http://x_cyclops.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
x-cyclops.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
xp_logs2005-10-28 12:37 pm
x-cyclops.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2005-10-28 12:37 pm
Air Xavier, part 3
Scott finds out it's not just the Libyan army catching up. A swift take-off is definitely in order.
Scott looked over his shoulder with a frown, hearing the cursing. He recognized David Rabin as the other mutant blurred to a stop just behind the chair. "What?" he asked.
"We're out of time," the ex-Mossad agent said grimly. "The Libyans are in sight."
Scott started to answer, and then swore as the report from Alison came in over the coms, confirming that with details. "Do me a favor," he said to David, "do what you can to make sure everyone's strapped in. We're going to be lifting off fast, I think."
"Me an' m' big mouth," Sam said, already toggling switches and bringing the engines of the 'Bird up off of standby status. "Ah had to go an' ask for no complications."
Scott scanned through the radio frequencies, trying to find... there. "Cable," he said over the coms, "I've got com-chatter in Arabic here. Translate?"
There was a moment of silence, and then Nathan's voice came, sounding out of breath. "Fuck! They're scrambling fighters!"
"Yep, that's it. No more openin' m' mouth anymore," Sam muttered savagely under the rising whine of the 'Bird's engines.
"Sam," Scott said very calmly, listening to the team's reports as they got themselves, the Pack, and the last of the kids aboard, "I'm going to have to take the stick, I think. Will you keep an eye on the radar for me?"
"Can do," Sam replied succinctly, directing the radar feed to his side of the cockpit. This was going to get interesting.
Scott took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then thumbed the hatch closed as he heard Alison's 'all secured' over the coms. "This is one of those times I wish I was a religious man," he murmured, and engaged the VTOL.
"Ah think Ah can handle bein' religious enough for the both of us," Sam replied, a prayer already on his lips.
--
Infidels. In Libyan airspace. That would just not do. As his MIGs howled up off the runway and into banked turns, each pilot expressed their desire to bring the infidels down in various small ways: a grin here, a tightening hand on the stick there. They were the fiery sword of Allah, and it was time to take that sword out of its sheath and strike.
"Sam, how many?" Scott asked quietly, hearing the telltale alarm of the radar.
"Looks like three," Sam replied, intently watching the screen. "All coming in from behind, though they're a little spread out."
"Damn it." He had been focusing on heading for Tunisian airspace as fast as possible, but he didn't dare keep running for the border, not with three MIGs on their tail. "We don't have much terrain to take advantage of, here," Scott said, and dove, the Blackbird's engines screaming as they headed for the deck.
The MIGs came roaring in pursuit, the three planes spreading out to keep the 'Bird well covered. The obligatory demand to land and surrender the aircraft was made. Not that any of the pilots was very eager for that to happen.
"Bite me," Scott gritted under his teeth, and made sure they were still headed northwest. He leveled out the plane barely fifty feet over the crest of the dunes.
This had to be done by the book, though all three of the MIG pilots knew how this would end. The infidel would not be landing. A single missile came from the lead MIG, obviously a warning shot set to detonate away from the Blackbird.
The next one, Scott knew, would be for real.
And it was.
--
Just like on another occasion, during another mad flight over another continent, the Blackbird's pursuers find out that she does indeed have weapons aboard.
"Hold on!" Scott's voice over the intercom was still level, but there was a sharpness to it there hadn't been before. "They're firing on us, I'm taking evasive action..." The Blackbird proceeded to do something its original designers would have boggled at, and a number of the kids started to shriek at the midair acrobatics.
Jean itched to be in the cockpit, still not a hundred percent resigned to not being copilot on most missions. She did still occasionally catch herself falling back into patterns of thought from before when it had just been the three of them. Not that Sam was going to be needed much for his piloting with Scott flying his heart and soul out, but it would help calm her nerves if she could see the instruments, get a better idea of what was after them.
Of course, there was another way. Expanding her powers, Jean reached out to sense their pursuit.
#No.# Nathan's voice in her mind was utterly calm, absolutely steady. #Not like that.# It drew her attention to him, sitting a few seats away, strapped in like everyone else, but with his hands clenching and unclenching on the staff of his psimitar. #Together. Link?#
#Of course,# Jean sent, opening her mind to him instantly.
They made the link instantly, familiar enough with each other's minds from all the many, many hours of practice that it was like reaching out a mental hand and clasping the other's. #Not the missiles themselves,# Nathan sent. #Too power-intensive, at the rate that they're moving.# And there were four of them in the air at the moment. #The empty spaces inside them.# He pushed his perceptions downwards. #Agitate the air molecules,# he said, and took the two on the left.
Catching his meaning, Jean nodded absently. After her attempt at setting the lake on fire, she and Nathan had worked on that reaction, honing it until it was not simply instinct. She understood how she did it, and now the fire itself was almost easy.
#Brace yourself when you do it,# Nathan sent, jerking in his seat at the feel of his two missiles exploding. There was no pain, but a substantial shock, that lattice of light exploding in two spots.
It was fascinating watching them. She could almost see the point when the whole thing just collapsed in on itself right before the flash.
#There's more.# It was unnecessary to say it, really. He imagined that she saw... no, felt them, just like he did. #I'll take the two on the left again?#
Jean had sensed the sharp focus of the pilots before they'd fired - it was still easier for her to follow the actions of people than things -and followed the missiles flights from there. #They're yours,# she told him, narrowing her focus to the right most missiles.
Nathan waited until they were right... there, yes, and as he detonated the missiles, he smiled tightly as he sensed the MIGs alter their trajectory to avoid the explosions. It would get the 'Bird out of the firing line for a few seconds, and every second counted. Every second got them closer to Tunisian airspace.
--
Scott continues to fly his heart out. Kylun, Cole, and one of the children make a deal that involves kissing the ground.
"Sam, are those missiles exploding before they reach us or is that just my imagination?" Scott asked very calmly as the 'Bird rose and fell, banking left, then right, the only thing remaining steady the northwesterly trajectory towards the Tunisian border.
"It's not your imagination, sir," Sam replied without looking away from the radar screen. The three MIGs were not going to be shaken off.
Nathan and Jean. Had to be. "They've got to run out of missiles at some point," Scott murmured, then kept up his deliberately shifting course. Back and forth. Up and down. Taking advantage of the 'valleys', the only feature of the terrain that he could use. He was still barely clearing the tops of the dunes, and if he hadn't been so focused, he would have clipped a wing long since.
Sulfurous curses filled the MIG cockpits. "What sorcery is this? Our missiles explode before they even reach the plane?" one of the pilots exclaimed. A barely restrained growl from their superior answered him. "Why did Allah curse me with pilots who have camel dung for brains? What are the cannon on your planes for? Shoot them, you idiots!"
Oh, that sound he did not at all like. Scott gritted his teeth. Haroun was going to kill him if brought the plane back with bullet holes.
--
The plane banked left, then right, then left again, and Chris Cole very determinedly did not glance in the direction of the window. He didn't want to know their altitude. He didn't want to see the Libyan MIGs. Mostly because there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it right now but hold the hand of the fourteen year-old girl strapped in next to him and try and pretend that everything was indeed going to be all right.
"I don't think any of these kids are going to grow up to be roller-coaster fans," he said to the X-Man strapped into the seat on his other side. Kylun, he reminded himself.
Kylun chuckled. "They will not be alone, then. I had not seen an airplane up close until something on the order of a year and a half ago, and I still do not find them particularly comfortable." The plane lurched, and Kylun shifted in his seat, compensating. "Particularly not like this!" He offered the girl a reassuring smile. "But Cyclops knows this plane like no other, and I am sure we will be fine."
Cole translated Kylun's word into Arabic, and the girl managed a tremulous smile, replying. Chris couldn't help a faint smile of his own. "She wants to know if you and Theo are related," he said, trying not to stiffen as the plane dove a few hundred feet, all at once. "Since you're both on the furry side."
"Ah." The plane stood on one wing for a moment, and when it settled back, Kylun shook his hair out of his eyes, but his smile at the girl never faltered. "There is something of a resemblance, isn't there? But no, we are not related, as far as I know. I have no living family of my blood."
Cole translated quietly, but she was clinging to him, burying her face against his arm and not paying much attention. He put an arm around her as much as he could manage, ignoring the continuing dancing movement of the plane. "Bridge says that the Professor's got a contact with a therapist in Tunis," he said quietly to Kylun, managing to keep the bleakness out of his tone. "They're all going to need it. You should have seen the conditions in the camp when we pulled them out of it. At least they fed us properly, at Mistra."
"Well, they will not be going back," Kylun said firmly. "Whoever this friend of the Professor's is, will be honorable, and will look after them." He shook his head. "I have seen enough, both with the X-Men and before, that I can imagine something of what they must have been through. There is much evil in the world."
The girl looked up, then gave a little moan as the plane banked again sharply. Cole swallowed, very carefully, and told his stomach to behave. "You know, I've been in Blackbirds before. I'm almost positive this one is doing things that it's not supposed to be able to do."
"It is . . . customized, I think, to a very great extent." Kylun gingerly unclenched his fingers from around the armrest and wiped his forehead; the plane lurched again, and his hand shot back down. "But I think this is excessive, even so." He took a deep breath. "Cyclops is a gifted flyer, and I am sure we will be safe."
"I think I'm for solid ground for a while, after this..." The girl looked up at him, and Cole translated, then grinned crookedly at her vehement agreement. "Okay, so that makes two of us." She added something, and he surprised himself with a laugh. "She says we can all kiss the ground together."
Kylun laughed. "That sounds like a very good idea. Those of us who were meant to fly were born with wings, or other means of levitation."
Cole started to answer that, then blinked as something flickered at the corner of his vision. He looked around to see both Nathan and the red-haired woman - there hadn't been time for introductions -beginning to glow, just a little, where they sat strapped into their seats.
"Okay. Really don't want to know what they're doing." The plane ascended on something alarmingly close to a ninety-degree angle, and the girl yelped and clung to Cole harder. He gave Kylun a helpless look.
"Something . . . alarmingly telekinetic, I should think," Kylun replied, his voice strained. "No doubt it will be over soon. And perhaps when we land, we can make a competition out of kissing the ground. The way I feel now, I think I would win."
--
There's a poem for every moment. Even this one.
There was a poem that Scott had learned, and loved, in one of his very first English classes at the school. Charles had more than respected his obvious love for the maths and applied sciences in designing his curriculum, but he had insisted on including the liberal arts to what Scott's sixteen year-old self had considered an alarming extent.
And for a while, he had pouted about it, shamelessly. But there had been moments. More, as the years had gone on. Impromptu performances of Shakespeare, impassioned discussions of various classic novels...
And the occasional poem. Including the one that had stuck with him, and come back to him again, over and over, on a number of occasions. His first solo flight. The night the Blackbird had been delivered to the mansion. So many other times. And now.
Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings...
The landscape beneath them was changing. Sand dunes were turning into rocky plains and plateaus. A little more room to manuever, and Scott took ruthless advantage of that. The MIGs were still behind them, still firing, and Sam reported the explosion of each missile in a monotone.
How long could Jean and Nathan keep this up? The MIGs would be carrying a limited number of missiles. Just outlast them... Scott's gaze flickered briefly to their coordinates. Closer. The Tunisian border was getting closer.
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence.
Radar lock. Again. Scott banked sharply, heading for the deck and ignoring the small, strangled noise coming from Sam as he kicked in the afterburners. Down, and then up again at an even sharper angle. He only hoped this wasn't making things harder for the telekinetics.
"Keep an eye on our fuel," he said to Sam, thanking Haroun silently for all of the work he'd done on making the 'Bird more fuel-efficient. They were going to need every ounce.
The roar of the engines was right. He could feel it in his bones, feel the Blackbird responding just as he needed her to. Hell, he could almost feel the wind on his own skin.
Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
Scott's jaw clenched as one of the MIGs got ahead of them, trying to make a pass with his guns. You do not shoot up my plane, Scott thought, his eyes narrowing behind the visor as he set a course right for the other plane. Let's see you play chicken with something a few times your size...
The Libyan pilot had a solid sense of self-preservation, and broke off with plenty of room to spare. Scott threw the 'Bird into a roll to get back on course, wincing a little at the scream of the engines. He could feel Jean in the back of his mind, still focusing hard on the attacking planes.
And then there wasn't any room for wondering about her, or the kids, or whether or not he was rattling them, the Pack, and his team around like ping-pong balls or not. All he could do was fly.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
As the smaller, supposedly more nimble MIGs struggled to keep up in her wake, the Blackbird rose and fell, soared and dove.
Danced the skies.
--
Wanda rescues a girl who decides to ignore the metaphorical seatbelt light, and winds up getting up close and personal with Theo, who is a big fan of the idea of humor as coping mechanism.
As the Blackbird bucked and rolled, it was too much finally for one of the kids, one of the younger girls. She started to struggle with the straps holding her into her seat, obviously panicking, and before a groggy Matsuda, the adult closest to her, could react, she had undone the safety harness.
Out of the corner of her eye, Wanda saw the young girl stand up and try to go...somewhere. But with Scott having to manuever the 'bird the way he was, there was no way she was going to get anywhere safely. Cursing, she undid her own safety harness within a few seconds and lauched herself at the girl, feeling the floor leave her feet as it bucked and came back down.
The girl froze as she saw Wanda coming at her, thankfully, and mumbled something terrifed-sounding in Arabic.
And this being part of the world that she spoke not a word of their language. "It's okay, it'll be okay," she soothed, holding out her hands to her. She needed to get her back in her seat now before things got any worse. Reluctantly it seemed the girl actually went to Wanda. Scooping her up in her arms, she swiftly got her back into the seat and hooked up. Giving her a quick smile, she turned to head back to her seat.
Unfortunately, that was the same time that suddenly the floor was no longer where it was supposed to be since Scott pulled what had to be a beautiful turn and now it was Wanda's turn to be sent tumbling.
An enormous arm was suddenly grabbing her by the back of her leathers, as if she were a kitten being picked up by the scruff of her neck, and then that same enormous arm was wrapping around her securely, pulling her down across a very large lap. "I think the seatbelt light's on," Theo pointed out.
"Oh, but who needs a seat belt if we have you around?" Wanda asked, gripping tightly onto the front of him and wondering if closing her eyes would make the dizzy go away. She was never, ever getting on a rollercoaster after this.
She felt, as much as heard the rumbling laugh. "I could like playing seat belt. I feel all gallant now."
"We could probably find you some shining armor." She blinked up at him. "Congratulations, you're the second person, ever, to make me feel tiny. I think I need to keep you around."
"I'm very handy," Theo volunteered. "Especially with high shelves."
"I would doubt very--" Wanda grumbled when she bit her tongue from another jolt. "~If I throw up Summers owes me a new pair of boots.~ I would doubt very much if there was something you couldn't reach."
"Oh, now she starts with the flattery," Theo observed. "Can I keep you? I'm not used to flattery. It'll go to my head." He grinned at her. The grin was rather alarming in how much of his teeth it showed.
Oh good, a distraction from the stomach that was turning as fast as the plane and the...oh, not good thinking about the telekinetics blowing up the bombs coming from them. So, she laughed at that. "Someone like you does not get flattery? That is a shame."
"This is what I keep saying. But nooooo." The plane proceeded to do a barrel roll, and Theo held onto Wanda tightly. "This is fun."
"I am going to assume you're saying it's fun because I'm on your lap and not because you're actually enjoying this." A few seconds more and she'd be burying her head in his chest because at that close range, it wouldn't be moving.
"Oh, I don't know. Didn't know that Blackbirds could fly like this. But yeah," Theo said, and she could hear the grin in his voice, "this is also fun because I have a very hot woman sitting on my lap."
Beside him, Bridge gave an incredulous laugh. "Theo, better times than this to be flirting, big guy..."
"Name me a better time than 'Oh God, Oh God, we're all going to die' time," Wanda demanded, wishing death on a great many people. She tried to look at Bridge but paled slightly as the plane did all sorts of things that made her body unhappy with her. "I'd say I'd hate my job but if I get benefits like sitting in attractive men's laps, well, I suppose the ride from hell is worth it."
"Did you hear that?" Theo asked, sounding delighted. "She called me attractive! No one's ever called me attractive before!"
"She's clearly distraught," came a rejoinder from David's direction, farther down the plane.
"I like bears!" she protested. "Oh, I give up." Turning, Wanda buried her head in Theo's chest. "If I do not see this, it is not happening. Denial is my best friend."
--
The Blackbird crossesthe finish line the Tunisian border.
Sitting duty at an isolated radar station on the border with Libya had not been what the Tunisian lieutenant had foreseen for himself, when he had decided on a career in the military.
Still, it was quiet at the very least. And he had developed quite a taste for mystery novels, at the behest of one of the enlisted personnel, who had an extensive library and was more than willing to share.
"Sir!" The yelp from one of his radar operators sent him jerking upright in his chair, his latest novel falling out of his hands and to the floor. "Sir, we've got an inbound contact, and it's-"
The sonic boom was immense. It rattled the building, and the lieutenant was over to the operator's console like a shot. "What in the name of Allah-"
And there were three more. Smaller contacts, slower-moving. "Are those Libyans?" the lieutenant asked, scandalized, already reaching for the phone.
"Could be, sir - they're breaking off. Look," the operator said with a relieved sigh.
The lieutenant wasn't entirely mollified. "Where's the other contact?" he snapped.
"The other contact? It's... gone, sir," the operator said after a moment, sounding shocked. "It's dropped off radar."
Oh, lovely. Grumbling, the lieutenant picked up the phone. And it had been shaping up to be such a nice, quiet day.
--
Scott thumbed the coms as he throttled back the engines, dropping to something closer to a sane speed. The MIGs had broken off at the border, just as he'd hoped. Now, all they needed to do was to stay off the radar, drop off their passengers, and get their asses back across the Atlantic.
"You can relax, folks," he said, unable to quite keep the grin out of his voice. "Welcome to Tunisia. The seatbelt light is now officially off."
Sam was breathing a little hard in the co-pilot's seat. Scott gave him a grin, and then reached out, one hand resting on the console for a moment, as if in appreciation.
"That's my girl," he murmured.
--
On the ground at the airstrip, Sam and Dom have a moment.
Domino lifted the girl up to Nash's waiting hands in the truck, giving her an encouraging smile. "~Wait until you see where you're going,~" she told her. "~You'll like it. It's by the water.~" The girl smiled back, a little hesitantly, and Dom grinned, then turned away, eyeing the airstrip. Where had Nathan gone? she wondered, glancing at the Blackbird. Back into the plane already?
Sam wandered out of the plane, dusting his hands off on his uniform. Not that he'd had to do much in their wild escape besides watch Scott put the 'Bird through maneuvers it really shouldn't have been able to perform. That, and keep an iron grip on his chair. Not that Sam was inclined towards panic at the radical maneuvers missions sometimes called for, but a couple of those moves had even had _his_ stomach feeling a little delicate. He stopped abruptly at the bottom of the ramp, catching a glimpse of Domino. He'd seen her a couple times during the mission, but they'd both been too busy for the awkward silence that now fell over them to occur. "...hey, Dom," he said lamely after a moment.
Domino raised an eyebrow, just a little, but the smile didn't go away. "Hi, Sam. Were you the one flying, or was it Summers? Because I'm surprised the plane's still intact. I'm almost positive Blackbirds aren't supposed to stand on their heads like that."
"Uh, that was Scott. Ah'm not sure Ah could even follow some of that stuff he was doin', and Ah've been his copilot for a while now," Sam replied. Talking about the plane and their mad flight out of Libya was good. It meant no awkward pauses. ~What exactly _do_ you say to the woman you almost slept with because you were both drunk and lonely, anyway?~ he thought somewhat whimsically.
"Pity," Domino said, her smile brightening. "I always did find crazy piloting very sexy, but I'm not about to move in on the telekinetic redhead's territory."
And just like that she had him flustered. Sam swore it was like a secondary mutant power of Dom's, the ability to make him unable to form coherent sentences. Or maybe it was just a woman thing. Whatever it was, she had the consistent ability to make him feel like a fish flopping about out of water. "So, uh...how've you been?" he asked in a vain attempt to continue to make small talk.
"Me? Oh, fine. I'm stupidly sunburned, again." Dom gave a theatrical sigh, rather wickedly enjoying the expression on Sam's face. "The African sun does not agree with my skin. At some point soon I'll start peeling, I'm sure."
Now he knew she was messing with him. That sigh was just a little too overtly theatrical. Didn't stop the way she absolutely and completely flummoxed him, though. "What, sunscreen doesn't do much for you?" he asked.
"When I leave it in my pack on the chopper that the Libyan army cut us off from reaching? No." The mischievous look was still in her eyes, but was accompanied by a certain warmth. It had, after all, been a very good day. "And how have you been, my favorite farmboy?"
Sam shrugged. "About the same. Busy with the X-Men, for the most part. A little lonely, every now an' again," he spared a wry smile for Dom, "but not too bad. It was a little crazy there for a while," he shook his head, remembering his worry when Lorna had abducted Forge, "but it's all seemed to work out."
"It generally does. Funny, that." Domino eyed him for a long moment and then stepped forward, hugging him before he could take a step back. "Thanks for the ride," she murmured, then leaned up and kissed him.
It was official. Sam was never going to figure Dom out. He closed his eyes and went with it, though. "Ah'm never gonna figure you out," he murmured when the kiss broke. He chuckled dryly. "An' y' probably like it that way, don't ya?" he drawled.
"Life would be dull, otherwise," she said with a perfectly straight face, patting his cheek. "Now, I have to go find Nathan and then we probably need to be getting out of here. You take care, all right?"
Sam resisted the urge to press his fingers to his lips like some lovesick schoolboy. She had made herself clear that night they'd gone out. It wouldn't do to pine away. Besides, there was certainly something he needed to be doing in the Blackbird. "You too, Dom," he said softly. "Ah'll be seein' ya."
--
Scott checks his plane for bullet holes. Jean brings him some water. They're both in a rather good mood.
No visible damage. A couple of those missiles had exploded just off the Blackbird's tail - Scott wasn't about to bring that up to Jean or Nathan, not when they'd taken out a dozen of the damned things before they'd finally reached Tunisian airspace and the MIGs had broken off -and he'd been dying to get the plane on the ground and make sure that there wasn't anything that was going to stop them from getting home today. Now was the time to find out, not halfway over the Atlantic. He walked around the other side, staring up at the tail thoughtfully.
Jean headed down the boarding ramp, a pair of water bottles in her hands, looking for Scott. Catching sight of him, she ducked under the plane, casting a cursory eye out for anything out of place. "Here," she said, handing over one of the bottles. "How's she look?"
"Fine. Just fine." He took the water bottle with a smile, then gazed at her for a moment, shaking his head. "You were amazing. You and Nathan. Twelve missiles, Jean. I never would have been able to lose them, not in this sort of terrain."
Jean smiled slightly, cracking open her bottle. Her headache was mild enough she wasn't entirely sure it wasn't just dehydration instead of the usual power exertion headache. Which was miraculous. "Nathan has some very good ideas," she said. "Just blowing up the misiles is much easier than trying to shove them off course or into each other." And she had much more control over her powers than she did the last time she'd had to do it.
"My other true love performed flawlessly, too," Scott said with a quick grin, giving the 'Bird an affectionate pat. "I knew I was going to need those afterburners. Just knew it. Call it pilot's prescience."
"Me, Baby and the 'Bird. If I had an engine I'd be perfect." She grinned. "And you know, you and your pilot's prescience were pretty fabulous yourself. You really are an incredible pilot."
"I had plenty of motivation to fly like I'd never flown before." His gaze strayed back towards where the kids were being checked over and loaded into the back of one of the Pack's trucks. They had landed well outside Tunis itself, at an isolated airstrip, and would be parting ways with their passengers shortly. "I envy them, you know," he said after a moment. "In a way... and probably because I don't know half of what they have to do to find these camps. But I think I envy the fact that they can focus all their attention on it."
Jean watched the children, nodding. "Yes, I can understand that. But... There are a lot of things the Pack couldn't handle that we can. By being more flexible, more spread out, we can help just as many people in more ways."
"We all have our roles to play, I suppose," Scott said, watching X-Men and more or less ex-mercenaries and ex mutant-supersoldiers mingle with the rescued children. "Occasionally," he said very softly, a smile tugging at his lips, "it is very good to be us. Any of us."
One of the children, aware in that strange way the children frequently are that he was being watched, looked up and caught sight of them. He grinned and waved before clambering up into the back of the truck. "Yes, it is," Jean agreed, smiling.
Scott looked over his shoulder with a frown, hearing the cursing. He recognized David Rabin as the other mutant blurred to a stop just behind the chair. "What?" he asked.
"We're out of time," the ex-Mossad agent said grimly. "The Libyans are in sight."
Scott started to answer, and then swore as the report from Alison came in over the coms, confirming that with details. "Do me a favor," he said to David, "do what you can to make sure everyone's strapped in. We're going to be lifting off fast, I think."
"Me an' m' big mouth," Sam said, already toggling switches and bringing the engines of the 'Bird up off of standby status. "Ah had to go an' ask for no complications."
Scott scanned through the radio frequencies, trying to find... there. "Cable," he said over the coms, "I've got com-chatter in Arabic here. Translate?"
There was a moment of silence, and then Nathan's voice came, sounding out of breath. "Fuck! They're scrambling fighters!"
"Yep, that's it. No more openin' m' mouth anymore," Sam muttered savagely under the rising whine of the 'Bird's engines.
"Sam," Scott said very calmly, listening to the team's reports as they got themselves, the Pack, and the last of the kids aboard, "I'm going to have to take the stick, I think. Will you keep an eye on the radar for me?"
"Can do," Sam replied succinctly, directing the radar feed to his side of the cockpit. This was going to get interesting.
Scott took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then thumbed the hatch closed as he heard Alison's 'all secured' over the coms. "This is one of those times I wish I was a religious man," he murmured, and engaged the VTOL.
"Ah think Ah can handle bein' religious enough for the both of us," Sam replied, a prayer already on his lips.
--
Infidels. In Libyan airspace. That would just not do. As his MIGs howled up off the runway and into banked turns, each pilot expressed their desire to bring the infidels down in various small ways: a grin here, a tightening hand on the stick there. They were the fiery sword of Allah, and it was time to take that sword out of its sheath and strike.
"Sam, how many?" Scott asked quietly, hearing the telltale alarm of the radar.
"Looks like three," Sam replied, intently watching the screen. "All coming in from behind, though they're a little spread out."
"Damn it." He had been focusing on heading for Tunisian airspace as fast as possible, but he didn't dare keep running for the border, not with three MIGs on their tail. "We don't have much terrain to take advantage of, here," Scott said, and dove, the Blackbird's engines screaming as they headed for the deck.
The MIGs came roaring in pursuit, the three planes spreading out to keep the 'Bird well covered. The obligatory demand to land and surrender the aircraft was made. Not that any of the pilots was very eager for that to happen.
"Bite me," Scott gritted under his teeth, and made sure they were still headed northwest. He leveled out the plane barely fifty feet over the crest of the dunes.
This had to be done by the book, though all three of the MIG pilots knew how this would end. The infidel would not be landing. A single missile came from the lead MIG, obviously a warning shot set to detonate away from the Blackbird.
The next one, Scott knew, would be for real.
And it was.
--
Just like on another occasion, during another mad flight over another continent, the Blackbird's pursuers find out that she does indeed have weapons aboard.
"Hold on!" Scott's voice over the intercom was still level, but there was a sharpness to it there hadn't been before. "They're firing on us, I'm taking evasive action..." The Blackbird proceeded to do something its original designers would have boggled at, and a number of the kids started to shriek at the midair acrobatics.
Jean itched to be in the cockpit, still not a hundred percent resigned to not being copilot on most missions. She did still occasionally catch herself falling back into patterns of thought from before when it had just been the three of them. Not that Sam was going to be needed much for his piloting with Scott flying his heart and soul out, but it would help calm her nerves if she could see the instruments, get a better idea of what was after them.
Of course, there was another way. Expanding her powers, Jean reached out to sense their pursuit.
#No.# Nathan's voice in her mind was utterly calm, absolutely steady. #Not like that.# It drew her attention to him, sitting a few seats away, strapped in like everyone else, but with his hands clenching and unclenching on the staff of his psimitar. #Together. Link?#
#Of course,# Jean sent, opening her mind to him instantly.
They made the link instantly, familiar enough with each other's minds from all the many, many hours of practice that it was like reaching out a mental hand and clasping the other's. #Not the missiles themselves,# Nathan sent. #Too power-intensive, at the rate that they're moving.# And there were four of them in the air at the moment. #The empty spaces inside them.# He pushed his perceptions downwards. #Agitate the air molecules,# he said, and took the two on the left.
Catching his meaning, Jean nodded absently. After her attempt at setting the lake on fire, she and Nathan had worked on that reaction, honing it until it was not simply instinct. She understood how she did it, and now the fire itself was almost easy.
#Brace yourself when you do it,# Nathan sent, jerking in his seat at the feel of his two missiles exploding. There was no pain, but a substantial shock, that lattice of light exploding in two spots.
It was fascinating watching them. She could almost see the point when the whole thing just collapsed in on itself right before the flash.
#There's more.# It was unnecessary to say it, really. He imagined that she saw... no, felt them, just like he did. #I'll take the two on the left again?#
Jean had sensed the sharp focus of the pilots before they'd fired - it was still easier for her to follow the actions of people than things -and followed the missiles flights from there. #They're yours,# she told him, narrowing her focus to the right most missiles.
Nathan waited until they were right... there, yes, and as he detonated the missiles, he smiled tightly as he sensed the MIGs alter their trajectory to avoid the explosions. It would get the 'Bird out of the firing line for a few seconds, and every second counted. Every second got them closer to Tunisian airspace.
--
Scott continues to fly his heart out. Kylun, Cole, and one of the children make a deal that involves kissing the ground.
"Sam, are those missiles exploding before they reach us or is that just my imagination?" Scott asked very calmly as the 'Bird rose and fell, banking left, then right, the only thing remaining steady the northwesterly trajectory towards the Tunisian border.
"It's not your imagination, sir," Sam replied without looking away from the radar screen. The three MIGs were not going to be shaken off.
Nathan and Jean. Had to be. "They've got to run out of missiles at some point," Scott murmured, then kept up his deliberately shifting course. Back and forth. Up and down. Taking advantage of the 'valleys', the only feature of the terrain that he could use. He was still barely clearing the tops of the dunes, and if he hadn't been so focused, he would have clipped a wing long since.
Sulfurous curses filled the MIG cockpits. "What sorcery is this? Our missiles explode before they even reach the plane?" one of the pilots exclaimed. A barely restrained growl from their superior answered him. "Why did Allah curse me with pilots who have camel dung for brains? What are the cannon on your planes for? Shoot them, you idiots!"
Oh, that sound he did not at all like. Scott gritted his teeth. Haroun was going to kill him if brought the plane back with bullet holes.
--
The plane banked left, then right, then left again, and Chris Cole very determinedly did not glance in the direction of the window. He didn't want to know their altitude. He didn't want to see the Libyan MIGs. Mostly because there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it right now but hold the hand of the fourteen year-old girl strapped in next to him and try and pretend that everything was indeed going to be all right.
"I don't think any of these kids are going to grow up to be roller-coaster fans," he said to the X-Man strapped into the seat on his other side. Kylun, he reminded himself.
Kylun chuckled. "They will not be alone, then. I had not seen an airplane up close until something on the order of a year and a half ago, and I still do not find them particularly comfortable." The plane lurched, and Kylun shifted in his seat, compensating. "Particularly not like this!" He offered the girl a reassuring smile. "But Cyclops knows this plane like no other, and I am sure we will be fine."
Cole translated Kylun's word into Arabic, and the girl managed a tremulous smile, replying. Chris couldn't help a faint smile of his own. "She wants to know if you and Theo are related," he said, trying not to stiffen as the plane dove a few hundred feet, all at once. "Since you're both on the furry side."
"Ah." The plane stood on one wing for a moment, and when it settled back, Kylun shook his hair out of his eyes, but his smile at the girl never faltered. "There is something of a resemblance, isn't there? But no, we are not related, as far as I know. I have no living family of my blood."
Cole translated quietly, but she was clinging to him, burying her face against his arm and not paying much attention. He put an arm around her as much as he could manage, ignoring the continuing dancing movement of the plane. "Bridge says that the Professor's got a contact with a therapist in Tunis," he said quietly to Kylun, managing to keep the bleakness out of his tone. "They're all going to need it. You should have seen the conditions in the camp when we pulled them out of it. At least they fed us properly, at Mistra."
"Well, they will not be going back," Kylun said firmly. "Whoever this friend of the Professor's is, will be honorable, and will look after them." He shook his head. "I have seen enough, both with the X-Men and before, that I can imagine something of what they must have been through. There is much evil in the world."
The girl looked up, then gave a little moan as the plane banked again sharply. Cole swallowed, very carefully, and told his stomach to behave. "You know, I've been in Blackbirds before. I'm almost positive this one is doing things that it's not supposed to be able to do."
"It is . . . customized, I think, to a very great extent." Kylun gingerly unclenched his fingers from around the armrest and wiped his forehead; the plane lurched again, and his hand shot back down. "But I think this is excessive, even so." He took a deep breath. "Cyclops is a gifted flyer, and I am sure we will be safe."
"I think I'm for solid ground for a while, after this..." The girl looked up at him, and Cole translated, then grinned crookedly at her vehement agreement. "Okay, so that makes two of us." She added something, and he surprised himself with a laugh. "She says we can all kiss the ground together."
Kylun laughed. "That sounds like a very good idea. Those of us who were meant to fly were born with wings, or other means of levitation."
Cole started to answer that, then blinked as something flickered at the corner of his vision. He looked around to see both Nathan and the red-haired woman - there hadn't been time for introductions -beginning to glow, just a little, where they sat strapped into their seats.
"Okay. Really don't want to know what they're doing." The plane ascended on something alarmingly close to a ninety-degree angle, and the girl yelped and clung to Cole harder. He gave Kylun a helpless look.
"Something . . . alarmingly telekinetic, I should think," Kylun replied, his voice strained. "No doubt it will be over soon. And perhaps when we land, we can make a competition out of kissing the ground. The way I feel now, I think I would win."
--
There's a poem for every moment. Even this one.
There was a poem that Scott had learned, and loved, in one of his very first English classes at the school. Charles had more than respected his obvious love for the maths and applied sciences in designing his curriculum, but he had insisted on including the liberal arts to what Scott's sixteen year-old self had considered an alarming extent.
And for a while, he had pouted about it, shamelessly. But there had been moments. More, as the years had gone on. Impromptu performances of Shakespeare, impassioned discussions of various classic novels...
And the occasional poem. Including the one that had stuck with him, and come back to him again, over and over, on a number of occasions. His first solo flight. The night the Blackbird had been delivered to the mansion. So many other times. And now.
Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings...
The landscape beneath them was changing. Sand dunes were turning into rocky plains and plateaus. A little more room to manuever, and Scott took ruthless advantage of that. The MIGs were still behind them, still firing, and Sam reported the explosion of each missile in a monotone.
How long could Jean and Nathan keep this up? The MIGs would be carrying a limited number of missiles. Just outlast them... Scott's gaze flickered briefly to their coordinates. Closer. The Tunisian border was getting closer.
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence.
Radar lock. Again. Scott banked sharply, heading for the deck and ignoring the small, strangled noise coming from Sam as he kicked in the afterburners. Down, and then up again at an even sharper angle. He only hoped this wasn't making things harder for the telekinetics.
"Keep an eye on our fuel," he said to Sam, thanking Haroun silently for all of the work he'd done on making the 'Bird more fuel-efficient. They were going to need every ounce.
The roar of the engines was right. He could feel it in his bones, feel the Blackbird responding just as he needed her to. Hell, he could almost feel the wind on his own skin.
Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
Scott's jaw clenched as one of the MIGs got ahead of them, trying to make a pass with his guns. You do not shoot up my plane, Scott thought, his eyes narrowing behind the visor as he set a course right for the other plane. Let's see you play chicken with something a few times your size...
The Libyan pilot had a solid sense of self-preservation, and broke off with plenty of room to spare. Scott threw the 'Bird into a roll to get back on course, wincing a little at the scream of the engines. He could feel Jean in the back of his mind, still focusing hard on the attacking planes.
And then there wasn't any room for wondering about her, or the kids, or whether or not he was rattling them, the Pack, and his team around like ping-pong balls or not. All he could do was fly.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
As the smaller, supposedly more nimble MIGs struggled to keep up in her wake, the Blackbird rose and fell, soared and dove.
Danced the skies.
--
Wanda rescues a girl who decides to ignore the metaphorical seatbelt light, and winds up getting up close and personal with Theo, who is a big fan of the idea of humor as coping mechanism.
As the Blackbird bucked and rolled, it was too much finally for one of the kids, one of the younger girls. She started to struggle with the straps holding her into her seat, obviously panicking, and before a groggy Matsuda, the adult closest to her, could react, she had undone the safety harness.
Out of the corner of her eye, Wanda saw the young girl stand up and try to go...somewhere. But with Scott having to manuever the 'bird the way he was, there was no way she was going to get anywhere safely. Cursing, she undid her own safety harness within a few seconds and lauched herself at the girl, feeling the floor leave her feet as it bucked and came back down.
The girl froze as she saw Wanda coming at her, thankfully, and mumbled something terrifed-sounding in Arabic.
And this being part of the world that she spoke not a word of their language. "It's okay, it'll be okay," she soothed, holding out her hands to her. She needed to get her back in her seat now before things got any worse. Reluctantly it seemed the girl actually went to Wanda. Scooping her up in her arms, she swiftly got her back into the seat and hooked up. Giving her a quick smile, she turned to head back to her seat.
Unfortunately, that was the same time that suddenly the floor was no longer where it was supposed to be since Scott pulled what had to be a beautiful turn and now it was Wanda's turn to be sent tumbling.
An enormous arm was suddenly grabbing her by the back of her leathers, as if she were a kitten being picked up by the scruff of her neck, and then that same enormous arm was wrapping around her securely, pulling her down across a very large lap. "I think the seatbelt light's on," Theo pointed out.
"Oh, but who needs a seat belt if we have you around?" Wanda asked, gripping tightly onto the front of him and wondering if closing her eyes would make the dizzy go away. She was never, ever getting on a rollercoaster after this.
She felt, as much as heard the rumbling laugh. "I could like playing seat belt. I feel all gallant now."
"We could probably find you some shining armor." She blinked up at him. "Congratulations, you're the second person, ever, to make me feel tiny. I think I need to keep you around."
"I'm very handy," Theo volunteered. "Especially with high shelves."
"I would doubt very--" Wanda grumbled when she bit her tongue from another jolt. "~If I throw up Summers owes me a new pair of boots.~ I would doubt very much if there was something you couldn't reach."
"Oh, now she starts with the flattery," Theo observed. "Can I keep you? I'm not used to flattery. It'll go to my head." He grinned at her. The grin was rather alarming in how much of his teeth it showed.
Oh good, a distraction from the stomach that was turning as fast as the plane and the...oh, not good thinking about the telekinetics blowing up the bombs coming from them. So, she laughed at that. "Someone like you does not get flattery? That is a shame."
"This is what I keep saying. But nooooo." The plane proceeded to do a barrel roll, and Theo held onto Wanda tightly. "This is fun."
"I am going to assume you're saying it's fun because I'm on your lap and not because you're actually enjoying this." A few seconds more and she'd be burying her head in his chest because at that close range, it wouldn't be moving.
"Oh, I don't know. Didn't know that Blackbirds could fly like this. But yeah," Theo said, and she could hear the grin in his voice, "this is also fun because I have a very hot woman sitting on my lap."
Beside him, Bridge gave an incredulous laugh. "Theo, better times than this to be flirting, big guy..."
"Name me a better time than 'Oh God, Oh God, we're all going to die' time," Wanda demanded, wishing death on a great many people. She tried to look at Bridge but paled slightly as the plane did all sorts of things that made her body unhappy with her. "I'd say I'd hate my job but if I get benefits like sitting in attractive men's laps, well, I suppose the ride from hell is worth it."
"Did you hear that?" Theo asked, sounding delighted. "She called me attractive! No one's ever called me attractive before!"
"She's clearly distraught," came a rejoinder from David's direction, farther down the plane.
"I like bears!" she protested. "Oh, I give up." Turning, Wanda buried her head in Theo's chest. "If I do not see this, it is not happening. Denial is my best friend."
--
The Blackbird crosses
Sitting duty at an isolated radar station on the border with Libya had not been what the Tunisian lieutenant had foreseen for himself, when he had decided on a career in the military.
Still, it was quiet at the very least. And he had developed quite a taste for mystery novels, at the behest of one of the enlisted personnel, who had an extensive library and was more than willing to share.
"Sir!" The yelp from one of his radar operators sent him jerking upright in his chair, his latest novel falling out of his hands and to the floor. "Sir, we've got an inbound contact, and it's-"
The sonic boom was immense. It rattled the building, and the lieutenant was over to the operator's console like a shot. "What in the name of Allah-"
And there were three more. Smaller contacts, slower-moving. "Are those Libyans?" the lieutenant asked, scandalized, already reaching for the phone.
"Could be, sir - they're breaking off. Look," the operator said with a relieved sigh.
The lieutenant wasn't entirely mollified. "Where's the other contact?" he snapped.
"The other contact? It's... gone, sir," the operator said after a moment, sounding shocked. "It's dropped off radar."
Oh, lovely. Grumbling, the lieutenant picked up the phone. And it had been shaping up to be such a nice, quiet day.
--
Scott thumbed the coms as he throttled back the engines, dropping to something closer to a sane speed. The MIGs had broken off at the border, just as he'd hoped. Now, all they needed to do was to stay off the radar, drop off their passengers, and get their asses back across the Atlantic.
"You can relax, folks," he said, unable to quite keep the grin out of his voice. "Welcome to Tunisia. The seatbelt light is now officially off."
Sam was breathing a little hard in the co-pilot's seat. Scott gave him a grin, and then reached out, one hand resting on the console for a moment, as if in appreciation.
"That's my girl," he murmured.
--
On the ground at the airstrip, Sam and Dom have a moment.
Domino lifted the girl up to Nash's waiting hands in the truck, giving her an encouraging smile. "~Wait until you see where you're going,~" she told her. "~You'll like it. It's by the water.~" The girl smiled back, a little hesitantly, and Dom grinned, then turned away, eyeing the airstrip. Where had Nathan gone? she wondered, glancing at the Blackbird. Back into the plane already?
Sam wandered out of the plane, dusting his hands off on his uniform. Not that he'd had to do much in their wild escape besides watch Scott put the 'Bird through maneuvers it really shouldn't have been able to perform. That, and keep an iron grip on his chair. Not that Sam was inclined towards panic at the radical maneuvers missions sometimes called for, but a couple of those moves had even had _his_ stomach feeling a little delicate. He stopped abruptly at the bottom of the ramp, catching a glimpse of Domino. He'd seen her a couple times during the mission, but they'd both been too busy for the awkward silence that now fell over them to occur. "...hey, Dom," he said lamely after a moment.
Domino raised an eyebrow, just a little, but the smile didn't go away. "Hi, Sam. Were you the one flying, or was it Summers? Because I'm surprised the plane's still intact. I'm almost positive Blackbirds aren't supposed to stand on their heads like that."
"Uh, that was Scott. Ah'm not sure Ah could even follow some of that stuff he was doin', and Ah've been his copilot for a while now," Sam replied. Talking about the plane and their mad flight out of Libya was good. It meant no awkward pauses. ~What exactly _do_ you say to the woman you almost slept with because you were both drunk and lonely, anyway?~ he thought somewhat whimsically.
"Pity," Domino said, her smile brightening. "I always did find crazy piloting very sexy, but I'm not about to move in on the telekinetic redhead's territory."
And just like that she had him flustered. Sam swore it was like a secondary mutant power of Dom's, the ability to make him unable to form coherent sentences. Or maybe it was just a woman thing. Whatever it was, she had the consistent ability to make him feel like a fish flopping about out of water. "So, uh...how've you been?" he asked in a vain attempt to continue to make small talk.
"Me? Oh, fine. I'm stupidly sunburned, again." Dom gave a theatrical sigh, rather wickedly enjoying the expression on Sam's face. "The African sun does not agree with my skin. At some point soon I'll start peeling, I'm sure."
Now he knew she was messing with him. That sigh was just a little too overtly theatrical. Didn't stop the way she absolutely and completely flummoxed him, though. "What, sunscreen doesn't do much for you?" he asked.
"When I leave it in my pack on the chopper that the Libyan army cut us off from reaching? No." The mischievous look was still in her eyes, but was accompanied by a certain warmth. It had, after all, been a very good day. "And how have you been, my favorite farmboy?"
Sam shrugged. "About the same. Busy with the X-Men, for the most part. A little lonely, every now an' again," he spared a wry smile for Dom, "but not too bad. It was a little crazy there for a while," he shook his head, remembering his worry when Lorna had abducted Forge, "but it's all seemed to work out."
"It generally does. Funny, that." Domino eyed him for a long moment and then stepped forward, hugging him before he could take a step back. "Thanks for the ride," she murmured, then leaned up and kissed him.
It was official. Sam was never going to figure Dom out. He closed his eyes and went with it, though. "Ah'm never gonna figure you out," he murmured when the kiss broke. He chuckled dryly. "An' y' probably like it that way, don't ya?" he drawled.
"Life would be dull, otherwise," she said with a perfectly straight face, patting his cheek. "Now, I have to go find Nathan and then we probably need to be getting out of here. You take care, all right?"
Sam resisted the urge to press his fingers to his lips like some lovesick schoolboy. She had made herself clear that night they'd gone out. It wouldn't do to pine away. Besides, there was certainly something he needed to be doing in the Blackbird. "You too, Dom," he said softly. "Ah'll be seein' ya."
--
Scott checks his plane for bullet holes. Jean brings him some water. They're both in a rather good mood.
No visible damage. A couple of those missiles had exploded just off the Blackbird's tail - Scott wasn't about to bring that up to Jean or Nathan, not when they'd taken out a dozen of the damned things before they'd finally reached Tunisian airspace and the MIGs had broken off -and he'd been dying to get the plane on the ground and make sure that there wasn't anything that was going to stop them from getting home today. Now was the time to find out, not halfway over the Atlantic. He walked around the other side, staring up at the tail thoughtfully.
Jean headed down the boarding ramp, a pair of water bottles in her hands, looking for Scott. Catching sight of him, she ducked under the plane, casting a cursory eye out for anything out of place. "Here," she said, handing over one of the bottles. "How's she look?"
"Fine. Just fine." He took the water bottle with a smile, then gazed at her for a moment, shaking his head. "You were amazing. You and Nathan. Twelve missiles, Jean. I never would have been able to lose them, not in this sort of terrain."
Jean smiled slightly, cracking open her bottle. Her headache was mild enough she wasn't entirely sure it wasn't just dehydration instead of the usual power exertion headache. Which was miraculous. "Nathan has some very good ideas," she said. "Just blowing up the misiles is much easier than trying to shove them off course or into each other." And she had much more control over her powers than she did the last time she'd had to do it.
"My other true love performed flawlessly, too," Scott said with a quick grin, giving the 'Bird an affectionate pat. "I knew I was going to need those afterburners. Just knew it. Call it pilot's prescience."
"Me, Baby and the 'Bird. If I had an engine I'd be perfect." She grinned. "And you know, you and your pilot's prescience were pretty fabulous yourself. You really are an incredible pilot."
"I had plenty of motivation to fly like I'd never flown before." His gaze strayed back towards where the kids were being checked over and loaded into the back of one of the Pack's trucks. They had landed well outside Tunis itself, at an isolated airstrip, and would be parting ways with their passengers shortly. "I envy them, you know," he said after a moment. "In a way... and probably because I don't know half of what they have to do to find these camps. But I think I envy the fact that they can focus all their attention on it."
Jean watched the children, nodding. "Yes, I can understand that. But... There are a lot of things the Pack couldn't handle that we can. By being more flexible, more spread out, we can help just as many people in more ways."
"We all have our roles to play, I suppose," Scott said, watching X-Men and more or less ex-mercenaries and ex mutant-supersoldiers mingle with the rescued children. "Occasionally," he said very softly, a smile tugging at his lips, "it is very good to be us. Any of us."
One of the children, aware in that strange way the children frequently are that he was being watched, looked up and caught sight of them. He grinned and waved before clambering up into the back of the truck. "Yes, it is," Jean agreed, smiling.