Blessed Are The Peacemakers: Shelter From The Storm

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

In Budapest, Forge gives Callery some food for thought, Ororo and Scott celebrate, and then Scott gets a call about two wayward telekinetics. In Grozny, Jean steals medical supplies and she and Nathan try to find a way out.


'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."


The figure that appeared at the doorway of the hospital room where Forge had been told to sit and wait while he was checked over was not the doctor who'd stepped out briefly, promising to return, although both women were petite and dark-haired. Rather than concerned, however, Tanya Callery looked mildly disgruntled, and not much the worse for wear for her dip in the Danube.

"Mr. Forge," she said, leaning against the doorframe. "Funny story, but in order to get the Prime Minister to do what his doctors were telling him and rest, I had to promise to check on the three of you. So," she said with a very thin smile, "are you fully intact?"

"No less so than I was when I started the morning," Forge quipped, glancing up from where he was probing the cables and gears of his prosthetic leg. "A few bruises and my ears are ringing a bit, but aside from that, yay for seat belts and solid European automobile construction. Were you able to get anything from the attempted assassins?"

"It's the damnedest thing," Callery said, scowling. "The men? Are talking. They're freelancers, working for hire. But they can only point to those two mutant women who were with them. The one your friend Ororo zapped isn't in any condition to give us anything yet, but the other, the one Summers took down, isn't giving us a word."

"Ah," Forge nodded. He'd heard the female assassin shouting in a language he knew seemed familiar, but definitely wasn't anything he'd heard anyone speaking locally. "Given that this was an assassination attempt, I'm surprised that more... direct means of questioning haven't been brought forward. It would be interesting to know just how they were aware of the route that the Prime Minister would be taking, for instance."

Callery's eyes narrowed slightly - and then, surprisingly, the thin smile came back. "You know, when we first got hit, there was a moment I jumped to the natural conclusion that you and your friends were behind this somehow. I mean, an X-Man did after all kill my last employer. But you all tried far too hard to get in their way, so. Not very likely, I reasoned."

She shook her head slightly. "As for more direct means of questioning... believe me, I was tempted, but the other thing I had to promise the Prime Minister was that none of them would wind up with a single additional bruise. And I've been here for just long enough to know he's going to hold me to it. Very inconvenient, and it says bad things about the man's sense of self-preservation, but if there's one thing I know how to do, it's follow orders."

"Your last employer," Forge replied coldly, "was an amoral son of a bitch who took Social Darwinism to levels that would have made Goebbels blush. The world's a better place without him. So you'll understand if your track record doesn't exactly fill me with confidence. But Prime Minister Barath trusts you, and he's no idiot in playing this game."

"I didn't like Mr. Faraday very much," Callery said, almost thoughtfully. "I like the Prime Minister quite a bit, for all that he's terminally stubborn and seems blithely determined to make my job harder most days. But none of that affects how I approach my job - so I will find out who was behind this, if I have to go find a telepath and have them scan one of these women." She stopped, as if reevaluating what she'd been about to say, and went on more naturally. "That said, thank you, on behalf of the Prime Minister's security detail." Her mouth twisted slightly. "What's left of it. If you're all right, I need to go and make some very unpleasant phone calls, now that the Prime Minister is secure."

Forge waved a hand dismissively as he returned to his maintenance routines. "You've got a job to do. And a free piece of consulting - belief is a lot more powerful a motivator than you give it credit for. It might not affect how you do your job, but those women who were ready to kill the Prime Minister - you'd be surprised how strong a belief can make someone."

Callery gave him a narrow-eyed look, and for a moment, looked like she was about to retort. But instead she just nodded, her expression gone thoughtful again as she turned and left.

--

"... wow, that's strong," Scott wheezed slightly, setting his glass down. "I'm not usually a brandy person, but I could drink more of this." The plum brandy was called palinka, according to the hotel bar's terribly helpful waiter, who was acting as if he'd been tipped off by their informal security detail - the Prime Minister's office had given them a couple of 'minders', at least for the night - as to their involvement in thwarting the assassination attempt. It was all over the news here, although their names were thankfully not being mentioned.

"Brandy person or not a brandy person, I think it is all but mandated that you do. After what we have been through, alcohol is the only thing that makes sense of it all." Ororo blinked owlishly; the palinka was strong, and she had already had quite a bit, first in celebration and then just because she liked the taste. "Though we will not include this part in our mission report."

"No? I think it might, you know, humanize us or something." Scott blinked across the table at Ororo, then tilted his head, regarding her more carefully. "You know," he said after a long moment, "there's a noticeable difference."

"What?" said the woman, furrowing her brow and reaching up to pat at her head, "is my hair still on end?"

"Oh, no, your hair's just fine," Scott rushed to reassure her. She tended to be sensitive about her hair. "You just kind of... well, you're just different. Plus I think you smell of ozone. Just a little!" Scott opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Well. That was gauche of me."

Luckily Ororo just grinned and pushed the bottle across the table at him. "I forgive you. But you must drink in penance anyway. And once again, because you said that there would be nobody trying to kill us while we were here, and that is obviously just not true."

"... did I? I'm not usually that optimistic," Scott said thoughtfully. "Although, they weren't specifically trying to kill us. I don't think, at the least." Although it was more important that they hadn't managed to kill the person they had been intending to kill, Scott thought. He took a long swallow of the palinka. "You know, you have just... spectacularly good timing, 'Ro."

"Not entirely," came the response, as Ororo turned a dark thought towards William Moses and the all too frustrating encounter in the subway station. "Still," she said, brightening, "I suppose it is better late than never."

"So how do you feel? Really?"

"I feel... well, I suppose it would be too cliched to say 'whole again', wouldn't it?" Ororo smiled, resting her elbows on the table before her. "But I feel much more like myself again. In a way, it is like when my powers manifested when I was younger, though without the panic that came with having the elements tied to my every mood. But the same feelings I had then - the rush, the crawling of my skin, the sensation of seeing everything in a new light - I have now."

Scott gazed across the table at his friend, reflecting very privately that it was a blessing that something good had come from today. A number of people had died, people who'd just been doing their jobs, protecting another man (who in Scott's opinion warranted the protection, although that was beside the point). And who knew what an assassination attempt with mutant involvement - that part hadn't gotten out yet - would do to the domestic situation here, after the precedent of Veres.

But yet, here was his friend, whole and happy, all but glowing. It was a strange mixture, to have the sadness and apprehension and residual tension mixed with relief - and outright gladness, if he had to be honest. "Just so long as you wait until we get home for the naked flying," he heard himself say - and burst out laughing.

Dissolving into giggles herself, Ororo leaned forward until her forehead bumped the table, her glass skittering away from her hand. "I can already tell," she said between gulps of laughter, "twenty-eight is going to be a very interesting year."

"Oh, God, I don't think I can take too many more interesting years... but I lived to thirty," he said, shaking a finger at her, "so you have no excuse either. Especially now that you're back to being the... lightning-slinging... um, wind-breaking... wicked witch of the... whatever."

"Stop, just... stop while you are behind," Ororo admonished him, still shaking with laughter. "And pass the pa... palinky... the brandy."

"Yes, I think I've had enough." He wasn't actually that drunk, except possibly on relief, but he did push the bottle across the table to Ororo. If he had to pour her back into her bed tonight, well, it wouldn't be the first time.

--

The ringing of the phone was hurting his head. Scott managed to raise it, aching or not, from the bed, and blinked owlishly until he could see both the clock on the bedside table and his cell phone. It wasn't all that late, only a couple of hours since he and Ororo had finished off the palinka and decided to go collapse. Not even midnight yet... Scott reached out for the phone, managing to knock it on the floor - his depth perception was not so good at times like this -and then hit his head on the table as he dove for it.

"Ow! Shit-" It was still ringing, though, and he managed to get it open. "What?" he demanded, more crossly than he'd intended, and immediately hoped that this wasn't someone he shouldn't be snapping at.

"Scott?" came the startled - and distinctively accented - response. "Are you quite all right?"

"Uh - fine, Kurt," Scott said, sighing as he managed to get himself right-side-up and back on the bed. "Ororo and I were - nevermind. I don't have any more news about the assassination attempt, if that's what you're calling about." Kurt had sounded rattled by the initial news, when Scott had called earlier to reassure the mansion they were all okay.

"No, it... it is not. There is something I... possibly should have mentioned when you called this evening." He didn't want to have this conversation, no he did not.

Uh-oh. "What would that be?" Scott said, slowly and cautiously. He was almost positive that he didn't want to hear this.

"Jean and Nathan are... perhaps... a little... missing. On a mission."

Scott sat bolt upright and his head promptly fell off. Well, no, it didn't, but it certainly felt like that. "They're what? A mission? What mission?"

"They went to Chechnya", Kurt said wretchedly. "Nathan took a call while he was on comms, from Ilyas Saidullayev. Claiming he had left Magneto, and seeking asylum. They were to go and retrieve him, but they missed the last check-in."

For a moment, Kurt's words just didn't penetrate. Scott opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then opened it again - then stopped himself, because shouting at Kurt was not productive. "I see." That was fairly innocuous, wasn't it? "Okay. Uh... Charles is searching for them, I'm guessing?"

"Of course", Kurt said hastily, glad to have something like good news to deliver. "And we know where they were... seven hours ago."

Seven hours. Son of a bitch. A lot could happen in seven hours. Especially when you had two idiot telekinetics off looking for a third, who was just like them except evil. Scott rubbed at his eye, trying to focus.

"Okay. It's... 11pm, over here," he said with another look at the clock. "I'm going to try and get in touch with someone in the Prime Minister's office - I don't imagine any of them will be sleeping tonight. They owe us a quick flight back after today, I think. I'll call you again when I have that arranged." Although there were still more statements to be taken. He didn't know if they could really get out of here that quickly.

"All right", Kurt said quietly. "I will be awake and waiting for your call." He was 100% sure of that.

"And you call me if you hear anything from them, or if Charles finds them." Scott swung his feet over the edge of the bed, biting back another groan. A few hours of sleep had apparently been enough to remind his body that he'd jumped from an exploding car earlier today. "I'll keep my cell phone with me."

"The very moment", Kurt promised. "And... Scott? I would take it as a personal favour if you and Ororo would not go away at the same time. Ever again."

"I think maybe that would be a good idea." Scott hung up the phone and sat there for a moment, staring blankly at the wall of his hotel room before he finally shook his head. "Shock collars for both of them," he mumbled, and got up to find his shirt.

---

There were troops abroad in the streets of Grozny tonight. Searching for something - or someone. If none of those helicopters had survived, it would have been as good an indication as any that Saidullayev had. Although why the Russians would have expected him to head to Grozny was unclear.

Fortunately, they carried out only a cursory search of the medical center. Jean waited until the troops had left the floor she was hiding on before dropping the #don't see me# compulsion she'd been holding about her and slipped out into the hallway. She'd already managed to search the first two floors, and had gotten the bandages, at least. But Nathan needed medicine.

The clinic building had obviously been rehabilitated, at least to a certain extent. Signs of damage from one bombardment or another were still visible, cracks in the walls and the badly repaired roof. One of the doors down the hall was stout reinforced steel, however, with a very new and shiny lock. Drugs were one of the few things that warranted that level of security in a place like this.

Before Jean could do anything to the lock, however, a new mental signature appeared, coming up the stairs onto this level and fretting very audibly in French about what damage the soldiers might have done, and how difficult it was going to be to get replacements for any equipment that might have been broken.

Jean froze, mentally swearing, then paused. Actually... this could be a blessing in disguise. Jean's written Russian was non-existant, and while it was likely the meds would be labled with either latin or brand names, it wasn't certain. And her French... wasn't great, but it would probably do. Although, from an ethical standpoint, this wasn't going to be pretty. Stepping away from the door she reconstructed the #don't see me# field, extending it down the hall and then tweaked it. Where it intersected with the door into she delicately wove concern and a subtle suggestion that, before the equipment was examined someone needed to make sure the soliders hadn't stolen any narcotics.

The woman who appeared at the top of the stairs was young, looking like she was barely out of medical school. Casting a slightly fearful look around her, she paused, blinking slightly as Jean's suggestion reached her. Immediately, the concerned look she was wearing only deepened and she hurried towards the door, already pulling out keys.

Jean smiled faintly as the French woman opened the door and hurried inside. A light touch of TK kept the door from shutting as quickly as it should and Jean moved to slip in, tucking down into the darkest corner of the room as she ran through her inventories. Watching through her eyes, Jean noted where the drugs she needed were, and carefully adjusted the woman's count - it would possibly be easier to blame the missing vials on the Russian soldiers, but if the woman complained they would likely give her more trouble than it was worth.

Nodding to herself and muttering in French, the woman headed out of the room, locking the door securely behind her. She then took a deep breath and headed down the hall, obviously to check on the equipment she'd been so worried about. She was moving away from the stairs, leaving the exit clear, and there was no sign, telepathic or otherwise, of anyone coming up to check on her.

As soon as the woman was out of sight Jean let her defenses fade, standing up straight again and wincing slightly. It was the work of moments to collect the vials of medication she'd kept the other doctor from seeing and, spotting an open bottle of what were recognizably pain killers, she also liberated a handful of those, swallowing two quickly to push back the powers headache which had been building all day.

Working the lock took longer than it should, mostly because it was finicky and she was tired, but it wasn't long before Jean was back outside, head covered and face ducked into a scarf as she made her way quickly back to where she'd left Nathan.

They'd picked one of Grozny's many bombed-out buildings as a temporary shelter while they figured out their next move. The sudden appearance of the helicopters in the woods in Shatoy and the need to literally run for their lives had meant they weren't able to go back for the duffel bags they'd stashed just outside town. Among the many other useful items they no longer had access to, as a result, were their coms.

Stepping into their little hide out, Jean took a moment to let her eyes adjust, shaking the snow off her boots before stepping forward. "Cable?"

Nathan had done as he was told and not passed out while Jean was gone, although the pallor of his face and the increasingly unfocused look in his eyes told her it had been a near thing. Adrenalin had kept him going on the way back from Shatoy, but it had given out within sight of Grozny, and if Jean hadn't been telekinetic, she would have had some considerable difficulty getting him the rest of the way into town.

As it was, tired as she was, it had been a challenge. What Jean wouldn't give for a short nap. Or a long one. Preferably a long one. Unfortunately, she wasn't going to get that for a while less, a fact which she was at least moderately resigned to. The snow, she felt, she was less resigned to. The next mission had damned well better be in Fiji.

"Not here right now. Come back tomorrow." It struck Nathan to let her know that he was just trying the whole 'humor to stave off fear' thing, rather than actually having lost his mind. But she probably knew that. Maybe. Surely?

Jean suspected but wasn't entirely convinced. After all, she wouldn't put it past him just now to develop a raging fever and start hallucinating, just to be ornery. "Come come," she said, making her way into the room. "Surely you know how rare it is for doctors to make house calls. Count your blessings."

"You spoil me." Nathan closed his eyes, a certain degree of tension easing now that she was back. He'd imagined all kinds of dire things. His mind liked to play tricks on him when he'd been shot in the back, apparently.

"This is true. I should learn to stop doing it. Give you an inch, you take a mile and then get shot." Kneeling down next to him she pulled out the medication she'd swiped, using her teeth to break the seal on the sterile hypodermic. "Hey, Nathan, it's your favorite part - where I get to poke and prod, and also force noxious things on you."

"Oh, goody..." He forced his eyes open. Needed to watch her. She tended to be sneaky, after all. "Tell you a secret?" It was getting hard to enunciate his words properly. "All those times... when I did so and so with X number of bullet holes?" He made a noise that might have been a laugh if there'd been any breath behind it. "Was always in the arm, or something."

"Yeah, there's a shock." Jean's voice was wry, her eyes focused as she drew the appropriate liquid into the syringe. "This one will help the blood clot, Nate, and help your body make more."

He didn't even notice the brief sting of the needle. His back and upper chest was a solid mass of fiery pain. It was hard to think, too, but he didn't get to check out and leave Jean to deal with all of this. "Trying to figure out what we should do," he muttered, raising the arm that was still working properly to rub at his eyes. "Got to get ourselves out of here somehow."

"We need to get out of Russia," Jean agreed, removing the needle and swabbing over the few drops of blood with a cotton. The painkillers would have to wait until they had a plan. Then she could dope him, re-tape her ribs and set about implementing the plan. What ever it would be. "Somehow I don't think we'll be able to avail ourselves of air transport here." Popping open the lid on a bottle of pills she paused, then damned herself. It took a moment's thought to telekinetically gather some snow and bring it to Nate, spinning it about until it melted enough to provide water for him to take the pills with.

"You think wrong, Red," he answered, once he had. It had given him a moment to think, run over their options. He'd actually had a back-up plan, shock of shocks. Although he wasn't sure at all he'd been thinking about that back-up plan when he'd insisted they get themselves back to Grozny. "That aid plane wasn't due to... leave again, until dawn. Going back to New York."

"Dawn, huh?" Jean glanced out at the pure darkness outside. "Yeah, I remember the landing field. Dawn we can do..." Turning back to him she smiled and pulled out the last vial of medication. "Anything else I need to know before I knock you out?" Which was a bit of an exaggeration - the pain killers she'd grabbed would make him woozy, no doubt, and probably help him to sleep when he could, but they wouldn't make him dead to the world.

"Yeah. If it... if we can't manage that," Nathan said slowly, trying to focus, "drop me on the doorstop of that medical center. Then get across the border into Georgia. There's somehow I know in Tbilisi, I'll give you his name. He can call David, in Tel Aviv..."

Jean frowned. "Leaving you here really isn't an option, Nate." She could think of a dozen ways that that could go badly, quickly.

"Neither is us both getting caught." Someone needed to get back to the mansion and tell them what had happened. Whatever had happened in Budapest, the truth still needed to be known. Nathan coughed - and caught his breath as soon as he could, his vision gone white with pain. "Don't have any ID on me, so it's not like they'd know who I am right away..." he forced out.

Her eyes narrowed at the cough. "So we don't both get caught," Jean said, her voice steel. "I'll get us on the plane."

His eyes snapped open, locked on her. "So stubborn."

"You know it," Jean said, the edge of a smile on her lips but not touching her eyes. "And now," she added, holding up the vial again, "it's time for the pain to go away. You should sleep, too."

"You and needles," Nathan muttered, but closed his eyes. Just to rest them. He'd start focusing again just as soon as he needed to.

Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,
Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail,
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."