she was on assignment in Egypt with Emma and Sage. Most would find the idea of the Wolverine tending to Storm’s rose bushes, calla lilies, and orchids as strange and almost laughable. But for Logan, the act was a welcome respite from the conflict his world was accustomed to.

Stepping out for the shower stall, his thoughts suddenly went to Jean Grey. Earlier, he had a paid a visit to the Summers’ home to check on the statuesque redhead at Ororo’s request. Prior to her departure, the weather goddess had confided in him her worries regarding their good friend’s health problems. Despite Jean’s efforts to deny the severity of these difficulties, there was growing evidence of the toll. Formerly a prominent fixture at the school as a teacher and administrator, Jean had recently delegated some of her duties (with great reluctance) to Emma. Meanwhile, Hank had taken over her emissary responsibilities. Even Scott, known for his ability to separate his personal life from his obligations around the mansion, seemed easily distracted and appeared more uptight than usual.

Logan towelled himself dry before reaching into his locker for a pair of faded jeans, white T-shirt, and black combat boots. As he dressed, the laconic Canadian found himself dissecting his visit with Jean. At first, the telepath brushed off his concerns, downplaying her current health issues. However, the façade of normality was shattered when she began wincing and rubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand. Gradually and with some prompting from Logan, Jean admitted the true extent of her problems. In addition to her headaches, she told him about her nightmares, where the content was often forgotten but left her with a fear she had not known before. There was one night when she had moved the bed to the other side of the room while she and Scott were asleep. She also talked about the constant static of psychic feedback she received despite her efforts to filter them out. It was as if she had a radio inside her mind that was tuned into a myriad of stations. As Jean talked about the extensive testing Hank performed, her green eyes glittered with tears. Much to their dismay, results proved to be inconclusive. Without the Professor to conduct thorough telepathic scans, there was very little that could be done at this done. Although there was no tangible explanation of what was happening, Jean told Logan she was convinced that she was changing in some way. Her words that afternoon continued to echo inside his head as he made his way to the hyperlift.

“I just feel like something bad is going to happen.”

Making his way from Sub-Basement Level Two to the ground floor, Logan remembered how he tried to reassure her that all would fine once the Professor returned. It felt strange for him to be the calm and assured one. To be talking about hope in the face of doubt and uncertainty was a new approach for the resident cynic. There had been so many times when it was Jean who was cool and collected when he was unravelling and questioning his faith in others. Now the roles were reversed, leaving him feeling almost as tense as she was.

When Logan exited the elevator, he decided to head to the kitchen. Normally, the corridor between the hyperlifts and the common areas would be busy with a flurry of activity. But with most of the students and some staff members away on Spring Break, a refreshing stillness draped the air. Opening the refrigerator, he was pleased to find a six pack of Sierra pale ale behind Cook’s prepared meals. Normally, this would have been contraband but he figured the rules were relaxed because of the low numbers of students in the mansion. At least, that would be the argument to be used should One-Eyed throw a fit.

He was pulling out a bottle when he heard the door connecting the garage to the kitchen open. Turning around, his eyes widened in surprise not because of the person’s identity but the state she arrived in. Her face was drained of colour, providing a contrast to her red-rimmed eyes and pink nose. The saline from the tears that streaked her cheeks was almost pungent to Logan’s sensitive nostrils. Every part of her seemed to quiver and shake, from her chin to her shoulders to her hands. A mixture of sadness and bewilderment radiated so strongly from her that he could feel his own heart ache.

His thick brows knitted themselves together in confusion as he placed the bottle back and closed the door. “Kid?”

Jubilee felt her mouth become parched as she stared at him. She had entered the kitchen to splash some cold water on her face before going home. Troubling Jean and Scott as they worried over her health filled her immense guilt. The idea of talking about the events of today was not a conversation that appealed to her, either. The wounds were still so fresh and painful. Even several hours removed, she was still reeling from it all. Moreover, by verbalizing what happened would make it all the more tangible—something she was not necessarily prepared for.

As Logan leaned over the island that separated them, Jubilee considered backing out of the kitchen to flee. The concern in his eyes was apparent. It was reminiscent of her younger days when she was still a child. Back then, he was her confidant, mentor, and most of all, her protector. She could run to him for anything and he would do his damnedest to oblige. Whether it was overcoming an exercise in the Danger Room to sneaking her rollerblades inside the mansion, Logan was the ultimate problem solver. At that time, there seemed to be no dilemma too insurmountable for her Wolvie.

But this was a problem even he could not fix.

“I’ve got to go,” she whispered, turning on her heel to leave.

“I don’t think so, kid.”

Although the delivery was soft, there was a commanding quality in his voice. He often used this manner of speaking just before delivering a lecture. While no longer the child who needed scolding, Jubilee was unable to ignore his request. Reluctantly, she turned around.

Logan noticed she was not looking at him. Instead, she chose to focus her sapphire eyes on the floor. He wondered what weighed so heavily upon Jubilee. This sad soul in front of him could not even meet his gaze, as if she were harbouring some secret shame. Instinctively, he reached for her but was rebuffed when she flinched.

Raising her head, her delicate features were rueful as she swallowed hard. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

Perplexed, Logan shook his head. “Nothin’ to be sorry about, kid,” he told her. He inwardly cursed himself as he found himself at a loss for words. Seeing her like this and unable to provide her comfort made him feel helpless, which was a new and unwelcome emotion. It seemed like eons ago when his efforts could quickly address any distress she was experiencing. Now that she was an adult, Logan knew that her problems were much more complex, requiring commensurate solutions—at least ones that involved more than a hug and a trip to his cabin.

Aware that he needed to tread carefully, he finally asked, “What happened?”

Jubilee peered at the lined face of the Wolverine. To most people, he was angry, brooding, sardonic, and at times, terrifying. Very few had the privilege to see his other side. It was the facet of his personality that was fiercely devoted, and capable of genuine tenderness. Even as she looked upon him, it was clear that he wanted nothing more than to find out what was troubling her so he could take away her pain.

Yet, as much as she thought about breaking down in his arms and confiding everything, there were other considerations holding her back. Pride and disbelief were initial sources of hesitation. But these became secondary concerns in the face of a much more serious consequence.

Logan was going to kill Bobby.

Even though Jubilee was angry and hurt from his harsh treatment and the subsequent break-up, the idea of unleashing an angry Wolverine did not appeal to her. Images of Logan terrorizing Bobby flashed before her eyes. In fact, exacting revenge was the farthest thing from her mind.

Because she still loved him.

Finally, Jubilee said in a low voice, “Is it too late to say nothing?”

Logan raised a brow at her. “What do you think?” he asked flatly.

She bit her lower lip, tucking a lock of hair behind a delicate ear. The intensity of his gaze was starting to affect her. It was becoming more and more difficult to continue her evasion. “I think it is,” she whispered.

He nodded. “You’re probably right about that.” In spite of his controlled reaction to her elusiveness, Logan was growing agitated with each passing second. Tell me what happened, kid. Tell me so I can make it better.

She pressed her palms against the cool marble countertop of the island. The searing heat of her skin relished the sensation. But her heart viewed it as another painful reminder of what she lost.

Immediately, tears streamed down her cheeks.

Logan circled around the island to Jubilee’s side. His hand cupped the back of her head, slowly pulling her close to him. To his relief, she did not refuse him. As he held her, he wished there was some way he could transfer his healing abilities to her, and absorb her hurt.

Instead, he was relegated to offering his arms and nothing more. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on,” he told her softly, stroking her hair.

Jubilee pressed her face against his shoulder, sniffling. “Please, Wolvie. I…I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I think you need to.”

“No, I’d rather not.”

“Well, I ain’t gonna let you go until you do. You know that.”

“Then you have to promise…”

“Promise what?”

“That you’re not going to freak out.”

“I’m not gonna make any promises—”

“Please, Wolvie. I need you to keep this one. For me. Please.”

Those old-soul blue eyes, brimming with tears, stared deeply into his, emphasizing the seriousness of her request. Logan was finding it hard not to waver. He did not want to give his word until he knew the root of the problem. Given how upset she was, the cause definitely warranted an appropriate response. Whoever was responsible needed to be taught a lesson—one that Logan was all too willing and able to do. However, the need to seek vengeance dissipated in the wake of Jubilee’s pleas for restraint. Tried as he did to remain strong, his resolve was crumbling as he continued to look at her. It was truly astounding the power she had over him.

Finally, the gruff loner relented. “OK, you win,” he sighed. “I promise not to ‘freak out’ .”

Jubilee drew back slightly, her gaze still fixed upon him. There was no controlled mask to conceal his rage. Instead, the man by her side simply wanted to listen. Considering the internal conflict that must have led to his decision, she knew he was sincere.

She took a deep breath. OK, let’s do this.

At first, Jubilee was fumbling for words. She supposed it was tedious to lay out all the details of the day, starting from when she first left. Perhaps, it would have been better just to blurt out everything in order to get it over with. However, the measured approach ensured that Logan had all of the facts. It was important to her that he had an accurate picture. Further complicating her retelling were the sobs that wracked her body. Somehow, she managed to fight them back so that she could continue. The rest of the story surfaced gradually—Bobby’s cold welcome, her confession, and his decision to break things off. In contrast to her initial efforts, the sentences now flowed off her tongue, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Hearing the details spoken aloud forced her to acknowledge that what happened was real. No more denial.

When she was finished, Logan pressed his lips together into a grim line. His breathing became erratic and the gold flecks in his green eyes glittered. He stepped away from her. Then in the most composed voice he could muster, he said, “I’m headin’ out.”

Alarmed, Jubilee grabbed his arm before he could make his way to the door. She knew that look. She knew that tone. There was no mistaking what was on his mind and where he was going. “Wait,” she cried, “you promised. You gave me your word.”

He clenched his jaw before replying. “I just need a little air, that’s all,” he told her tersely. If, while he was out, Bobby Drake came across his path, then all bets were off. He was about to remove her small hand from his arm but was surprised to find the grip so tight.

“Don’t do this,” Jubilee whispered, shaking her head. “Don’t be the cliché father figure who wants to rip the boyfriend apart. You’re better than that.”

Logan grunted, hesitating in his movements. “You think so?” For a moment, he felt as if he had been transported back in time. He had forgotten how her indelible faith in him humbled his soul. Since she had grown up, he thought that faith had been shaken or waned due to his multiple absences. For once, he was glad he was wrong.

“I know so.”

“He hurt you. I’m supposed to forget that?”

“No…”

“Then you know that I can’t stand by while you’re like this.”

“I don’t want you to stand by, but I don’t want you to go out and tear him a new one, either.” Jubilee sighed as she peered over at him earnestly. “I just want you to be here for me. That’s all.”

Logan was about to argue with her when he thought he heard a footfall in the hallway leading outside of the kitchen. Raising a brow, he pressed his index finger to his lips. His nostrils flared when he detected the presence of another person.

Someone unfamiliar and who did not live at the mansion.

“Get down behind the counter,” he told her in a low voice. “Now.”

Confused but compliant, Jubilee crouched down behind the kitchen island. Based on the tension that radiated from his body, no questions were necessary. She knew a confrontation was afoot.

Logan was about to unsheathe his claws when he heard a faint whizzing sound. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain on the side of his neck. Upon inspection, he ballistic-like syringe with a fibrous tailpiece protruding. His fingers struggled to grasp the dart for extraction, hindered by immediate waves of dizziness and torpor. As he began staggering backwards, a man wearing black camouflage combat attire entered with a rifle aimed at Logan.

“Tell your friend to come out nice and slow,” the soldier ordered, trying to contain the rise of panic in his voice. He could not understand why the tranquilizer dart was not working faster. Based on the briefing he had received, one dose was enough to incapacitate an elephant within seconds. Yet, the man he had just shot, though dazed, was still standing.

The soldier was about to fire another dart when he was suddenly blinded by an explosion of sparkling light. It was almost as if someone had set off some fireworks inside the kitchen and right in front of his face. Blinking and coughing violently, he stumbled and lowered his gun as he struggled to regain his vision. When the blurriness dissipated, the first thing he was able to focus his sight on was the wolf-like man’s wizened countenance.

And he did not look happy.

Logan tossed the tranquilizer dart at the other man. “Welcome to the jungle, bub,” he grunted before grabbing the rifle and snapping it in half. Then he grabbed the soldier by his combat jacket, pulling him close. “Who the hell sent you?”

The camouflage face paint began sliding off the soldier’s skin as he became drenched in sweat. Staring into the other man’s crazed eyes, he believed there was a chance he would be killed on the spot. Terrified as he was, the soldier knew his priorities. He could not and would not break.

Suddenly, there was a thunderous crash from outside, which was followed by the sound of shattering glass.

What the hell was that? Narrowing his eyes, Logan realized the urgency and shook the soldier. “Who sent you?” he demanded, his voice resembling a deep growl. Though his senses were able to determine that others were now inside the mansion, he was unable to pinpoint a specific number. “How many of your buddies are here?”

The soldier swallowed hard but remained silent.

At this point, Jubilee was standing by her mentor’s side, her small hand surrounded by brightly coloured globules of energy plasma. Staring at the soldier, she was quickly reminded of her own experiences with those who wore that uniform. Memories of torture, both physical and psychological, flooded her. The fear she initially experienced had now given way to anger and rage. The opportunity to exact vengeance for those traumatic moments seemed too convenient as the soldier struggled to free himself from Logan. She could easily unleash a paf in his face, one powerful enough to cause permanent blindness and severe burns. Wouldn’t that be satisfying?

However, the ethos of handling such situations played a role in her restraint: to engage in that kind of violence would make her just as bad as those who caused her and others pain. Furthermore, there was a strategic advantage to not harming the intruder. Obtaining information was paramount. She watched Logan roughly grab the soldier again, repeating his questions in a tone that not only communicated urgency but his willingness to follow through with the consequences. Much to their collective chagrin, the other man maintained his commitment to silence.

Jubilee placed a hand on Logan’s arm. “He’s not going to talk.” She emphasized her assessment with a slight squeeze. They needed to move on. There were other issues to consider—namely, the condition of the students and staff members in the mansion. Their safety and security had to come first now.

One of his brows shot upwards as he glared at the soldier’s face with pure contempt. “Maybe you’re right, kid.” With a rumbling growl, he landed a punch across the other man’s jaw before tossing him against the wall.

Classic. Jubilee thought, watching the other man’s body collapse into a heap on the kitchen floor. Then she turned to the Wolverine and whispered, “Now what?”

Logan nodded his head towards the door leading to the hallway, indicating their next move. They needed to make their way to the second floor in order to find out the status of the other staff and students. However, based on his initial appraisal, there were several soldiers waiting for them, presumably with tranquilizer guns at the ready. He quickly gestured to her this information.

His eyes glanced at the sparkling light dancing around her fingertips. “Got enough there to cause some damage?” he asked, already aware of the answer.

She slipped on a pair of pink sunglasses from her pocket. “Does Gambit like beignets?”

Logan unsheathed his claws with a SNIKT that pierced the air. “Then let’s rock their world.”

Jubilee edged ahead of him as they skulked their way towards the doorway. Standing under the frame, she used both hands to generate her plasmoids. With her fingers acting as a field-free vacuum, she balanced the internal pressure of the plasma with the external pressure of the magnetic field surrounding it. Once satisfied with the intensity, she released the globules as an explosion of sparkling balls and streamers into the hallway.

This was greeted with a chorus of curses and sounds of tranquilizer rifles being cocked. Some soldiers, stunned by the burst of multicoloured lights that flashed, misfired. The ensuing darts whizzed past Jubilee and Logan as they darted towards the spiral staircase. For those who were quickly able to regain their sight and aim their weapons, Logan was keen to dispense with them. He extended his arms from his sides, ensuring that they had a proper taste of adamantium. Their wounded bodies were accompanied by desperate cries of pain as they fell aside. As they ascended the stairs, Jubilee discharged another round of brightly-coloured bursts of energy to ensure their safe journey.

Unfortunately, the chaos and confusion were not limited to the first floor. At the top of the stairs, Logan and Jubilee were met with a barrage of running and screaming students in the darkness. Mixed with their cries were the loud, harsh voices of other soldiers, who were in close pursuit with their rifles aimed. Some fired, hitting a few students who shortly succumbed to drowsiness. Other darts missed, penetrating the wood panelling of the walls in the hallway.

A primal howl escaped from Logan’s lips as he ran past Jubilee towards several soldiers who were waving their weapons at a group of students. With his claws extended, he rendered the tranquilizer guns useless as he sliced the barrels off. The experienced warrior then grabbed the men by their collars and sent them tumbling down the spiral staircase. The men’s screams added to the existing din.

One of the students, Victor, a young boy with green scaly skin, a spiked head carapace, watched the scene unfold. His mouth gaped open, revealing a prehensile tongue. Then he turned to Jubilee, who was shielding the others behind her. He said, “Wow, Mr. Logan is one angry dude.”

The young firecracker sent another torrent of plasmoids towards a few soldiers who were attempting to charge up the stairs. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Logan punching one of the soldiers. However, he wasn’t satisfied with just one blow. He continued swinging, fist after fist connecting with the soldier’s head. Each snap and crunch under his fist provided a satisfaction he had not experienced in a long time.

“He just has some issues to work out,” she finally replied. Had they not been in the middle of fighting off intruders, she would have found her remark particularly witty. When she saw that the men below were still stumbling around, Jubilee quickly did a head count of the students. Reassured that all of were accounted for, she placed a hand on Victor’s back to encourage him to follow his friends. “Come on, let’s get you guys out of here.”

“What about Mr. Logan?” he asked.

Jubilee peered over her shoulder, slipping off her sunglasses. The sardonic warrior was in the midst of slamming the heads of two soldiers together, producing a POP sound. A faint smile graced his mouth as his opponents crumpled to the ground. “I’d say he’s copasetic,” she told Victor.

Logan jumped over the fallen soldiers and made his way to Jubilee and the children. “Where the hell are your teachers?” he demanded, glancing at Victor.

Before the boy could reply, the wall outside of Piotr’s quarters smashed open. The limp body of yet another soldier collided against the transverse wall, surrounding by a cloud of splintered wood and pieces of drywall. A towering figure emerged from the gaping hole. The glow from Jubilee’s fingertips bathed the person in an eerie light. Rather than flesh, the entire body was encased in a dense, blue-grey metal. The eyes and closely cropped, black hair were the only organic features the individual possessed.

Logan retracted his claws upon recognition of this individual. “Nice,” he commented, pleased to be reminded of his recently resurrected friend’s capabilities. His amusement soon disappeared when he noticed an unconscious Kitty in Piotr’s arms. “What happened?”

Seeing the stunned faces of the children nearby, the Russian reverted to his familiar flesh form. Clad in a pair of black sweatpants, he was still an imposing figure with broad muscular physique and generous height. “She vas at my door and dey shot her viff sometheeng before she could pass through,” he explained, his eyes wide with confusion. “Vot eez going on, comrade?”

“Don’t know,” Logan grunted, stealing a glance around the corner to ensure there were in the clear. The only activity transpiring at the moment were other students picking up their fallen peers and carrying them to where everyone else stood. “Cyclops was supposed to be keeping watch.”

Piotr grimaced. The fact that the raid happened so quickly and rather easily indicated a breakdown in security, which was a rare occurrence. “Ve have to check de tower,” he told his good friend as they and the rest of the children made their way down the hall. “Scott could be in trouble.”

Logan shook his head, finally pausing in front of the hyperlift that led directly to the sub-basement levels. “We ain’t gonna check on Cyclops,” he said, pressing the down button. As the doors slid open, he said, “You’re going to get these kids and the Half Pint to the tunnels. Jubilee and I will head to the tower. We’ll contact you once we figure out what the hell’s goin’ on.”

As the students crowded into the elevator car, Piotr began to protest. “I could come back and help you.”

“Help them.” The older man nodded in the direction of the children, whose terrified expressions intensified the need to evacuate.

Reluctantly, Piotr entered the elevator with Kitty nestled close. “Good luck,” he said as the doors slid closed.

We’re gonna need it, Logan mused to himself. He agreed with his team mate’s assessment. The mansion’s defence installations were based on Shi’ar technology, which included environmental measures, video monitoring, intrusion detection, and access control. The recent addition of a tower, complete with sophisticated surveillance equipment linked to the mansion’s network, also decreased the likelihood of any possible security breach. Whoever responsible definitely had extensive knowledge of the system. The realization made Logan’s blood run cold.

With his mind reeling from this conclusion, he nearly missed the sensory cues relaying the status of the intruders. Heartbeats, breathing, hushed voices, and footsteps were replaced with silence. Their collective scent, which had once hung so strongly in the air, had faded.

Dammit.

Before Jubilee could complete her survey of the hallway, Logan told her flatly, “Don’t bother.”

With her back pressed against the wood-panelled wall, the young girl gave him a quizzical look. “What?” she whispered, eyes then darting down the corridor in search of any movement. Her breath caught in her throat in anticipation of another confrontation. Flickering light surrounded the fist she had clenched at her side.

“They’re gone.” Logan grunted when his gaze fell upon the soldiers he had battered earlier. Their unconscious forms were arranged in a heap next to the one Piotr had thrown through the wall. He was feeling rather disgusted with himself for allowing the chaos to distract him. “Well, at least most of ‘em.”

Jubilee frowned and then peered over the railing to the foyer. Sure enough, there was no one. It was only minutes ago that the mansion was being swarmed by trespassers who were both well-armed and well-organized. Her sable brows furrowed in confusion as she turned to her mentor. “Where did they all go?” she asked in disbelief.

Standing by her side, Logan scowled. While some might have felt relief upon discovering the disappearance of the intruders, experience taught him to be cautious. The rapid manner in which the invasion and subsequent retreat occurred indicated some level of sophistication involved in planning. Their movements had been coordinated for the most part, striking in areas that were vulnerable. Moreover, it seemed no coincidence the attack took place on a night when there were many members away on mission. Based on the troops’ attire and weapons, it was clear that this was a professional outfit with substantial training and again, familiarity with the mansion and its defences.

After making this assessment, the laconic Canadian found himself dissecting the situation. The process was like peeling back the layers of an onion. His mind began analysing every aspect of the evening’s events, starting with the general aspects and narrowing in focus.

Logan grunted, a gesture often accompanied by displeasure and suspicion. “Somethin’ ain’t right,” he finally said quietly, scanning the hallway before heading towards the steps.

Jubilee followed him, keeping up with his brisk pace. She could almost see the wheels furiously turning in his head. Though their relationship stretched back several years, she was still in awe of his brilliant tactical mind. It was nothing short of amazing given his advanced age and traumatic experiences, both physical and psychological.

As they descended the spiral staircase, she said, “Other than our home being broken into, what do you mean?”

The Wolverine dropped to his knees when they reached the foyer. He picked up a spent tranquilizer dart, studying it under the glow emanating from her fingers. “Why would they use this?”

She crouched down next to Logan to join him in the examination. The question echoed in her brain, evoking feelings of being his student again. Taking a deep breath, she replied, “To knock us out so they can capture us.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt hesitant.

He turned to her. “They didn’t take anyone, kid. Remember?”

Jubilee nodded, recalling that the headcount she performed earlier. She watched him toss the dart back on the floor before rising to his feet. Following suit, she racked her brain. The intentions became quite murky in the face of the confusing evidence that lay before them. The troops seemed quite capable of inflicting serious harm but chose restraint. No bullets or explosives were employed. Instead, they used darts filled with sedatives rather than anything toxic.

“Didn’t it seem like they were more interested in makin’ lots of noise than anything else?” Logan asked, his gravel-like voice shattering her musings. They were now running towards one of the hyperlifts at the end of the main corridor. When they reached the doors, he pressed the button to summon the elevator. Fortunately, the wait was brief.

Jubilee followed him through the sliding doors and into the car. “Yeah, it was weird.”

“Weird is an understatement, kid.”

“Right…so what did they really want?”

Jean Grey awoke with a start, staccato-like breaths escaping from her lungs. Tendrils of coppery tendrils clung to her cheeks and forehead as her body jerked wildly upwards from its previous supine position. She was stunned to discover that her afternoon of reading was stolen away by evening’s darkness. She concentrated on the light switch on the wall behind her. In response, the room was now bathed in a soft glow of warm light. After several seconds, Jean managed to reorient herself to the navy ticking stripes and tattersalls, indigo quilts, creamy wool cables, cashmere knits and shearling throws of her living room. Blinking wildly, the statuesque telepath was rubbing the heel of her hand against her forehead. Her head felt as if it were contracting and expanding at the same time. There was so much occupying her mind at that moment—pain, feelings, and sensations. It was then she realized what elicited such an intense reaction.

She had another dream.

Often, Jean was unable to recall the content. Any visual or auditory information was frequently drowned out by overwhelming emotions. Fear, happiness, rage, and sadness coalesced into a single mass that coursed throughout her entire being. It was only when she rejoined the waking world that Jean could escape the confusion of slumber.

But this time was different.

She saw fire.

She heard screams.

She felt power and hunger like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Normally, Jean would have been disturbed. She had been scared of the dreams when she could not recall specific details. There were times when she would force herself to remain awake because the anxiety that seized her afterwards was too much bear. Not knowing what caused such fear made her question her sense of control and sanity. Furthermore, she believed that this mental block affected her abilities, causing her headaches and the constant psychic static. Her distress and sense of isolation were heightened when she was forced to scale back on her responsibilities. She was particularly upset when she had to delegate some of them to Emma, a woman whose loyalties continued to be in question by a number of people around the mansion.

Emma. The name alone made evoked disdain. While the icy blonde proved herself to be an asset on and off the field as well as in the classroom, there was something about her that made Jean wary. Her prior life as a Hellfire Club member fed into her suspicions along with the dubious business practices.

However, what truly irked Jean was Emma’s behaviour towards the men at the mansion, especially her husband. Initially, Jean thought she was being paranoid in her interpretations of their interactions. The dismissals soon crumbled in the face of mounting proof. Emma was particularly attentive to Scott, hanging onto his every word. The piercing stare associated with her haughty demeanour softened in Scott’s presence. Even the casual brush of the hand on his shoulder had less than honourable implications. Ultimately, it was their lengthy counselling/consultation sessions that signalled the crossing of boundaries. Scott admitted discussing his concerns regarding his wife’s health problems with Emma but insisted that nothing untoward transpired. Although she believed him, Jean was still upset. If anything, it should have been her he would confide in, not another woman. The fact that the other woman was Emma made the situation that much worse.

Following several days of fighting, the couple reached an understanding. It was a tense one given that Scott attributed nothing but good intentions on Emma’s part. After all, he told Jean, she was a colleague and a friend who understood the complexities of being a telepath. Her insight was crucial in assuaging his worries over Jean’s current difficulties. By sharing her knowledge and experience, Scott said he felt less helpless and more like the partner he thought Jean needed. In response, Jean asked him why he could not disclose those feelings and thoughts with her. Much to her dismay, Scott seemed at a loss for words.

Taken together, the telepath wondered how much more she could endure. But now that Jean could remember, the apprehension that usually ensued was gone. Instead, a sense of comfort enveloped every fibre of her being. She was also able to draw strength from what she had just experienced. Even the headache first experienced upon waking was now a distant memory. Staring at her outstretched hand, the graceful redhead felt as if she were holding the entire universe. Life and death, answers to any and every question ever postulated, and intimate knowledge of the end of time swirled in her consciousness. By comparison, the issues that ate away at her seemed so trivial and were better suited to lesser beings. While such thoughts were attributed to less ethically inclined and/or mentally troubled peers, they were simply evidence of an emerging truth.

She was changing.

Although she was a long-serving member of the team and second to the Professor with regard to telepathy, Jean never felt completely confident about her contributions. There were times when she questioned her role during missions. Specifically, she wondered if she were a liability on the field. There was little she could do in terms of mounting an appropriate offensive or engaging in defensive manoeuvring. Her telekinesis, while refined under Xavier’s tutelage, was still rather limited. The headaches and psychic feedback only served to undermine what control she had to begin with. Sometimes, she could move objects at will; other times, she was at a loss to even turn a page. As a result, her insecurity seemed to reach a zenith.

Sitting in her living room with a copy of Motherless Brooklyn on her lap, Jean realized her anxieties were no longer warranted. While she was unable to pinpoint what exactly happened, she felt a surge of confidence that long eluded her. It was strange to think that only earlier today that she was filled with doubt. At that moment, she felt as if she could rearrange mountain ranges within a blink of an eye.

Rather than acting on that particular thought, she chose to aim for something smaller. Her gaze fell upon the mantle on the other side of the room. Almost immediately, two framed photographs flew into her hands. A smile touched her mouth as she stared at the pictures with great affection.

The first one was of herself and Scott, which was taken on their wedding day. Their faces were bright and beaming with hope and possibilities. Only the sun shining behind them rivalled the couple’s bright expressions. Scott appeared especially handsome in his black dinner jacket, trousers, and bow tie, and white shirt. As for Jean, her ornate, strapless gown was adorned with Swarovski crystals, embroidery, and a silk train, which was topped with a floor-length veil made of ivory tulle. She remembered her ambivalence towards wearing such an elaborate piece but was finally pushed into it by Storm and Rogue. Both bridesmaids reminded her that she would only get married only once and that the occasion had to be memorable.

And it was. The ceremony and reception took place on the mansion’s grounds. Her family and friends outside of the institute attended, providing their unwavering love and support. With Storm’s influence, blue skies and a brilliant sun prevailed. Allison, who was enjoying success on the pop charts, performed at the reception. She had even dedicated several ballads to the couple. It was one of those days where everything fell into place. Up until then, Jean believed that experiencing such happiness was not possible. She could not recall a time when she was more in love with Scott and the rest of the world for that matter.

The second photograph was taken over two years ago during a road trip to one of the nearby ski resorts. Jean, Storm, Rogue, Kitty, Lorna, and a teenaged Jubilee were standing in front of snow frosted trees that overlooked subalpine valley and the awe-inspiring mountain peaks on the distant horizon. The group had decided to embark on a ski weekend to celebrate Jean’s twenty-eighth birthday. Because Scott had been away on mission, the women around the mansion had taken it upon themselves to take charge of the festivities. Even though very little time was spent on the slopes (much to Kitty’s chagrin), the weekend proved to be a wonderful one nonetheless. The broad smiles the women wore were indicative of the warm bond they shared. That, and the mulled cider and hot chocolate Rogue and Lorna ordered before the picture was taken.

Jean found herself tracing the outline of the faces in each of the pictures. Her heart swelled inside her chest as she did so. Although she had her parents in Alaska as well as her sister’s family in Connecticut, these were the people she truly felt the closest connection to in her life. They had seen her through so much, shared her laughter and loss, and experienced the world in the same she had. Yes, these faces reflected her true family.

I love you all.

Suddenly, the room was plunged into darkness. This was followed by a loud crash and the sound of shattering of glass from the front hall. Heavy footfalls upon the hardwood floors accompanied harsh voices and the clicking of weapons being readied. The noises grew louder with each passing second as the trespassers closed in. She could sense their apprehension and determination while they stood outside of her living room.

She should have been frightened. She should have prepared herself for a confrontation. She should have telepathically called out to Scott and the others. She should have warned them of the intruders.

Yet, Jean Grey decided against those options.

Her green eyes glittering in the darkness, she whispered, “It’s time.”

The sweep of the various labs, gym, and recovery areas in Sub-Basement Level One revealed nothing was amiss. No soldiers and nothing taken or broken into. The same results were obtained following a search of the facilities on Sub-Basement Level Two and the transport rail cars leading to the hangar bay. Even the power remained on. It was as if the trespassers completely forgot about or had no knowledge about these areas.

As he and Jubilee raced to the security tower, Logan was finding either scenario unlikely. The manner in which these men attacked the mansion indicated that this was not a random act. Moreover, the fact that everything was accounted for and undisturbed made him nervous. Having an idea as to what the motivation for the attack was allowed some predictability. It would be easier to determine their location and anticipate future tactics. The ignorance regarding any of these issues had them operating blindly—a situation Logan despised.

With Jubilee supplying pyrotechnic support to cover his back, the experienced warrior made a sweep of the hangar bay to ensure they were truly alone. He then signalled her to follow him. Access to the security tower was provided by a hyperlift located at the far end of the hangar. Logan quickly punched in the access code to summon a car.

Climbing into yet another elevator car, the two rode in silence. Not a word had been exchange since leaving the mansion. There was a possibility that eavesdropping equipment might have been planted to discern their movements, which would further hinder them. For Logan, it was best to rely on gestures and looks at this point. Having accompanied Wolverine on many missions, Jubilee was familiar enough with this manner of working. In spite of the years that passed, she had not forgotten any of his signals. The young firecracker was surprised that she was still able to anticipate his moves. It was as if they were picking up their partnership from it where had been left off. Had the circumstances been less dire, Jubilee would have been touched by this and made a comment. However, she would have traded in this moment to simply know that all was well.

Logan unsheathed one set of claws with a SNIKT that pierced the air. He glanced at Jubilee whose small fist was surrounded by a brilliant glow of multicoloured light. His green eyes locked onto her sapphire ones, making a silent inquiry.

You ready, kid? She inhaled sharply and nodded. Don’t be afraid, Jubes.

When the doors slid open, the gruff Canadian loner narrowed his eyes as he peered out of the car. His hand pressed on Jubilee’s shoulder to hold her against the wall, a gesture implying that she wait for him to complete his scan of the perimeter. Unlike the Sub-Basements, the tower had been disturbed. The overhead lights were flickering on and off, as if the power source had been tampered with. Further inspection revealed that several light fixtures had been shattered. The floor underneath was littered with broken glass and wires.

It was eerily quiet as Logan focused his senses to examine the scene that lay before him and Jubilee. He sniffed quietly in an attempt to search for stench of the bastards who terrorized them. Their scent lingered in the air but was fading with each passing second. Releasing Jubilee, he felt disappointed. He was looking forward to introducing the men’s heads to their asses.

Jubilee shone the light from her fingertips to guide them out of the hyperlift car. Inwardly, she expressed her gratitude that she was not alone. Experience had taught her that watching both sides was difficult while solo. Even more daunting was ensuring that no one was behind you when conducting your investigation.

Logan forged his way ahead. “Cyclops?” he called out, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. It was filled with an uncertainty that made him feel awkward and strange. “Cyclops?”

No response.

Logan’s blood ran cold when he noticed the upturned chair in front of the console that monitored the television monitors and the computer system fortifying the defences. The main keyboard had been smashed in, sending small sparks flying about. Buttons were missing from nearby controllers. Mindful of the echo of his footsteps, he made his approach.

Jubilee was following close behind as her eyes darted around the room in search of Scott. She called out his name as well. Her stomach performed a series of somersaults when there was only stillness. She could feel her lower lip quiver. Please let him be OK. Please oh please let him be OK.

Her internal pleas were interrupted by a soft moan. She turned to Logan, who was already racing to the other side of the room. Frantically, he checked the area, his gaze falling past the storage cabinets and backup generators. The moans became increasingly louder when he paused in front of the control unit for the mansion’s alarm system. Like the console, the device had been damaged. Keys were missing and levers had been snapped off.

He was about to call out to Scott again when he heard another moan. This time, his ears were able to locate the source. Immediately, he dropped to his knees and retracted his claws.

Scott was slumped against the adjacent wall. The lenses of his ruby-quartz sunglasses were slightly cracked. Blood dripped from his mouth and there was a bruise on his forehead. His hand, which was swollen, was clawing at his neck. The movements were both clumsy and wild. When Logan attempted to grab the other man’s hand, he noticed a tranquilizer dart sticking from the right side of Scott’s neck. The ballistic syringe was broken, sending some of the immobilizing agent through Scott’s system and onto his clothing.

“Wh-who’s there?” he demanded, his speech slurred. Even though he had managed to break part of the dart, the effects of the drug hindered his processing and coordination. It was as if he were swimming in a pool of highly viscous liquid. As much as he willed himself towards composure, his body failed to comply.

Jubilee, who was standing over Logan, choked back a sob. Relief and concern washed over her when she saw Scott. His battered appearance was shocking but the fact that he could speak was encouraging.

“It’s the cavalry,” Logan replied wryly, extracting the dart from the other man’s neck. He tossed it on the floor. “You okay?”

Scott managed to nod weakly. “My glasses… I think they’re broken.” His fingers fumbled at his chest, tugging at the navy nylon jacket he wore over a red chambray shirt and khakis. “I don’t want to open my eyes… Have my visor in my jacket…”

Logan grunted. The idea of performing a close search on Scott Summers’ person was the last thing he wanted to do. Given the circumstances, however, he could hardly back out. Fortunately, he was able to retrieve the visor. “Keep ‘em closed,” he instructed the younger man tersely, reaching over to remove his sunglasses. “Or I’m gonna add your name to list of people’s asses I have to kick.”

Scott complied albeit with a smirk. He had no doubt his name was already at the top of said list. When the visor was firmly in place, he gave a grateful nod to Logan. “Thanks.” He then saw Jubilee’s face, a worried frown marring her delicate features. “Are you okay?”

She nodded quickly before asking, “Are you?”

“I am now.” He tried not to wince as he struggled to straighten his body. His muscles cried out in agony, as if they had been targeted by the wrath of two rugby teams. His mental faculties, though fairing better by comparison, were still dulled from the tranquilizer. “Who else is here with us?”

“You’re lookin’ at what’s left,” Logan replied bluntly before quickly launching into a retelling of the night’s events and status update of the areas inside of the mansion. When he finished, the gravelly-voiced warrior asked, “So what the hell happened here?”

Head swimming from a combination of the drugs and this startling information, Scott tried to draw from his internal resources in an effort to respond cogently. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task at hand and not the throbbing sensation from his injured hand. Seeing Jubilee’s worried visage once again motivated him to persevere.

Finally, he said, “I…I was on monitor duty here when a couple of the screens started showing static. When I couldn’t manually reset the cameras, I decided to check on the satellite. I was about to make my way there but got blindsided. There had to be at least two…maybe three of them who stormed into here. While I was trying to deal with the one who hit me, the other two started tearing up the room. I tried to get clean shots but my sunglasses were smashed from the initial blow and I couldn’t get to my visor fast enough. I thought about just blasting them…but I didn’t want to make things worse by jeopardizing everyone else’s safety. When I finally took care of that jerk, I tried to grab my communicator to get someone on the horn. But they managed to trash that as well. Then one of them shot me before taking off. I tried to go after them but I couldn’t make it out the door.”

Logan frowned, grunting. “Did they say anything to you?”

“Nothing,” Scott answered, shaking his head in confusion. “Not even to each other.”

“Same here,” Logan mused, sharing his puzzlement. His eyes narrowed as he struggled to paint a picture, searching for information in Scott’s statement to clarify things. Unfortunately, he continued to be at a loss. Then he asked, “You okay enough to stand?”

Scott swallowed hard, his knees wobbling slightly. “Give me a second.”

Jubilee knelt down beside him, taking one of his arms gently and draping it around her shoulders. “Tell us when you’re ready,” she said softly as Logan made his way to the opposite side, following suit.

After taking a deep breath, Scott nodded gingerly. “I’m okay now.”

Slowly, the trio rose to their feet. Logan then told Jubilee to turn the chair over while he steadied their team leader. Flipping the swivel chair right side up, she steered it towards the two men. Carefully, Logan lowered Scott to his seat. The younger man started to protest, insisting that he was fine enough to stand. However, the dizziness that seized his head undermined his argument. He relented, taking the opportunity to get his bearings.

Meanwhile, Logan peered over at the closed circuit television monitors. The screens displayed black-and-white surveillance footage of various points around the mansion’s property, including Breakstone Lake, the hedge maze, the driveway leading to Graymalkin Lane, and the basketball court. His eyes narrowed as he analyzed each screen carefully. The video revealed no signs of the intruders, no clues of their means of transportation. It seemed as if they had disappeared into the shadows. He nearly accepted this conclusion when he noticed that two of the fifteen screens were completely black.

At that moment, his blood ran cold.

The first screen was assigned to the pathway leading to the boat house.

The second screen was assigned to the Summers’ home.

Scott followed the older man’s gaze. His face paled and his lower lip trembled, realizing the implications. He felt his heart leap to his throat, nearly suffocating him. Thoughts that roused his deepest fears threatened to overtake consume his entire being. In a hoarse and uncharacteristically wavering voice, he said, “We have to go. Now.”

Jubilee, who had been searching for a first aid kit, paused in her rummaging. “What?”

“We have to get to the house,” he told her, grimacing as he struggled to pull himself out of the chair. His panic was increasing exponentially as telepathic calls to his wife went unanswered. Jean, where are you? “Jean is out there. They could have her.”

The apprehension that fell over both Scott and Logan had now overtaken her as well. Oh please no…

Logan was at his side, providing a steady base for the younger man to use. “You sure you’re okay to go?”

Scott grabbed onto the gruff loner’s shoulder. With steely determination, he managed to rise to his feet and took several steps towards the door. “Jean is out there,” he repeated, trying to tamper the feelings of dread that welled up inside of him. The longer they remained in the observation tower, the more frightened he felt. “We…we need to get to her.”

Logan nodded in agreement as his quick strides carried him to where the younger man stood. His eyes conducted a brief assessment of Scott’s condition. He needed to know if his occasional rival was well enough to make the journey. While he empathized with the need to protect Jean, it was equally paramount that Scott had overcome the effects of the drug to anticipate whatever awaited them. Being outnumbered dictated that they had to be capable of mounting an appropriate offensive.

Breathing harshly, Scott stared at Logan’s stony features. He clenched his jaw when he realized what was happening. Like his team mate, he was aware of the importance that none of them were physically comprised given the threat. Having been in a similar position many times before, Scott understood. “I’m fine,” he said finally in a low voice.

The seconds that passed until Logan spoke up seemed like eons. “Then let’s get goin’,” he said brusquely, trying to mask his own anxiety. He turned to Jubilee who stood behind them. “Cyclops and I will take the charge. You’re going to follow and watch our backs. Got it, kid?”

She swallowed hard, nodding. “Got it,” she replied as sparkling lights danced around her fingertips. Inwardly, a myriad of emotions competed for supremacy—anger, desperation, excitement, fear, nervousness, and sadness. It took much of her inner resolve to subdue the intensity of these feelings. Not doing so would have undermined her resolve and focus.

Their movements reflected a quick stealth as they ventured from the observation tower to the pathway towards the Summers’ home. The evening air was surprisingly cool for spring. Scott found himself grateful for the briskness. It dissolved the drug-induced fugue that had blanketed his senses earlier. His legs felt stronger, allowing him to match Logan’s determined and swift strides.

Drawing upon his finely attuned senses, Logan performed a brief survey of the surrounding property as the trio continued their journey. With no sign of the intruders, he felt his stomach twist into a series of agonizing knots. The conclusion reached was disconcerting to say the least. In response, his pace quickened until he was charging towards the white, clapboard house in the distance. The dread he experienced in the observation tower had given to rage. As far as he was concerned, the attack on the mansion was a distraction.

Meanwhile, Jubilee had allowed herself to fall behind in order to maintain careful watch of their surroundings. Both Logan and Scott were already racing towards the house, which was located several yards away. She wanted to remind them that they were still unsure of the whereabouts of the intruders. However, she refrained from doing so when it was clear that only yelling would get their attention given how far they were at this point. Taking a deep breath, Jubilee prepared herself to play catch up. The surge of adrenaline flowing through her allowed the luxury of ignoring the screaming of her lungs, the pounding ache from her legs, and the sharp stinging sensation in her feet. Pain was secondary in relation to the objective.

The thundering sound of helicopter rotor blades shattered the stillness of the spring evening. The copter circled the estate, hovering briefly over Storm’s greenhouse. Logan and Scott briefly paused in their tracks, nearly blinded from the mounted lighting equipment attached to the transport craft. The two of them shielded their eyes while wondering where the hell the helicopter had come from. However, the time to ponder this question was limited given that the copter was now in forward flight.

Towards the Summers’ home.

Shaking off the initial sense of bewilderment, Scott placed his fingers on the side of his battle visor as he continued running. His attempt to focus the visor’s aperture without his battle gloves was a difficult task. The firing studs incorporated into the material allowed him finer control than with his bare hands. When he was able to fix the aperture, he steadied himself to prepare for an optic blast.

I won’t let anything happen to you, Jean.

At this point, Logan had expected to see a beam of red light emanating from Scott’s visor. He thought the helicopter would fall from the sky as a result of the concussive blast. Walls of buildings, solid rock, and even the top of a mountain had experienced the force of that blast. An armoured helicopter had very little chance given previous evidence. For the first time that evening, the gruff loner believed they were about to obtain the advantage.

Which was why he was stunned when Scott did not act.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, his thick, dark locks rumpled by the air current the copter was generating.

“I can’t,” Scott told him, his voice quaking with anger. He frowned in an attempt to concentrate. Perhaps his stress level was hindering the generation of energy. Much to his dismay, he was wrong. Nothing. Here he was, betrayed by his abilities at the moment when he needed them the most.

Logan grunted, disappointed with the tactical disadvantage. Apparently, those darts had something else other than a tranquilizing agent. “Then we’ve gotta find another way to stop those bastards.”

Several yards behind, Jubilee was debating whether or not she should take down the craft herself. She was certainly capable of doing so. The intensity of her plasmoids had the potential of devastating destruction. But it was moral stance on taking life, something that some of her peers treated as trivial at times, weighed heavily upon her. No matter whom these people were and what they did, killing them was not an option.

Before Jubilee could mull over the issue further, she was tackled from behind. Wincing, her stomach was pressed against the softness of the manicured lawn as the assailant twisted her arms behind her back. Her legs were also bent at the knees and contorted behind and over her. The brilliant glow from her hands dimmed as she was deprived of oxygen from the assailant’s weight on her back. Desperate, she bucked her hips slightly in an attempt to manoeuvre for leverage. Within seconds, Jubilee managed to raise her head from the ground. The new position placed pressure on her lower back, causing her to grimace. This discomfort faded once she had the height she needed. Quickly, she locked her ankles, positioning her legs completely around the assailant’s waist. Based on the weight of the individual, Jubilee knew she was dealing with someone who was wiry and not very bulky in muscle mass. Armed with this information and drawing upon lessons Logan provided about pressure points, she focused her energy on forcing the air from the person’s lungs in order to secure her own release.

When the assailant fell backwards, Jubilee seized the opportunity to scramble. Her chest was aching as she struggled for breath. Somehow, she managed to get on her hands and knees, crawling away and hoping to find some reserve to pull herself to her feet. Unfortunately, her attacker snaked out a hand and grabbed her ankle. She was quickly flipped onto her back. Her head was swimming from the abrupt contact with the ground but she was able to see the camouflage-painted visage of one of the soldiers.

He locked his legs against her sides while one of his hands seized her wrists, pinning them against the ground. His other hand trailed over her throat. It encircled and squeezed, testing how much pressure could be applied to force a cough. The soldier’s fleshy lips curled back into a sneer as he watched her struggle.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” he said smugly, clearly deriving pleasure in her predicament. His rancid breath was hot against her cheek as he brought his face closer to hers. “What do you say about us having a little fun? No one will have to know.”

Her delicate, red lips moved as if she was responding to him but the sound was trapped inside her narrowing airway. Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she felt his fingers squeeze her throat. Her creamy skin had taken on a purplish-pink quality as the oxygen deprivation continued.

The soldier laughed scornfully at her. “You know, I thought you muties had special powers. Looks like I’ve got the best of you, sweetheart.”

He was deciding his next move when the hand holding her wrists felt rather hot. It almost as if it were being burned. His eyes travelled to his hand, which was now blistered in the glow of the radiating multi-coloured light swirling from the girl’s fingertips. The brilliance soon became blinding, startling him enough to loosen his grip slightly.

That was enough for Jubilee to deliver a burst of globules, aimed at his face and upper body. The force of the ensuing plasmoids knocked him backwards. His unconscious and slightly burned form was sent flying, landing several feet away from her.

Coughing, Jubilee struggled to sit up. Her fingers touched her throat gingerly, the imprint of the soldier’s hand still visible. The rush of air was nearly too much but somehow, she managed to pull herself to her feet and started to run towards the Summers’ home.

As she passed by the soldier’s body, she rasped bitterly, “I said I’m nobody’s sweetheart.”

The cyclone of noise was deafening as Logan and Scott made their approach. The transport copter was hovering above the white, clapboard home. In addition to the lights being out, several windows were shattered and the door had been kicked in.

Shit, Logan swore under his breath, extending his claws. He was about to charge when he suddenly heard footsteps, crushing the soft grass behind him. Whipping around, his green eyes widened when he saw a gasping Jubilee dart towards them. He was alarmed when he noticed her rumpled, grass-stained clothes and a faint handprint around her throat.

“You okay, kid?” he asked when she finally made her way to where he and Scott stood. Both wore concerned expressions on their already weary faces.

She nodded although the ache in her muscles told a different story. “Yeah, I was just handling some leftover garbage.” Her sapphire eyes flicked over to the house. Trepidation suddenly took hold as their worst fears were being confirmed. “What’s going on? How many are in there? Is Jean alright?”

“Don’t know,” Scott replied abruptly. He jerked his head towards the front door. “I’m heading in.”

Logan raised a brow at him. “Can you—”

Jaw clenched tightly, the other man shook his head. Angry as he was with his body’s betrayal, Scott was determined not to be helpless or a liability. There was too much at stake. He had to go. His entire world was in danger with each passing second.

Logan, although not known for his empathy, fully understood Scott’s position. “I’ll take the lead and you and the kid follow,” he declared quietly. Then he added, “I’m in the mood to dance.”

Scott peered over at the older man before nodding silently in gratitude.

As they were about to make their way to the house, a pair of soldiers emerged. One of them was holding Jean close, pointing a gun to her temple. He dragged her along while his comrade called over his shoulder to the remaining group inside.

His heart in his throat, Scott halted in his tracks. At that moment, any semblance of a plan had given way to sheer panic. All he could think about was Jean, how frightened and small she seemed, and his promise to protect her. He could not despise himself any more than he did now. Scott was failing her.

“Stay back,” the soldier barked, dragging Jean along with him so that the rest of his men could leave the home. “Don’t do anything stupid or I will shoot her.”

Logan stared in disbelief, retracting his claws. This seemed to be part of some horrible nightmare. Yet, here he was, being forced to stand down, to be impotent at a time when he was needed. Usually, the Wolverine would not be privy to showing such restraint. It was he who was the first to strike, to draw blood, and to relish the anguish of the enemy on the battlefield.

He stifled a howl when his gaze fell upon Jean’s beautiful face. To his amazement, the graceful redhead appeared serene and not at all fearful of the danger posed to her. It was as if she had resigned herself to what was happening. There was a haunting calm in her emerald eyes that made him shiver. As long as he lived, Logan would never forget that look.

A series of rescue hoists were lowered from the hovering craft above. The soldier holding Jean waited as his men scrambled. Once they were inside, all but one of the hoists were retracted. It was that last one Jean’s captor used to escape, still clutching her close with the gun pressed against her head.

Jubilee, her hands glowing with what seemed like a million sparklers, turned to Scott. “What do we do?” she asked, her cerulean eyes round as saucers. Her tone seemed to plead with him, begging him to guide her in executing the appropriate response to save Jean. For all her training, Jubilee was at a loss. She was in the grips of her own anxiety and fear for Jean’s safety.

He looked at her grimly. A part of him wanted to tell her to take down the helicopter. He was quite aware of the potential Jubilee had. She could easily strike down the copter. However, this was tempered by the fact that his wife was with those bastards. Granted, Jubilee had gained a great deal of control of her abilities to the point where she could vary the intensity but given the stress experienced, it was questionable as to whether or not she could maintain her focus. There was a chance that Jean could be severely injured or worse, killed as a result.

Before he could decide on a course of action, he suddenly heard his wife’s voice inside his head. I’m going to be alright, Scott, she told him via their special telepathic link. Don’t be afraid. Everything is going to be fine.

As the helicopter began to ascend higher and higher, there was a loud screech. It sounded as if a large bird was crying out in agony. Then the craft began to wobble, jerking uncontrollably.

This was followed by an explosion.

It was at that moment Xi’an was crying out in Madripoor; Emma and Tessa were curled in fetal positions in their Cairo hotel room; the Stepford Cuckoos and Julian Keller began screaming while in the tunnels with the others students; and the Professor was slumped over the dinner table at a restaurant in Washington, DC.

The impact had slammed Scott, Logan, and Jubilee backwards onto the ground. Fiery pieces of the aircraft began to rain down from the sky. Fuel lines, control cables, tanks, rotor blades, and the engine crashed down onto the Summers’ home, swallowing it in a ball of fire. The body of the helicopter had split into two pieces, where one half joined the rest of the craft in the inferno raging below. Meanwhile, the second half of the copter was sent flying before plummeting into the depths of nearby Breakstone Lake. The fire crackled loudly, replacing the rumbling din of the rotor blades that pierced the air.

“NO!” Scott screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks as he absorbed the fiery scene before him. The flames that engulfed the helicopter and his home burned with an intensity he had never seen before. The orange-white glow was luminous against the darkness of the night sky. Without thinking, he leaped to his feet and began to rush towards the blaze. Jean? Jean?

He could not hear his wife’s voice anymore.

Logan jumped up and immediately planted a hand on the other’s man shoulder, restraining him. His expression was blank as he struggled to process what just transpired. “She’s gone,” he said, emptiness seeping into his soul. He felt as if he were choking as he repeated what their new reality. “She’s gone. She’s gone.”

Dazed, Jubilee stared up at the sky and then at the flames that were swallowing the home she had shared with Scott and Jean. Her lower lip trembled as the tears began to sting and blind her. When she was able to regain her hearing, Logan’s words began reverberate. She’s gone. She’s gone.

Scott jerked out of Logan’s grasp before giving him a hard shove. “No,” he cried, his face pinched. “No… You don’t get to say that! It’s not…not true!”

Logan seized him by both shoulders this time. He stared into the other man’s face, amazed at how his own response was nearly identical. As much as he wanted to believe, there was too much tangible evidence to contradict what happened. “Listen,” he said, becoming choked up as grief closed in on him. “She’s gone. Jean is gone.”

It was then that Scott collapsed against Logan and sobbed.