GO WEST

Chapter 22: "Hold Her Down"

For some reason, Gilbert had assumed that once he made it back to the Academy to tell his tale, that would be an end of the matter, at least for him. A large part of him had hoped that his week-long ordeal at Jennifer's side had been enough: that he could now pass on the baton, as it were, and take a little rest, allowing his leaders and teachers to handle things from here.

He hadn't expected, though, that the Academy would itself be in such a state of disarray. Whatever Gilbert had experienced on the Road to Vengeance (he gave this phrase sarcastic capitalization in his thoughts, as he had in his journal) had apparently been nothing compared to what the Hellions and their teachers had been put through at the hands of Devin Johnson.

The time since his return had been a flurry of activity, dealing mostly with security checks, providing medical assistance for the injured William Buchwald, plus obtaining a secured room for both William and his brother Dane (the latter had insisted on accompanying his mutant brother to the Academy, to make sure no one else would take a shot at him), not to mention convincing Security, through a series of questioning sessions, that he was indeed the missing Rabbit, and not some facsimile thereof.

Now, at great length, he was in a secured conference room with those Hellion leaders and co-leaders able to attend: Haroun Al-Rashid and Buford McGwynn of the A-team (the latter of whom was sitting very still in his chair, most of his torso wrapped in bandages, wincing every time he moved), Marsha Wilson of the B-team, and Mick MacPherson and Daniel Weller of the C-team. Also present were Security Chief DeCandido, Frost's assistant Tessa, and Dr. A.C. Kokiadis, whom Gilbert had never met, but who was apparently, along with Tessa and Mick, one of the Hellions' new general supervisors.

Gilbert listened, arms crossed over his chest, as Haroun, Mick, A.C. and DeCandido filled him in on the details of Johnson's attack, and the events that had transpired since: Frost, nearly killed by a bullet, saved only by quick action on the part of the Hellions and staff, plus the able emergency surgery performed by Dr. David Olson of Snow Valley Hospital. Paul Spangler, the male half of Gemini, apparently killed, leaving his sister Cassie a shell, wracked by the loss of her other self. Buford, burned badly by the pyrogenetic powers of his girlfriend Kristina Yarborough, while Kristina herself lay comatose in the wake of Johnson's mental domination. Tom Grindle's ribs snapped by Buford's unwilling fists. Jean-Pierre Delacroix, mind-blasted and left apparently amnesiac. And Kyle Burns, enslaved by Johnson's powers, also left comatose after Johnson's death at the business end of one of Etienne Delacroix's lightning bolts.

Most of this was accepted numbly, but Gilbert wasn't sure at all how to react to the news that Kyle was hurt. Or the fact that he was here.

Then it was his turn to recount the events of his day. He gave them the background, stating that he had stowed away with Jennifer as she'd left the Academy in December, and convinced her to allow him to join her quest for revenge. He insisted here that his hope had been to find their missing teammates rather than kill their captors, but he had kept this from the vengeance-obsessed Jennifer. He described his weeks at the home of Jennifer's brother in Atlantic City, and the precautionary steps taken in preparation for the hunt.

As Gilbert had expected, Haroun was the first to interrupt. "I have only one question," he said in an irritated voice. "Why?"

"Could you be a little more specific?" Gilbert sighed.

"Why did you take this action upon yourself?" Haroun went on, his face creased with annoyance. "You left the Academy with no word of your destination. Why did you not inform us of your intent? We could have assisted you."

"I considered it," Gilbert nodded, keeping his voice even. He wasn't about to let Haroun intimidate him; not this time. "I thought about telling Paul, Cassie or Marsha before I went, and then very nearly called for backup several times during the month. But I decided against it."

"Explain why," Haroun insisted.

"God, Haroun, you don't have to hound him!" Marsha put in.

"It's okay," Gilbert nodded to his friend and teammate. He then looked back to Haroun. "I made a judgment call. And let's be honest: if I'd told you what I was going to do, you'd have stopped me. More to the point, if I'd told you that Jennifer was going after Brainwash and Camouflage, I'm willing to bet Miss Frost would have sent the entire damn A-team to drag us back. Not like that would have stopped her. Haroun, you've known Jennifer longer and better than anyone else in this room; you know how resourceful she is. If you'd stopped her, she'd have found another way to go after them, this time alone. You weren't there. You didn't see just how much an obsession this was with her."

"What in Allah's name did you hope to accomplish?" Haroun snapped. "What made you think you could help her any better than we could?"

"She doesn't find me threatening," Gilbert replied patiently. "I was one harmless person. She could confide in me. She could count on me to keep it quiet, and to help her. And I did, because I honestly believed that the two of us, alone, had a good chance of finding Sharon and Angie. Miss Frost wouldn't have risked me, so I risked myself. That was what I hoped to accomplish. I hoped, I prayed, that if we could find them, maybe Jenny wouldn't be so hell-bent on killing anyone."

"Rabbit is correct," Tessa added, "in that Emma would never have authorized such an expedition."

"You took a hell of a risk, mate," Mick nodded.

"And I'd do it again," Gilbert told him. "I'll take whatever consequences I've got coming."

At this, Haroun arched his eyebrows, and while he didn't exactly smile, his frown was no longer quite so pronounced. "Very well. Please continue."

Gilbert went on to detail the cross-country journey to Flagstaff. At his description of Jennifer's constant use of her luck powers, and subsequent wasting illness, he noticed Haroun close his eyes, his mouth set in a hard, thin line. By the time Gilbert got to the part where he and Jennifer broke into the Buchwald house, and where Jennifer shot the fleeing William, Haroun was shaking his bowed head, holding one hand over his face.

"Anyway, that's when I called," he finished. "You know the rest. Sean came and teleported us back, and here I am."

"Wait a second," Dan spoke up. "Where's Camouflage now, then?"

"He's here," Gilbert shrugged.

"Excuse me?" Dan gaped.

"He's in secured quarters," DeCandido answered before Gilbert could. "He and his brother both. Dr. Friedlander treated his injury, which was thankfully minor, and they've been under close watch since."

"How in the world did you get him to come back here?" A.C. asked. "Especially after someone from here shot him?"

"I laid it on the line for them," Gilbert explained. "I told him that we could do something for his arm, first of all. Also that we needed to verify his story, and it might be easier to do that here. I also told him that I wouldn't let anything else happen to him... and I still mean that... and since I pretty much saved him from Jennifer, he seemed willing to give me at least a little trust. His brother insisted on coming with. I was... hoping that Miss Frost could handle the questioning part, but..."

Mick sighed. "Leave that t'me, then. With Angie still gone and Emma laid up, I'm the only one here who's tried to work with the bloke."

"You're sure he didn't have nothin' t'do with... October, Gil?" Buford asked.

"Positive. He was telling the truth. I could smell it, hear it, and see it."

"But the man's a shapechanger," Haroun pointed out.

"Of sorts," Tessa corrected him.

"Yes, granted," Haroun went on. "But could he not have disguised his scent with his mutant power?"

"I suppose it's possible," Gilbert admitted, "but his brothers and his grandfather were telling the truth, too, so unless the whole family's got that same power, I'll stick with my answer."

"I'll handle the questioning," Mick repeated. "We'll see if the story checks out." Gilbert looked over at Mick, and was somewhat surprised to see the traces of a smile of approval on the Aussie's face. Approval aimed at Gilbert himself.

"Are there any further details of which we should be aware, Rabbit?" Tessa asked.

"Um, no... I think I covered all of the relevant parts. I'd kept a pretty detailed account of everything in my journal, but... I don't have it anymore."

"What happened to it?" Haroun asked, eyes wide. "If that information falls into the wrong hands..."

"Relax," Gilbert assured him. "It was in Jennifer's car with the rest of my stuff when she took off without me."

Haroun nodded, then looked over at DeCandido. "Speaking of which, we should take steps to find her. What can we do, Chief?"

DeCandido considered this. "Well, I'm sure she's either discarded or disabled her locator beacon by now, but we'll give it a look anyhow. Apart from that, I'll have police communications in the area monitored, looking for reports of... what sort of car was she driving, Rabbit?"

"Black Toyota MR-2 turbo," Gilbert supplied. "California plates. I don't remember the number... that was something else I had in the journal."

"That should be specific enough," the chief nodded. "If she tore out of town as fast as you described, there may already have been sightings."

While the thought was fresh, DeCandido took a moment to radio this information to one of his assistants in the Security office, while the others sat silently, pondering. After a while, Gilbert stood up, paced around to the back of his chair, and leaned against it, arms braced against the back.

"Well, this doesn't get us any closer to answering the pivotal question, now, does it?" A.C. said at last.

All eyes went to the new supervisor. "Which is?" Haroun prompted.

"Well, what happened here last October?" A.C. elaborated. "The going theory was that Brainwash and Camouflage were responsible. Rabbit's ruled out Camouflage, and since Brainwash came here looking for Catseye, I think it's a safe bet that he didn't take her in the first place."

"That ain't necessarily true," Buford spoke up. "Maybe she got away from him, an' he came lookin' here, thinkin' she'd come back."

Tessa nodded. "We discussed that earlier, and there is one critical flaw in that argument: if Catseye had indeed escaped him, she would come back here. That would be her only logical course of action."

"You ever known Catseye to be logical, Tessa?" Mick snorted.

"That could mean anything!" Buford went on. "Maybe they're hurt, or holed up someplace. Maybe he did somethin' t' their minds."

"Wouldn'a worked on Catseye," Mick reminded him.

"Well, maybe he did somethin' t' Angie, then, I don't know!" Buford went on, exasperated. "Maybe Catseye got away, an' Angie didn't, and Sharon's still out there, tryin' t' rescue her! It could be anything! We need t' find 'em!"

"Or it could mean," A.C. pointed out, "that neither one of these guys had anything to do with it, and there's some other answer we haven't come up with yet."

Dan shook his head. "But you guys had evidence!" he said, looking at DeCandido somewhat helplessly. "I thought you proved it was them!"

"Far from it, actually," DeCandido replied. "The involvement of Brainwash and Camouflage was our best theory, but we had precious little by way of hard evidence."

"You had a damn semen sample!" Gilbert shouted. "How much more hard evidence do you need?"

"Tests on the sample were inconclusive," the Chief reported, coolly. "We couldn't get a positive match. Same with the blood samples. The only definite matches we found were Tarot, Catseye and Empath."

"That was something that always bothered me," Haroun nodded. "Even with the evidence of a struggle in Catseye's suite, there was no blood found but hers."

"Somethin' don't jibe there," Mick said, looking thoughtful.

"That's not all that doesn't jibe," Gilbert added, crossing his arms. "Chief, don't take offense, but your investigation already had one big hole in it."

"Oh?" DeCandido asked, with perhaps just a touch of venom creeping into his tone.

Gilbert wasn't going to let the chief intimidate him either, though. "Camouflage was one of your main suspects, right?"

"Right."

"Didn't you look for him?"

"Yes, of course."

"Didn't you check his home address?"

DeCandido furrowed his brow. "Yes, we did. I distinctly remember sending an agent out there to watch the place for a few days. There was no sign of him."

"Okay," Gilbert nodded, considering this. "Well, according to his grandfather, after William went AWOL from here, he came back to Flagstaff, and he's been there ever since, getting his act together. That was about April, then, long before you checked the place."

"And he was telling the truth?"

"Yes, definitely."

There was a pause, while DeCandido thought about this. "What are you driving at, Rabbit?"

"Well, if I was being told the truth, then either your agent had really horrible timing and kept missing him, or was completely clueless, or..."

Mick picked up on it, finishing the thought for him. "Or someone's covering it up."

"Christ, this is beginning to sound like an Oliver Stone movie," A.C. said, dragging his fingers through his hair and closing his eyes. He very quickly opened them again, though, looking a bit rattled. "I guess that's possible, though, isn't it?"

"An inside job, then?" DeCandido considered. He shook his head. "At this point, I'd say that anything's possible. I doubt it, but I can't rule it out."

Gilbert hadn't finished making his point, though, so he pressed on. "But if that got covered up, isn't it possible that some of the findings from the investigation were tampered with, too?"

"Again, anything's possible," the chief replied. "But there's not much to go on."

"I know, it's a hunch," Gilbert nodded. "But I want to check it out. I'd like permission to get at some of that data and look it over again, if I could."

"I could arrange that," DeCandido nodded.

"I'll help, if you'd like," A.C. added. Gilbert looked over at the man, then nodded. If nothing else, this would give him a chance to get to know the new guy in town.

"In the morning, though," DeCandido went on. "Right now we've got too much going on just keeping a lid on things to have anyone going through the archives and data storage."

"I want to farsight the body," Marsha added, quite suddenly.

Everyone turned to look at the B-team co-leader. "What?!" Mick asked, expressing the question that was probably on all of their minds.

"I want to use my powers on Johnson's body, to read his past," she explained. "I know that he had psi-shielding with his power, but he must have some past residue on him, and if I can check it out, I can see if he really did come here last October, or if he has Marie-Ange, or anything else that might be helpful."

"Out of the question," Tessa said immediately.

"But it could help!" she insisted.

Gilbert couldn't believe his ears. He had a sudden vivid recollection of the night of the abduction, when Marsha had used her past-sense to "read" the scene of the crime, and had mentally relived Angie's rape. "Marsh, you shouldn't," he said, face filling with concern. "If this guy was half the scum we think he was... God, I don't want to think about the things you'd find."

"But it'd be good hard evidence, wouldn't it?" she asked them all.

"The risk is too great," Tessa stated, flatly. "We cannot allow it."

Mick looked as though he wanted to protest, but Marsha beat him to it. "Look," she said, in as fierce a tone as Gilbert had ever heard from the girl, "with Cassie out, I'm the leader of the B-team. I know that sounds harsh, but so it goes. You people put me in this position of authority, so the least you could do now is respect your own decisions, and respect mine! I'm more than aware of the risk, but I'll take it."

There was a short silence, which Mick broke by clearing his throat. "We should consider it," he said, more to Tessa than anyone else. "She's right -- it could be the best evidence we could find. There are precautions we can take, after all. And she's got every right to ask to do it."

"Can that wait?" A.C. asked. "I read about what happened to you the last time, Marsha, and I think we're all a bit too strung-out to handle any more immediate risks."

She nodded. "It shouldn't make any difference, now or later."

"Then I'd suggest that," A.C. affirmed. His voice then darkened. "It's not like the man's going anywhere. Speaking of which, what are we going to do about Etienne?"

"What of him? Tessa asked, looking over at her fellow supervisor.

"Oh, I don't know. It's not like he didn't just kill someone or anything like that."

"I take full responsibility for his actions," Haroun spoke up. "It was under my orders that he fired upon Brainwash."

A.C. snorted. "That's very noble, Haroun, but..."

"It is also very true, Dr. Kokiadis," Haroun interrupted. "When the hold over us was broken by Kilowatt's blow, I ordered both Bevatron and Dragon to fire upon Johnson."

"But Etienne's got better control than that, I thought," Gilbert put in here, trying to keep up with the passing buck. "He's hit people with his lightning before. He knows how much juice to use without it being fatal."

"The man had just taken down his brother," Mick said, diplomatically. "For all Stevie knew, Johnny was dead. I doubt he was regulatin' his output, if y'know what I mean. Not t'mention that he had Chance boostin' him."

"It was in self-defense, right?" Dan asked, looking painfully hopeful.

"More or less," Mick agreed.

"Fine, fine, I can see all that," A.C. sighed. "But it just seems like we should do... something."

Mick turned in his seat to face A.C. "Mate, if y'ask me, Stevie's got enough to worry about now with what's happened to Johnny. When the time's right, I'll talk to him."

That was Mick all over, Gilbert thought to himself. He and Angie both had always taken all of the students' problems upon themselves to fix.

After a pause, Tessa spoke again. "Is there any more to discuss, or shall we adjourn this meeting?"

"Yeah, there's more t' discuss," Buford interjected. It looked as though he'd been barely containing this question throughout the previous discussion. "What about Catseye and Tarot? If he ain't got 'em, we need t' find 'em!"

"That is not a priority at this time, Beef," Tessa replied.

Buford stared at the woman as though her head had just come loose. He wasn't the only one, either, as several of the others turned to gape at her after she made this statement.

"As Chief DeCandido said," she went on, "we have enough to concern ourselves with here at the Academy before we may turn our attentions to matters outside."

"Outside?" Buford and Gilbert said together.

"Let me put it another way. Catseye and Tarot have not returned. If they are alive, and have survived this long on their own, then we may consider them safe for the time being. If they are dead, then there is nothing we can do to help them. Rabbit and Dr. Kokiadis have volunteered to re-check the findings of the previous investigation, and perhaps this will give new insight into the incident."

Before Buford could find his voice, DeCandido suddenly placed one hand to his headset. "Repeat that, Jones?"

After a pause, he looked up at the others. "Dr. Friedlander's outside. She has another update to give us."

Tessa, Mick and A.C. discussed this among themselves, then Tessa nodded to the chief.

Moments after DeCandido relayed this, the door to the room slid open, and Dr. Sharon Friedlander, the Academy's resident physician, stepped into the room, taking a place at the edge of the loose circle, the better to address them all. Gilbert couldn't help but notice that she looked drained by the day's events, as did all those present (except maybe Tessa, who never let emotion show through the cool surface).

"What's the news, Doc?" Mick asked.

"Well, we've done all we can for tonight," the doctor sighed. "Emma's stable, so she's not getting any worse, but even at best, she'll be a long time recovering from this. We didn't have any problems moving her down to the Underground facilities after Dr. Olson left -- Sean was able to teleport her back down as easily as he brought her up. Tom should be fine so long as he doesn't do anything strenuous for a while, and that means no workouts, clear?"

"Understood," Haroun nodded, simply. Gilbert wasn't sure why she'd even brought it up -- given the status of the team, he doubted there would be any workouts for a while.

Sharon let a small sigh escape before she continued. "I had to give Cassie a sedative to calm her down." Gilbert looked at Mick, and saw the pain in his expression as he closed his eyes and looked down. "As for Jean-Pierre... it doesn't look good. He's speaking English again, if a bit brokenly, but near as I can tell from the questions Etienne and I asked him, he has no memory of anything that happened in the last three years or so."

"Jesus," A.C. whispered.

"As far as he knows," she went on, "he and Etienne should be back in Tarascon right now, getting ready for exams."

"But he's speakin' English again?" Buford asked, hopefully.

She nodded. "He learned English in school, like a lot of European kids do. Right now, he's regressed to that level."

Dan shifted his considerable mass in his seat. "Well... maybe Miss Frost can help him once she recovers."

"Possibly, but that will have to take time. At any rate, both Kyle and Kristina are medically stable, but no signs of consciousness yet."

"I think I can help 'em," Mick nodded.

"That'd be appreciated, believe me. Anyway, I have Akiko on watch right now, so she'll sound the alarm if anyone's monitors start making noise. I'm going to be getting some rest, myself, and then I'll be back there at two-thirty."

"What for?" A.C. asked, wrinkling his brow.

Mick took a deep breath. "Fourteen hours," he said, softly.

"What do you..." The light suddenly dawned over A.C. "Oh."

Mick nodded. "Somewhere 'round two-forty is when Cass should be shiftin' back into Paul... if Paul's still alive."

There was a short silence, then Tessa spoke. "Thank you, Dr. Friedlander. Your work today has been commendable."

"Thanks," she nodded, giving a small, weary smile. "I'll be in my Underground rooms if there's trouble."

After the doctor left, Tessa once again returned to her self-appointed role as officiator. "Once again, is there anything more to discuss?"

"I'm afraid there is," said Haroun in a pained voice.

Gilbert looked over at him (as did just about everyone else). "What's up, Jet?" Buford asked him.

In response, Haroun raised his left arm slowly, and everyone in the room could hear the grinding of mechanisms as he struggled to move his shoulder and elbow joints. "My cybernetics are failing," he said simply, as though he were giving them the time of day. "They were strained during the battle, but I assumed the damage was minimal. Over the past hours, though, they have been growing steadily worse."

"Oh, geez, Jet, does it hurt?" Buford asked. "What can you do?"

"The pain is not great," Haroun said, shaking his head. "I am in no immediate danger of complete systems failure, but self-diagnostics show the damage to be severe enough to require maintenance." He looked to the three supervisors, obviously struggling to keep his chagrin from showing. "I will need to be taken to Dr. Mackey at FTI in the morning."

"How long?" A.C. asked, quietly.

Haroun closed his eyes to consider this. "Routine maintenance only takes a day or two. Something of this magnitude should keep me there for a week, at best. I am... sorry..."

"It is understandable, Haroun," Tessa assured him. "I shall make the necessary arrangements to have you transported tomorrow morning at 0800."

"Thank you," he whispered.

That, as it turned out, was the last order of business, so Tessa adjourned the meeting. Gilbert quickly found himself the center of attention, as there hadn't been time for re-introductions before the meeting.

Marsha was first, giving him a warm hug. "It's good to have you back, Gil," she smiled. "We missed you."

"I missed you too, Marsh."

Dan patted him on the shoulder with one of his huge hands. "You and Kyle back on the same day, no less. Looks like the '93 team supreme's all together again."

"Looks that way, yeah," Gilbert nodded, distractedly. The infamous Hellions Class of '93 was indeed all under the same roof again, but with Kyle comatose and Etienne having problems of his own, he didn't feel much like celebrating.

Chief DeCandido stepped up to him next. "I took the liberty of having someone get some things from your dorm room and bring 'em to your emergency quarters."

"Thanks, Chief. And listen, I'm sorry if it sounded like..."

DeCandido waved off his comment. "No trouble. It's a valid concern." He then looked back at A.C., who was standing behind him with Mick. "Let's plan on having you come in at noon," he said, looking from A.C. back to Gilbert. "That should give us time to straighten some things out."

"I'll be there," Gilbert nodded, with total conviction. His hunch was still gnawing away at him, and he found, to his surprise, that he wasn't going to have the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders after all, but at the same time, he didn't mind. He wanted this.

A.C. was the next to approach, offering his hand for Gilbert to shake. "Nice to meet you at last. I'm A.C., but I guess you already know that."

"Well, nice to be formally introduced, anyway. Gilbert Dane."

"I've heard good things about you. I'm looking forward to working with you tomorrow."

"Likewise," Gilbert nodded, giving the man a slight smile.

Buford then gingerly stepped up to give a pained nod. "Glad y'made it back, Rabbit," he grimaced. "Uh, if y'all don't mind, I'm gonna go lie down 'til about next Thursday." He touched his bandaged chest with one fingertip and winced.

Mick was the next, and last. "Alright, mates, clear off. I got some things t'tell Gilly alone."

The crowd obediently dispersed, Marsha and Dan waving back at Gil as they cleared out. Mick gave Gilbert another of the approving smiles he'd noticed earlier. "That took guts, what y'did."

"It needed to be done."

Mick's smile got a fraction wider. "Yeh, it did. But the point is, y'did it. I dunno 'bout anyone else here, Gilly, but I'm proud of ye."

"Thanks. I'm... glad to see you back here, Mick."

"Likewise. Is there anything y'want me t'tell Kyle when I wake him up?"

Gilbert looked down at his shoes. "I... don't think so. I'll... handle that later."

"A'right," Mick nodded, his expression now serious. "Y'know, Gil, when I heard ye'd left, I thought it might'a been for the same reason Kyle did. I'm glad I was wrong."

This said, Mick departed as well, so Gilbert followed, heading down to his emergency quarters.

Before he got there, though, a voice from behind brought him short. "Rabbit?"

He looked around to see Haroun approaching slowly, and as he neared, the sound of his faulty bionics became all too audible. "Yeah?" Gilbert asked, simply.

Haroun paused, as though looking for a way to say this. "When she... stopped using her luck," he said at last, "you say she started to improve?"

"Definitely. She still looked pretty strung-out, but once she had the chance to rest, she was worlds better."

"Good," Haroun nodded, still not meeting Gilbert's eyes. After a while, he took a deep breath. "Thank you," he said, "for watching out for her."

"I wish I could have done more," Gilbert replied, softly.

Haroun nodded again, then turned to go, walking away with a rather stiff gait.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Gilbert called after him.

"Yes," Haroun replied simply, looking back over his shoulder. He then continued down the hall, the sound of his failing systems receding as he went.

Underground Quarters (Secured), MassAc 10:29 pm EST

One of DeCandido's many sentries led Mick down to the lowest level of the Underground, then to the room currently occupied by William and Dane Buchwald. Two armed guards were posted outside the door, weapons in hand. Mick personally thought this last detail a little excessive, but Security was no doubt just a wee bit nervous after the day's goings-on.

"May I see your identification, sir?" one of the two posted sentries asked. It was a formality, of course, as everyone on Security knew Mick by sight.

"'Ere y'go, mate," Mick grinned faintly, flashing his ID. The sentry nodded, then motioned for his partner to open the door.

"I'll accompany you into the room," added the agent who'd brought Mick this far, drawing his sidearm as he spoke.

Mick gave the man (agent Platt, if Mick remembered correctly, which he usually did) a sour look. "D'ye really think that's necessary?"

"Absolutely," Platt nodded. "We have a potentially dangerous mutant in there, and you're unarmed." He indicated the videotape case Mick was carrying. "I don't think that'll be much protection."

"Yeh, well, danger or not, I don't think a show of force'll help us any. Keep it holstered, a'right?"

With some reluctance, Platt nodded and replaced the gun in his side-holster. By now the others had unlocked and opened the door, so Mick stepped in, followed by Platt.

Seeing as the secured quarters were more prettified prison cells than anything else, the furnishings were sparse and decidedly spartan, with a single bed, a chair, a desk, and a TV with a VCR in the corner. When Mick came in, he took a quick look around the room to see the injured William sitting up on the bed, and a taller, older-looking fella (Dane, obviously) sitting at the chair, both watching a movie. At Mick's entry, they both turned their eyes on him: Dane with open hostility, and William -- the elusive Camouflage -- with barely concealed anxiety bordering on fear.

"G'day, lads," he said, tipping his hat to them. "The name's Michael MacPherson, but y'can call me Mick. I'm part of the faculty here."

"That mean you gonna have some answers for us?" Dane asked in an accusatory tone.

"I sure hope so, mate," Mick nodded. He then turned his attention to the younger brother. "D'ye remember me, Will?"

William blinked a couple of times, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. You're the psychiatrist, right?"

"Well, not exactly, but that's close. I was one of the people who tried t'help you out of your psychotic state when y'came here last March."

"I... don't remember a whole lot about it, man," William said softly, shaking his head.

"Look, you gonna tell us why that crazy blonde bitch tried to kill my brother or not?!" Dane demanded.

Mick crossed his arms. "Well, it all boils down t'this, mates. This is a lot more'n an ordinary school. Somethin' y'ain't gonna find in the catalogs is that we have a program here for teachin' mutants, which is how William got referred to us in the first place."

"Yeah, we know that!" Dane snapped.

"So y'do," Mick nodded. "What y'prolly don't know is that last October, someone broke into the dorm where our mutant students are housed, killed one of our alumni, then kidnapped two others, rapin' one of 'em in the process. Whoever it was used mutant powers t'do it."

He then looked to William. "The two ladies that went missing were a tall girl with long red hair by the name of Marie-Ange, another member of the faculty here, and a shapechanger named Catseye. Either of those names mean anythin' t'you, Will?"

After a short silence, William nodded once. "Yeah. I remember the redhead more... She tried to help me, I think."

"That's right. Marie-Ange was t'be your primary teacher, and Catseye was assigned t'work with you, bein' that y're both shapechangers."

"So what's your point?" Dane asked, not letting up for a moment.

Mick sighed. "My point," he replied, "is that given the evidence, or mainly the lack of evidence 'cause of the use of mutant powers, we believed that William was one of the ones responsible for the break-in and the kidnappings."

"Oh, bullshit!" Dane shouted. "That's the same line your blonde bitch gave us! You just said you didn't have no evidence! What the hell made you think it was him?!"

In reply, Mick stepped over to the VCR, stopped the movie, and ejected the tape from the player. He then replaced it with the tape he'd brought with him, and pressed PLAY.

The screen lit up with a security camera's view of the Underground infirmary, where the somewhat distorted figure of William lay on one of the ICU beds, and Marie-Ange sat in a chair close by, interviewing him.

"Please, William, try to relax."

"Why the fuck should I relax?! Who the fuck are you to tell me to relax?! Can't you see what's happening to me, you stupid Frenchie bitch?!"

"I know," she replied, vehemently. "I know that it must be terrifying for you. Almost every mutant I've met was frightened of the first manifestation of their power, myself included. I know what you're going through."

"You don't know shit, girlie!! It's rippin' me apart!!"

"But we can help you," she insisted. "Your power is new to you, and you can't control it. We can teach you control, but you have to trust us."

William sat up slowly and scowled at her. "What the fuck does that mean? You gonna go in my brain like that other mother-fucker did?! You stay the fuck outta my brain!!"

"Please, William, listen to me!"

All of a sudden, William screamed, his deformed hands flying to his forehead. "Oh, Jesus God, stop it!!"

"But I'm not--!"

She was cut off mid-sentence as he suddenly morphed into a sharp-edged semblance of his own shape, hands and feet becoming claws, muscles and facial features as defined and edged as knives. With an inarticulate growl, he launched himself at her. "Gyyyyyyyyyyaaaaah!! I'll kill you, you fuckin' whore!!"

Marie-Ange rolled with the attack as he slammed into her, and the two toppled into the floor. She managed to spring to her feet and call out "Security!" just before he sprang for her a second time, both arms stretching beyond their normal reach to slam her bodily into the wall. One long-clawed hand gripped her around the neck, while the other grabbed the collar of her blouse and yanked down, ripping it off her shoulder.

At that moment, five armored security sentries (who'd apparently been waiting just outside) rushed in, overpowered the screaming mutant, and forcibly wrestled him back to the bed, one of them working to fasten a complicated set of restraints while the other four held him down.

Once he was secured, Marie-Ange gathered the remains of her blouse around herself and approached the crowd, her breath coming in wheezes.

"William," she gasped, "we don't want to hurt you, believe me. We only want to help!"

"You wanna help?" William replied in a deep growl. "Take a couple'a steps closer so I can snap that pretty little neck o' yours!"

"Ms. Colbert, maybe you better leave," one of the Security guards suggested.

She nodded slowly, still rubbing her throat with one hand. "I'll be back later, William, to talk."

"Yeah, c'mon back," he nodded, giving her a wide, nasty grin as he struggled with his restraints. "I ain't finished with you, you freakin' foreigner bitch. First I'll rip off your skinny little arms, then maybe I'll spread those little twig legs and split you right up the fuckin' middle, you hear me?! I swear to God I'm gonna fuckin' kill you!! I'm gonna--!!"

Dane, for the first time, was struck completely silent, his dark skin having paled to a shade of grey. William himself was hugging his legs to his chest with his good arm, and slow tears were beginning to fall from his eyes.

"I didn't know what I was doin'," he whispered, shaking his head. "I swear, I was outta my mind, man! I... didn't wanna kill no one, I just... I... thought that she was the one doin' it to me, makin' it hurt like that."

"I know that, Will," Mick replied, softly. "And I believe you, for what it's worth. But you gotta understand, when Angie was raped, even though we didn't have much evidence, it seemed to point to you. One of our students can sense the past, and though she couldn't read much, she could tell that the rapist had been insane. The semen sample we found on the crime scene didn't give us anythin' conclusive, an' we thought maybe it was because it had come from a shapechanger. And given the records of what had happened," he motioned his thumb over his shoulder to the now blank screen, "you seemed to have a motive." Mick felt kind of strange referring to "we" and "us," considering that he hadn't been here for the investigation itself, but what the hell. Best to present a united front.

"But he didn't do it," Dane said, quietly but insistently. "You said it happened last October? He was home all last October, with me an' Henry an' Grandpa. He went to work with me every day, an' he was never gone from the house more'n a couple of hours!"

"Yeh, that's what Rabbit says. And I believe it."

Dane seemed to be working back up to his earlier indignance. "So how come you sent that crazy blonde to kill him?!"

"We didn't," Mick said, firmly. "The lady you encountered, Roulette, was a member of the faculty here until last December, when she resigned. Angie and Catseye were her best friends, see, and I guess she took it upon herself to try to make amends, life for life, so she tracked you down. Lucky for you lads, the fella with her, Rabbit, took it upon himself to go with her and keep her from doin' anythin' stupid. Once he figured out you weren't responsible for any of this happenin', he stepped in."

There was a short silence, then William spoke. "So what happens now?"

"Well, if you lads don't mind, we'd like you t'spend the night here, an' we'll need to ask you some more questions in the mornin'."

"But he didn't do it!" Dane protested. "You said you believe it! Why can't we just go home?"

"I said I believe it, mate," Mick corrected him. "I'm willin' t'take both your word and Rabbit's, but there're still a lot of edgy people 'round here who think you had somethin' t'do with this."

Dane was about to protest further, but William cut him off. "Dane, chill out, man. I... think we oughtta stay."

"You crazy?"

"No," William replied, shaking his head vehemently. "Not no more. Look, Mister..."

"Just Mick."

"Yeah, Mick... I didn't hurt no one. Whatever I gotta do to prove it to y'all, I'll do it, okay?"

Mick looked at William for a long while, studying his desperate expression. "A'right," he nodded slowly. "I'll get another cot and s'more tapes sent down here if you'd like, and we'll talk more in the mornin'."

Underground infirmary, MassAc
Saturday, 22 January 1994 1:01 am EST

When Giancarlo Annichiarico ambled into the infirmary, he spotted Akiko Tanaka in the observation room, staring at a set of video monitors.

"Yo, 'Kiko," he said softly, crossing the waiting room to join her at the monitors. "How's everything?"

"Konnichi wa," she replied, giving him a shadow of her usual shy smile. "There have been no changes."

Giancarlo nodded, putting his hands on the back of her chair and looking at the array of monitors. His all-around sight allowed him to take it all in at once: for each patient there were two screens, one showing the patient through a videocam, the other showing vital signs. One for Emma, one for Cassie, one for Krissie, one for that new guy (or old guy) Kyle, one for... Mick?

"Hey, I didn't know Mick was hurt," he said.

Akiko shook her head. "Dreamwalker arrived here an hour ago. He is attempting to revive Kristina and Kyle with his powers."

"Oh," Giancarlo nodded, as if he'd already known that. He then brightened somewhat. "Hey, listen, I'm here ta take over for ya on the watch. Why don' you go get some sleep?"

Here, at last, she looked up at him, blinking slowly. "I can stay awake a while longer."

"Yeah, maybe so, but I don't haveta sleep much. 'S part'a bein' me. G'wan, 'Kiko, you've done more'n your share tonight."

She looked away, nodding distractedly. "Arigato," she whispered.

"Say again?"

"Thank you," she said, rising slowly to offer him the seat at the monitor console. He took it, giving her one of his best "everything's cool" grins. She either didn't notice or didn't care, though, as her own face remained impassive and blank.

"Dr. Friedlander will be here at two-thirty to prepare for Gemini's scheduled shift. Michael instructed that if he has not revived Kyle or Kristina by then, he is to be awakened."

"Got it," he nodded. "No sweat, I can handle it."

She nodded, then started for the door. Before she could leave the room, though, she stopped in the open doorway, placing one hand to the frame and leaning heavily against it.

"'Kiko, you okay?" Giancarlo asked, suddenly concerned. "You, ah, need any help getting back?"

She shook her head, then turned slightly, leaning back against the doorframe. "I can reach my quarters," she said, simply.

That only answered half the question, though, so he repeated the other half. "Yeah, but... you okay?"

After a silence, she shook her head again. "No."

In his weeks at the Academy, Giancarlo hadn't gotten to know Akiko as well as some of the other Hellions, even though she was a senior, like he was, and they shared several classes. In class, though, she was always quiet and studious, and in the Underground, they'd never really connected, since she was on the A-team and he was with the B-team.

Looking at her now, though, silhouetted in profile against the light from the waiting room beyond, Giancarlo noticed that she wasn't a bad lookin' girl at all. He'd never really been "into" the Japanese look -- not that he was racist or anything -- he just didn't find most Asian girls all that attractive. But at that moment, wearing that serious face, looking like all her guard was down, too tired to be shy, she looked pretty nice.

Not like he was about to ask her out or anything, but...

"'Kiko?"

"Yes?"

"You, ah, wanna talk about it?"

She turned that serious face to look at him. "Are you sure you wish to hear?"

"Uh... yeah, shoot."

"Alright," she replied, turning to look away again. After a while, she continued. "Before you arrived and saved us from Johnson, he spoke to me of the dragon, and of how different the dragon is. How it has desires, and how it thirsts for human blood, and hungers for human flesh."

"I heard all that," Giancarlo nodded. "I was up in the control room listenin' in, tryin' ta find pictures of Catseye so's I could imitate her. He was just pullin' your chain, the way he was everyone else's."

She shook her head. "No. In the fight afterwards, when I charged for him..." She broke off, swallowed once, then continued, her voice dropping to just above a whisper. "As the dragon, I wanted everything he'd said. I wanted to tear him apart and devour him, piece by piece. I wanted to bite his head off and swallow it whole. I wanted to taste his blood."

Giancarlo was, frankly, too stunned to come up with a reply to this. Some small part of his mind looked over Akiko's slender frame and wondered where she'd have, um, put Johnson if she'd shifted back after eating him.

He preferred not to think about that.

"Later," she continued, "when I was assisting Dr. Friedlander and Dr. Olson in surgery with the Headmistress... It was terrible. She had lost so much blood, and was still losing so much more... and I had to struggle to keep my mind on the operation, because all I could think about was how that blood would taste, and how much I wished to try it."

Here, she turned haunted eyes upon him. "There is something very... wrong with me, Giancarlo."

He shook his head. "Hey, you don' know that. Think of who you were dealin' with! He prolly put the thought in your head: made you want it."

"But he could not control my thoughts as the dragon."

"Yeah, but he was tellin' you alla that crap when you were still you, not the dragon. He prolly made you want it as... just you... then when you turned inta the dragon, you still wanted it. It don't mean it's your fault, or that you're some kind'a bad person for it."

She did not reply, but closed her eyes, looking pensive.

Very slowly, Giancarlo got out of his seat and stepped over to lean against the doorframe opposite her. "Hey, c'mon. It's been a long day, and you look pretty beat. Why don'cha go get some sleep, an' I bet when you wake up in the mornin' you'lla forgotten all about it."

At length, Akiko nodded slowly. "I hope you are right."

"G'wan," he said again, jerking his thumb at the opposite door and getting his grin back in place. "Get some sleep."

"I will." Hesitantly, she reached to take one of his hands and give it a squeeze. "Arigato."

"No problem."

With one last shadow-smile, she was off, leaving Giancarlo alone with the monitors. Only when she was gone did he return to the chair and let himself flop down into it.

For all his reassurances, he wasn't sure what to think of all of that.

Maybe it'd be better if he didn't.

When Dr. Friedlander arrived at the infirmary at 2:25 am, she found, to her weary relief, that Dreamwalker had been at least partly successful in his endeavors: Kristina had awakened from her comatose state. Mick had helped her to sit up on her hospital bed, and she was rubbing her temples, grimacing with obvious pain. Giancarlo was at the other end of the room, checking on Kyle (who still seemed quite unconscious).

"How do you feel?" she asked the girl, stepping into the semi-private room where the two had been resting.

"Like someone's taken a hammer to my skull," she said, quietly. "Ow."

"Well, that ain't too far off the mark, love," Mick replied, giving her a sympathetic look. "You'll be fine from here, though. It's over."

She nodded carefully, then looked from Mick to Sharon. "Where's Buford? Is he okay?"

For a moment, Sharon considered how she should answer this one. "He's alright. He's burned, yes, but with his durability, I don't think there'll be any lasting damage."

Kristina closed her eyes, her face taking on a look of guilt and despair. "Where is he? I have to talk to him."

"He's resting," Sharon assured her. "He'd better be, anyway. You should probably take it easy for a while yourself."

"No, no, Dr. Friedlander, you don't understand," Kristina insisted. "I have to talk to him! It's important!"

Sharon looked to Mick and raised her eyebrows. He nodded in reply. "She's medically stable, but y'already know that. Wakin' her up wasn't too problematic, and there shouldn't be any serious after-effects." He then gave the doctor a somewhat disturbed look. "I think it's, ah, pretty important she sees him."

"Alright," Sharon sighed, nodding to Kristina. "He's in his EQ's for the night. Just... try to get some rest, and that goes for you and him."

"Okay," Kristina whispered. With another pale smile to the both of them, she gently lowered herself to the floor and slowly padded to the door.

"Uh, hold up a sec, Kris?" Mick called after her. He scooped the bundle of her uniform up off a chair beside the bed and tossed it to her. "Y'may want t'get dressed first."

Kristina caught the bundle, then turned a surprised eye on herself, apparently noticing for the first time that she was dressed only in a hospital gown. "Oh. Whoops. Thanks, Mick."

"Anytime, love," he chuckled.

"Hey, Krissie, you need a hand?" Giancarlo asked from across the room.

There was a silence, as Kristina turned a look on the young Italian mutant that said, more or less, that she'd better not have heard that correctly.

Giancarlo then seemed to realize how that had sounded, and stammered out an elaboration. "I- I didn' mean gettin' changed, I meant gettin' ta Beeford's room."

"Oh!" she nodded, and even laughed. "Thanks, but no. I'll be okay," She then stepped out, obviously hurrying as much as her pounding head would allow.

"Smooth," Mick commented once she had gone.

"I didn' mean it like that!" Giancarlo insisted, giving them a stricken look. "Honest, I didn't!"

Mick chuckled lightly as he and Sharon went across the room to stand at the foot of Kyle's bed. "How's he look, mate?"

"He looks okay to me," Giancarlo shrugged in Mick's direction. "I don' really know what I'm lookin' for, but he looks okay."

"You couldn't revive him?" Sharon asked, checking the patient's status. His IV was still going, and vital signs seemed fair.

"Actually, he woke up before Kris did," Mick shrugged. "'Cept when he did, he went right back t'sleep again. Johnson had him awake for days on end, Doc; he was exhausted, even after bein' out for over twelve hours."

"Is he alright, then?"

"Yeh, he's sleepin' normally now. He should wake up when he's got s'more rest."

"Good," Sharon nodded to herself. She glanced over at the IV. "When he wakes up, I want to start him on some liquid nutrients, and maybe some solid foods, though nothing too strenuous just yet. That glucose feed is fine for now, but he needs some real food fairly soon."

"Sounds like a good plan," Mick agreed.

Here, Sharon crossed her arms, took a deep breath, and regarded Mick. "How much time do we have for Cassie?"

Mick consulted his watch. "I checked with the computer for the exact time Johnson attacked Paul, then set my watch to it. If she shifts at all, she'll do it in... fourteen minutes and thirty seconds."

"Are you going to have Chance here to neutralize her in case something goes wrong?"

Mick shook his head slowly. "Wouldn't do any good."

"But what if Paul is dead? We have to be able to stop the shift if..."

"Wouldn't do any good, Doc," Mick interrupted, his voice taking on a small amount of uncharacteristic heat. "Now, the way I see this, it could go several ways. If Paul's okay, she'll turn into him, and no worries. If Paul's dead, either she won't shift at all, or she'll try to shift and won't be able to, or she'll try to shift and it'll kill her. When Chance blanks their power, it only postpones the shift: it doesn't stop it. To bring her into this would only be puttin' off the inevitable."

"What if she dies, though?" Sharon asked, gently.

"I don't think she will," Mick replied, shaking his head. "There's gotta be some reason Paul turned into Cass after he got... attacked. I... hate t'say it, but if Paul died, I think their body automatically went to the only one of 'em left, and if he's gone, I think she'll stay."

"But what if she dies?" she repeated.

"Then we'll bury her."

"Jesus, Mick!" Giancarlo all but shouted.

Mick turned on the younger mutant, then, with face hardened and eyes flashing. "Don't think I ain't takin' this seriously. I've been worryin' about it the past fourteen hours, and I've thought it through over and over again. I know more about how the two of them work than anyone else in this bloody school, and I'm more'n aware of the risks. Trust me, there's nothin' we can do for her 'cept be with her when the time comes an' pray."

There was a long silence, and Sharon studied Mick carefully. She could tell that what they were seeing was just the tip of the iceberg: that in spite of his earlier humor and reliability, he was containing more than a fair amount of nervous tension, which was only now beginning to show.

"Giancarlo," Sharon said at length, "I'll need you in the monitoring room, to watch both us and Emma."

"Uh, sure," he nodded. After a pause, in which she gave no further elaboration, he backed toward the door. "Um, just give a yell if ya need any help. I'll... be watchin'. You can count on me. Yeah."

At length, he turned away and headed out, leaving the doctor and the psychiatrist-in-training alone.

"I hope you're right, Mick," Sharon said, finally.

"Makes two of us, Doctor."

Without another word, the two left the room, and headed over to an adjacent semi-private room, where Cassie was resting.

Except that Cassie wasn't resting when they arrived. As they came into the room, she rolled her head in their direction to look at them. Her eyes were shot with red, and her breathing was still ragged with suppressed emotion.

Mick underwent an immediate transformation as he approached, kneeling beside the bed and laying his hand on hers. "Hi, Cass," he said, softly, giving her a reassuring smile. "You been awake long?"

She blinked once in reply.

"How y'feelin'? Y'look a lot better."

"It's time, isn't it?" she croaked.

Sharon moved to the opposite side of the bed to check the monitors there. Cassie's vital signs were at the upper range of nominal, and the brain activity readout from the waking EEG was spiking dramatically.

"Pretty soon, love," Mick said softly. "It'll all be fine."

"What's gonna happen?" she asked, swallowing back a sob.

"We don't know," Sharon said before Mick could answer. He shot her a dangerous look, but she stared him down. "There's no way we can know, given our lack of knowledge of how your body operates. How much time?"

Mick checked his watch again. "Seven minutes or so."

"Is everyone else okay?" Cassie asked.

Mick exchanged looks with Sharon. "You go ahead," Sharon nodded to him. "I'll make some preparations."

She went into the small lavatory to scrub her hands, just for safety's sake, then went through her medical bag and began preparing a dose of the sedative she'd administered earlier, just in case it were to become necessary.

As she worked, she listened to Mick tell Cassie all about the status of her colleagues. His account was decidedly optimistic, describing the ease with which Kyle and Kristina had been brought out of their mind-shock, the resilience displayed by Buford and Tom, and Emma's refusal to give in to her injury. He even managed to put a positive spin on Jean-Pierre's amnesia, guessing that it was only temporary, and making a point of describing Etienne's devotion in staying by his brother's side as they went back to EQ's. Briefly, Sharon entertained the notion of suggesting that Mick get a job on the evening news: if he could make this disaster sound positive...

Mick continued to chat away the remaining few minutes, telling Cassie anything he could, from the performance of the C-team members of late to the study habits of his prep-level students. It was the best they could do for distraction at this point. Every so often, he checked his watch, and at length, he glanced up at Sharon. "One minute."

"Cassie," Sharon asked, gently, "do you usually feel anything before a shift? Disorientation? Dizziness? Any sort of physical indicator that it's about to happen?"

"No," Cassie whispered. "It just happens. But if he's gone..."

"The Doc was right, Cass," Mick assured her. "We don't know that yet. Hell, we don't know anything, really. But whatever happens, I'll be right here b'side you."

She gripped his hand with hers. "Don't you dare let me go, MacPherson," she whispered.

"Never will, darlin'."

"Time?" Sharon asked, gently.

"Twenty seconds," Mick breathed.

"Alright. Try to relax, Cassie, and just let it happen."

They waited the next ten in silence, and then Mick counted down. "Five... four... three... two... one... zero."

Nothing happened. Cassie took a shuddering breath and opened her eyes. "Oh, God, no..." she whispered.

"You don't feel anything?" Sharon asked.

"No," she whispered, bitterly. "Nothing at all. He's dead."

Mick squeezed her hand. "Look, Cass, he might not be gone. Maybe he's just... hurt, and can't take the helm right at the-"

And then Cassie screamed. Her body convulsed, every muscle straining, almost twisting out of the bed as she thrashed back and forth.

"Cass!" Mick screamed, springing to his feet and trying to hold her steady. Her flailing arm caught him hard in the face, though, and knocked him back several steps. Sharon immediately grabbed for the girl's wrists and yelled out "Giancarlo, get in here!!"

It took both Sharon and Mick to get her arms and legs pinned, but she still thrashed, trying to shake them off, screaming all the while. Sharon was horrified to see that the girl's face was losing its features, as though in the process of changing, but she couldn't seem to make it all the way through.

Giancarlo arrived on the scene at a dead run. "Doc!!" he shouted over the screaming.

"Get her arms!" Sharon ordered. Giancarlo quickly took Sharon's place beside the bed and grabbed Cassie's wrists, changing his hands into solid loops to keep a better grip. Sharon took this opportunity to go for her bag and grab the syringe she'd prepared.

It was at about that point that Cassie's convulsions ceased, settling down into great, wracking sobs, and her screaming became a banshee wail of wordless agony.

"Cass, Cass, Cass..." Mick was repeating, trying to get her to look at him. "You're alright, love, you're alright. It's over."

His reassurances were useless, as Cassie went on shaking and sobbing, completely out of control. "He's dead!" she cried. "He's dead... that son of a bitch killed him! He... he killed us!"

"Hold her steady," Sharon ordered Giancarlo, amazed at how level her voice remained. Once the younger mutant had her all but pinned, Sharon administered the sedative, deftly pricking Cassie's upper arm with the syringe needle.

In mere moments, it took effect, and Cassie's labored breathing eased into the more relaxed, numbed rhythm of unconsciousness. Giancarlo gently eased back, a look of horror on his face, and Mick staggered away, all but collapsing against the room's other bed, running his fingers back through his hair and taking a deep breath. There was a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth: apparently her flailing hand had caught him in the lip.

"Jesus almighty fuckin' Christ," Giancarlo said in a small voice.

"What happened?" Sharon asked.

"She tried t'change, and she couldn't," Mick spat. "Cripes, if she has to go through that every fourteen hours for the rest of her life..."

"No, Mick, that's not what I meant!" Sharon insisted, shaking her head to clear it. "There was a delay. Why the hell was there a delay?"

Mick thought about this, then scowled. "Because I'm a fucking idiot, Doc," he growled. Sharon was seriously taken aback; Mick never used language that extreme. "I asked the computer for the exact time Paul was attacked, not the time they changed, an' set my watch by that time."

Sharon sighed, trying to take some relief in the revelation that this had just been human error. "Honest mistakes happen, Mick."

Mick was silent, and at length, it was Giancarlo who replied. "Is she gonna be okay, Doc?"

"I don't know," Sharon admitted. "Emergency's over for now, though. You get on back to the monitors and keep an eye on Emma and Kyle."

Giancarlo made a great show of just staring at her, dumbstruck, then relented, going back to the observation room.

Sharon went back to the status monitors, to see that Cassie's vitals had stabilized at the sedated level. She knew perfectly well that there would have to be another solution found if, as Mick had suggested, this were to continue happening to her: to risk addiction to the sedative, or even over-sedation, would not be any kind of favor to Cassie.

"How long since you've had any sleep, Mick?" Sharon asked at last.

"'Bout half an hour ago, actually," he whispered.

"Okay, how long since you've had any sleep that wasn't work?"

"I can't leave her, Doc. I need t'be here when she wakes up."

"That's fine," she nodded. "I do, too. But we both need some rest."

"I'll be right here, then," Mick nodded, indicating the bed he was leaning against.

Sharon wasn't going to argue this point with him. "Fine. I'll be in my office quarters a couple of doors down. I'll have Giancarlo wake us both when her vitals get up to a certain level. Now you rest. And get some ice on that lip."

"Fine," Mick whispered.

She watched him for a while, remembering the optimistic Mick that had kept Cassie occupied with stories minutes before, of the die-hard staffer who'd never let up on his duty to the Hellions and the school in the wake of the disaster, and of the patient, understanding psychiatrist in all but degree who always had an ear for the problems of others. She saw none of those now, and it was very unsettling.

As she couldn't think of a reassuring word to depart with, she left without saying anything at all.

Underground Emergency Quarters, MassAc 2:38 am EST

Getting to Buford's quarters was a more daunting task than Kristina would have thought, given the dramatic increase of security in the Underground. One of the sentries insisted in accompanying her to Buford's door, even going so far as doing the actual knocking and opening of the door for her. Only when he suggested he should accompany her inside did she draw the line, insisting that they'd be perfectly fine.

It was warm inside the small room: warmer than Buford usually kept his suite in Dent Hall. When she saw him, though, she began to understand why. He was laying on his back in bed, under no covers, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts.

"Buford?" she said quietly as she stepped up to the side of the bed.

"Hi, Kris," he whispered, looking up at her.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" she asked, absently.

"Nah, I... couldn't sleep anyway."

The room was mostly dark, but there was still more than enough light for Kristina to see just how much her fire had hurt him. Most of his chest was a harsh, angry red color, even under the layers of salve that had been applied: a Kristina-shaped burn from where she'd hugged him, against her will, while aflame. He was blistered badly across his lower chest and down his abdominal muscles, and there were even twin trails of red curving to either side and presumably onto his back from where she'd put her arms around him. He seemed to be laying on a creme-soaked layer of bandages, and it occurred to her that there was no position he could lay in without being at least partly on his burned skin.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I can't believe I did this to you..."

"Ain't your fault," he said, his voice almost inaudible. "It ain't you that did it; it was him."

"Does it hurt?" she asked, trying to fight back tears.

"Only when I move," he winced. "Doc says it'll get better, but it'll just take a while."

"Good, that's... that's good," she whispered in reply.

There was a long silence, then. There was more between them than just the burns, but try as she might, Kristina couldn't think of a way to bring it to light.

"Y'know somethin'?" he asked her, finally.

"What's that?"

"I always... Y'know how I've always said t' you how I can't believe that a smart, beautiful gal like you could'a ever fallen for a stupid country boy like me?"

"Buford, no," she sighed. "It's not true, what you're thinking."

"It sounds like it might be."

"I don't believe it," she insisted. "Who's to say he didn't lie?"

"But what if he didn't? What if... he really did force you into wantin' t'be with me?"

Buford was beginning to cry, and at this, she stopped trying to hold back her own tears. "Well, what if it is true, then?" she cried, shaking her head. "Maybe he did push me in your direction. I don't care, though! People have met under plenty worse circumstances than that, and learned to love in spite of it all. And besides, Johnson was gone for months, and my feelings haven't changed, except for the better! There's only one person in this whole world who makes me love you, and that person is Buford Lyle McGwynn. I love you, and I love you for you. Please believe me..."

His speech momentarily dissolved into weeping. "Kris, I... I love you too, I really do, I... You're the best thing that's ever happened t'me, an' I... when he said that, I got so scared, I... I didn't want'a believe it, but... I've always been so afraid I'm gonna wake up one mornin' an... you ain't gonna be part'a mah life no more."

"And he knew that," she assured him. "He knew you were afraid of that, and he used it against you."

"I always wanted you t' be happy," he babbled on. "I want'a do anything I can for you, an' I always will. I want'a marry you, Krissie... I want us t' be a family, an I want'a give you everything y'could ever want in life, just... please don't go. Please, Lord, don't let it all'a been a lie..."

She wanted nothing more at that moment than to hold him, but she couldn't, so instead, she leaned herself across his broad, unhurt shoulders and held his face to her. "I gotcha," she whispered, running her fingers through his crop of strawberry blonde hair. "I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Main Security office, MassAc Underground 12:21 pm EST

"Once again, I'm sorry for the delay," Chief DeCandido told Gilbert and A.C. as he led them through the Security complex to his private office in the very back corner. "Things have been tense, as you could expect."

"I can imagine," Gilbert nodded, taking note of the haggard look of both the chief and Kokiadis. Both looked exhausted, which matched Gilbert and just about everyone else around here this morning, but A.C. looked especially bad: he had the look of one who hadn't slept -- not to mention shaved -- in days.

At length, after dodging the traffic in the main complex, they reached DeCandido's door. The room beyond was small, spartanly furnished, and cluttered beyond belief with paper. A large desk was the apparent center, with most of the desktop space being taken up by a huge computer system topped with a nineteen-inch monitor.

DeCandido motioned to a couple of chairs stacked with pages of printout. "Go ahead and pull up a seat; I'll get you into the archives."

"What should we do with all this?" Gilbert asked, indicating the stacked pages.

"Set it over... wait, no, put it..." The chief frowned. "Better yet, give it here." He accepted the stacks from both of them and set them up on a shelf, barely finding room amidst the books and papers already occupying this space.

"I need to get back to work in the Big Room," DeCandido then informed them. "Anything you need to know before I go?"

"Just one question," A.C. spoke up. "How many members of your force know we're re-investigating? If there is a leak, and someone is covering things up, they might not take kindly to us digging things up."

"Good point," DeCandido nodded. "We've kept a good lid on it so far. This is one case where rumor might just work in our favor, though. Out of everyone on the force, only Corsi, Platt and I have any idea that we're looking for a suspect other than Camouflage. I seriously doubt Corsi's our leak, and I've got him keeping a surreptitious eye on Platt just to make sure we've got our butts covered."

"I guess that's all we can hope for," A.C. sighed.

"We'll just have to work fast," Gilbert shrugged in reply.

The chief gave them another nod. "I'll leave you to it, then, and if you need me for anything, you can..." He broke off, then, and adjusted his headset with one hand. "Repeat that, Jones?" he said into the mike.

After a pause, his eyes got a fraction wider. "Is that so? Oh. Well, I suppose that's good news. I'll send him right over."

"What's up, Chief?" A.C. asked, furrowing his brow.

"Emma is, actually," he replied, holding his hand over the headset microphone. "She regained consciousness about fifteen minutes ago, apparently. She's asking for you, Kokiadis."

Gilbert was torn between relief at the Headmistress's condition and amusement at the blank look A.C. gave the chief. "She's asking for me Kokiadis?" the professor mirrored back.

"Looks that way. You better head up to the infirmary."

A.C. looked over at Gilbert and shrugged. "Can you start without me?"

"No problem," Gilbert nodded. "I'll see if I can have the case cracked by the time you get back."

"Scwewy wabbit," A.C. chuckled. "Okay, Chief, I guess I'm game."

As the two left the room, Gilbert closed the door behind them, then headed back to the desk, taking a seat before DeCandido's gargantuan computer. He had been dumped into the main Archive directory, so he began navigating the sub-directories until he found the one he wanted: 9311RPTS.

This directory contained all the mission and status reports filed by Security during the month of November, 1993, when the check on the Buchwald house was to have taken place. He then found the report itself, and called it to the screen.

The account of the four-day watch was pretty dry reading, mostly giving hourly reports of little to no change, occasionally making mention of the apparent work hours of a twenty-ish young man driving a Camaro (Dane, obviously), and the regular schooltime of the younger child of the house. Toward the end was a more detailed description of the house, including checks of every window, and even, at one point, breaking into the place to take the best possible look around. It had been a thorough job, apparently.

Gilbert's main concern was the name at the bottom of the report, though.

SBMTD BY: BROOKS, DENNIS L. 04473

Kyle Burns looked up from his magazine as the door to his recovery room opened, and Dan Weller brought his considerable mass through the door. Danny had a tray in his huge hands, and a crooked grin on his face.

"Howdy, Kyle!" he said, cheerfully. "They sent me to bring you lunch."

"Hey, Danny," Kyle nodded back, giving his big friend a half-grin. "You mean to tell me they trusted you with my food?"

"Heck, I wouldn't wanna eat any of this stuff," Dan shrugged, propping the tray up over Kyle's legs as Kyle scooted to a seated position.

"You know, I think that's the first time I've ever heard those words come outta your mouth."

"So how do you feel?" Dan asked, leaning up against the wall.

"Been better."

"Well, that's understandable, considering."

Kyle gave Dan the Spock eyebrow. "Considering what?"

"Well, the way I hear the story, after Brainwash got... taken down... it looked like you were a goner. Do you remember any of it?"

"Porky, I don't remember crap. How 'goner' was I?" Kyle picked up his spoon from the tray and took a sample of something with the approximate consistency of applesauce. It tasted like chicken.

Dan shrugged. "I guess you'd stopped breathing, and you didn't have a pulse. Haroun saved your life, though." With this, Dan gave Kyle an evil grin.

Kyle stopped mid-spoonful. "Whoa, back up a second. Haroun saved my life?"

"Yep, that he did."

"We talkin' about the same Haroun here? 'Bout yea tall, dark, could probably crack walnuts with his glutes if he wanted? That Haroun?"

"That Haroun," Dan confirmed. "He gave you CPR and emergency breathing, and you pulled through."

There was a long silence, as Kyle gave Dan a look of utter surprise. "Danny," he said at length, "do you mean to tell me that I was lip-locked with I'm-Just-Wild-About-Harry Al-Rashid, and I missed it?!"

"Looks that way."

Kyle sighed disgustedly. "There ain't no justice."

A.C. was met in the waiting room of the infirmary by a stern-looking Dr. Friedlander. "Ten minutes," Sharon said without preamble, pointing her right index finger practically clear through his chest. "Not a second more."

"Okay, okay," he relented, holding both hands to his sides in surrender. "She asked for me, remember?"

"I know that, Doctor. I shouldn't even allow this, but you know how Emma gets when she sets her mind to something."

"Oh, trust me, I know," he nodded. "So..?"

Sharon took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. "Follow me."

The doctor led him to one of the private recovery rooms, opened the door for him, then motioned for him to enter. "Ten minutes," she repeated.

A.C. entered the dimly lit room, to be met by the constant drones of various pieces of machinery (well beyond his realm of study) which he assumed were keeping watch over Emma's status. And as for Emma herself...

As could be expected, she was not looking her best. Her skin was pale -- far more so than usual -- and her face wore a glazed, numb expression. Her hospital gown gave no evidence to the wound she'd been given, but even so, she lay so perfectly still that her unwellness was quite apparent.

He took a chair beside her bed and watched her face. Her eyes were closed, and for a brief moment he wondered if she'd brought him all the way here just to fall asleep on him.

But then her eyes opened, and she tilted her head ever so slightly to look in his direction.

"You look dreadful," she whispered.

A.C. nearly laughed in spite of it all. "You're not exactly fit for the cover of Cosmo yourself. How do you feel?"

Emma paused before answering, and even then, her voice remained a bare whisper. "I was shot at pointblank range. I lost more blood than I even knew I had, and came closer to dying than any living creature ever should. My alimentary tract has been surgically shortened, I will quite likely be faced with the prospect of living the rest of my life with only one kidney, and I am going to be left with a network of highly unbecoming scars. All in all, not a good day."

"You're lucky to be alive," A.C. replied, soberly. "The scars and all that -- that's not even worth considering. You survived."

"I am certain that I shall agree with you in time," she said, slowly blinking her eyes. The blue color of the irises seemed almost transparent in this light. "At the moment, I do not feel very lucky."

It wasn't going to do any good to discuss this with her, he knew, so he changed the subject. "Why did you ask for me to come?"

"Ah, yes," she replied with the tiniest of nods. "There is something very important I've been meaning to discuss with you, Dr. Kokiadis, but the time never seemed appropriate."

"And it's appropriate now?"

"Very much so." She cleared her throat, and a small measure of her voice began to show through the whisper. "When I fired you, it probably looked as though it were a snap decision made in anger and pain. The truth is that I've been considering it for a number of days."

"Why?"

She turned her face further toward him, the better to lock gazes with him. "I don't like you, Dr. Kokiadis," she said, bluntly. "Since the day you arrived, you have been a large thorn in my side. While your work with the children has been excellent, I find you an overly rebellious employee with little to no regard for authority, save for the opportunities it presents you to show off your vaunted skills in sarcastic forensics. I find you absolutely impossible to work with as a colleague, as you seem to be of the opinion that your years of association with members of the Greenbriar faculty make you far more suited to oversee the Hellions than either their founder or any of their long-standing members. You are stubborn and dogmatic, and highly resistant to any ideas outside your own scope of right and wrong."

"Emma," A.C. began.

"You also have a tendency to interrupt before the point has been made," she continued. "You will please allow me to finish."

A.C. opened his mouth to respond, his thoughts reeling, but he then thought better of it and decided to just hear this out.

"What I find most infuriating of all, though, is that you are an excellent teacher. I find your dogged attachment to your ideas all the more irritating because many of your notions are good ones. You have been here for less than a month, and yet you have become closer to some of the students than I have ever been able. They don't see you as distant and detached, the way that I fear I will always be viewed -- out of rank, out of the necessities of the corporation, out of some aristocratic reputation... You have gained their loyalty, their trust, and most of all, their respect. You have helped to fill a great void that was left when Marie-Ange vanished last autumn. You have natural leadership abilities that astound the both of us. And all of that makes you far more dangerous than Shaw, than Selene, than any other threat ever faced by this Academy."

"Emma, I don't understand," A.C. said softly, shaking his head.

"You and I seem destined to disagree," she explained. "You have made it no secret that you do not approve of some of the past dealings of this institution, or of myself in particular. Even now, you have made a great show of expressing your dissatisfaction over the methods of the Academy, in spite of the fact that our teaching techniques have been developed and tested over six years by not only myself, but my senior students. You obviously do not approve of some of the lengths to which we have gone to keep this school a secret, or to deal with those who would destroy it. We cannot continue in this way, Doctor. Many of the students are loyal to you, and if it comes down to the final moral schism between you and me, as I fear it will, it could tear the Hellions apart, destroying years of work and effort. They will take sides, and the unity and autonomy I have worked so hard to achieve will be lost. That is why I fired you, Dr. Kokiadis. I cannot stand by and watch you undo my life's work before my eyes."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" he asked her, quietly.

"Intentionally? No. Trust me, if that were your intent, I'd have... dealt with you much sooner. But lack of intent doesn't make the damage any less. I cannot have you working against me, Doctor. And most importantly, I cannot tolerate insubordination in the presence of the children. Why should we expect them to work together if their teachers are not capable?"

"You're talking about the way I blew up in the Combat Room, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes. I certainly do not expect you to agree with me all of the time, Doctor, but that... outburst... was completely uncalled for."

A.C. rubbed his hands over his face. "I wasn't exactly in the best of shape. And you... All I saw was that you were being the cold, emotionless White Queen that people say you used to be, taking a horrible, horrible situation and treating it like an exercise. If I'd known that you were being... distant... because you were trying to keep your insides from falling out, I probably would have held my tongue."

"I can understand your reaction," she nodded, "but that does not mean that I may as easily excuse it. Instances like this are a sad reality in the lives of mutants, and these are the times I need you -- and Michael and Tessa and Haroun -- more than ever. And I need you working at my side, not snapping at my throat."

There was a short pause. A.C. thought about this, and wondered if this meant he were being given another chance. Before he could ask, though, she spoke again.

"You still believe there could have been another way to deal with Johnson, don't you?"

A.C. shook his head. "I don't know anymore. I wish there could have been."

"So do I," she whispered. "Last October, I had the man at my mercy. In years gone by, I would have killed him, but I wanted there to be a better way, so I let him go. And then he came back and took my children."

It took A.C. a moment to understand what she meant, but then he shook his head again. "If you mean Catseye and Tarot... he came here looking for Catseye, and I guess he was surprised that she wasn't here. He didn't have her, Emma, and personally, I don't think he ever did have her. Gilbert and I are looking into it now."

She gave him as suddenly surprised a look as the painkillers allowed. "Gilbert? Gilbert Dane?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess you wouldn't know... He got back yesterday evening. That's... kind of a long story in itself, but he's okay."

"Ah," she nodded. "I'll... wish to speak with him later."

"I'll warn him," A.C. nearly chuckled. His tone then turned more sober. "You've been... beating yourself up over their disappearance ever since October, haven't you? If we're right, though, it wasn't your fault in any way."

"Perhaps not, but what of yesterday?" she asked, simply. "What of the injuries, emotional and physical, and one possible death? I could have prevented this, Doctor. I could have killed that man when I had the chance. But I, too, thought there could have been a better way. Look at the result."

At this point, the door opened, and Sharon came in. "Doctor Kokiadis, your ten minutes are up. She really needs to rest." Sharon said this last in an insistent tone, directed more at Emma than at A.C.

"Alright, Doctor," A.C. nodded, pushing himself to his feet. He then looked down at his employer and tried to smile. "Now, you know I'd be the last person in the world to suck up to anyone, but is there anything I can get you?"

"Actually, there is," Emma mused. "In my office, in one of the locked drawers of the bookcases, you'll find..."

"Hold up," A.C. sighed. "I can't do that. Your office is a crime scene, and we can't really go poking around in it. We, ah, also kind of had to trash the place, so that we could give the Sheriff a good story."

She took this remarkably well, but then, she was a wee bit sedated. "Was that really necessary?"

"Well, we had to get rid of the blood trail that led underneath the bookcase somehow."

"Aha. Well, then. If you could, take one of the Academy charge cards, take it to the nearest music store, and pick me up a compact disc player, along with everything Dire Straits ever recorded. Would that be possible?"

A.C. blinked once. "Dire Straits?" he asked, having some difficulty imagining that he and Emma could share this particular bit of musical taste.

"Yes. Or any of Mark Knopfler's solo works, if they're available."

"Well... if you'd like, I could just loan you all of my copies until we can get back into your office. Assuming that's what you wanted out of your office, of course. Would that do?"

She arched one eyebrow at him, and he thought he could see the trace of a smile. "That would do nicely, Doctor."

Sharon politely cleared her throat. "If you're finished, you two?"

"Right," A.C. replied, heading toward the door. Before leaving, though, he turned and looked back at Emma. "Actually, just one more very quick question?"

Sharon rolled her eyes, but Emma nodded. "Go ahead."

"Am I still fired?"

At this, Emma did smile. Maliciously.

"I'll think about it," she replied. "I have two weeks. It's in your contract."

"Fair enough."
 
 

Next: "I Heard Someone Crying"

Go West #22: "Hold Her Down"
by Jeremy Bottroff, 23 April 1995

 This story (c) 1995, 1999 Jeremy Bottroff

"Hold Her Down" performed by Toad the Wet Sprocket, lyrics by Glen Phillips, music by Todd Nichols, Glen Phillips and Toad, (c) 1991, 1999 Wet Sprocket Songs (ASCAP), from the album FEAR

Haroun Al-Rashid (Jetstream), Beef, Bevatron, Chance, Marie-Ange Colbert (Tarot), Tom Corsi, Sharon Friedlander, Emma Frost (White Queen), Selene (Black Queen), Sebastian Shaw (Black King), Sharon Smith (Catseye), Jennifer Stavros (Roulette), Tessa, Hellions, Massachusetts Academy (c) 1999 Marvel Entertainment Group

Sentry Dennis Brooks, William Buchwald (Camouflage) and the Buchwald family (Dane, Henry and "Grandpa"), Kyle Burns (Camouflage), Gilbert Dane (Rabbit), Chief DeCandido, Jean-Pierre Delacroix (Lightningrod), Thomas Grindle (Hardbody), Sentry Jones, Dr. Mackey, Michael MacPherson (Dreamwalker), Lieutenant "Mack" McElhatton, Sentry Platt, Cassie and Paul Spangler (Gemini), Paul Stavros, Akiko Tanaka (Dragon), Daniel Weller (Dough-Boy), Marsha Wilson (Farsight), Kristina Yarborough (Embers), Dent Hall created by Jeremy Bottroff, (c) 1999 Jeremy Bottroff

Devin Johnson (Brainwash), Sean McDermott (Pathfinder), Greenbriar Academy created by Michael Jones, (c) 1999 Michael Jones/Everbard

Giancarlo Annichiarico (Kilowatt), A.C. Kokiadis created by Keith R.A. DeCandido, (c) 1999 Keith R.A. DeCandido/Albe-Shiloh

This chapter takes place roughly in between Chapters 9 and 10 of HUMAN TOUCH, by Keith R.A. DeCandido

Dr. David Olson is the same fellow who brought Brynn McAudry into my world, and I sure hope the Air Force doesn't station him in Massachusetts when he's done with his residency (though there are worse fates)

Spock (c) 1999 Paramount