Becket

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

The X-Men get a warning from Tanya Callery that another assassination of a significant mutant figure is in the offing. Unfortunately, she's only able to give them less than an hour's notice.


"So there was a minor earthquake in China," Scott said as the doors to the Situation Room opened. He knew it was Jean, of course; he'd sensed her coming - with coffee! - to keep him company for a bit while he sat his coms watch. "Literally, that seems to be about the only thing going on in the world this fine Sunday afternoon. I love boredom."

"Non-event days are the best," Jean agreed, walking over to join him. She set the coffee cup on the desk next to him and leaned down for a kiss. "And, in what I think may be an unprecedented event, I have nothing to do. All my medlab paperwork is up to date, my tests are all graded and I've even gone through my email, twice. Not a thing."

"Want to make some plans for post-coms shift then?" Scott asked idly as she sat down beside him. "Dinner, or a movie... maybe both?" He grinned somewhat mischievously. "There's that Jackie Chan movie that just came out."

"Oooh, yes please. One of these days that man is going to realize he's too old to be doing that sort of thing, and that will be a sad, sad day." She gave the tv a baleful look as the newscaster moved on to talking about the presidential primaries, then muted it, ignoring the subtitles that popped up automatically.

Scott still kept - well, half an eye on the screen. "Sounds like a plan, then. And I don't know about you, but I have this ridiculous craving for fried-and-unhealthy, dinner-wise. I think I must have been being too virtuous lately or something, because I would absolutely kill for a plate of onion rings right now."

Jean snorted. "Oh dear. Um... Oh, hey. If we go to the multi-plex in New Rochelle there's always MacMenamin's Grill. Deep fried death that still offers, you know, real food."

"Well, I wouldn't want to offend your arteries," Scott teased - and his smile vanished at the same moment a red light started to flash on the console. He leaned back in his chair, one hand going to the keyboard to trigger the recording of the phone call, the other to the headset he was still wearing.

"This is Summers," he said after a moment, and his eyes widened. Son of a bitch, he sent down to the link to Jean, it's Callery.

Jean's eyebrows shot up; this did not bode well. It boded even less well as Scott's expression went from alert into tense and beyond.

"Okay," Scott said. "Can you... okay." A pause, during which he met Jean's eyes. #Is there anyone in the Danger Room right now? Looking for people already in leathers.#

The chair she was sitting in slid sideways along the floor to put her in range of the other computer and she pulled up the appropriate schedule. #Kurt's got Cain, Shiro and Tabitha in there doing a drill.#

"Can you give me anything else... okay. No, I get it. We'll be there as soon as we can," Scott said to Callery. The red light went out, and he pulled off the headset, rising. "Tell them to get to the hangar, and get yourself there, too," he said to Jean, already turning for the door. "I've got to fire up the 'Bird and hope skipping the preflight doesn't mean we're going to crash. We need to be upstate and deployed within the hour. Trask is giving the assassination game another go."

Already Jean was flipping open the intercom link between the Situation Room and the Danger Room's observation area. "Nightcrawler, there's a situation. You, Sunfire and the others need to get to the hanger, asap."

"Briefing on the plane!" Scott added over his shoulder, even as he 'yelled' loudly inside his head for Charles. They needed to alert the authorities, but the Professor could be doing that while they were en route. It wasn't going to do anyone any good if Trask's people got there and only the local police were here to meet them. Especially not the local police.

"Right," Jean muttered, shutting off the com as she heard Kurt's acknowledgment, and then turning and heading for the locker room at a flat run to get changed. And it had been such a good day, too.

--

Beaver Hollow Conference Center was a particularly impressive example of its type of resort. Set on three hundred wooded acres in upstate New York, with its own lake and more facilities than most conferences it hosted would ever actually use, it was quieter than usual on an April weekend. Only one conference was currently scheduled, a relatively small affair examining the social and economic issues facing mutants in Eastern Europe. It was perhaps the topic of the conference that had led to other groups avoiding Beaver Hollow this weekend, but the attendees at the conference hadn't minded having the place to themselves. The sessions had been spirited, occasionally acrimonious. Even half a world away from the countries where these issues were playing out, emotions were still running high. Miraculously, no one had quite come to blows. Yet.

The VIP suite closest to the main conference hall was quiet, cool and pleasant and bright. The sunlight flooded in through the open windows and illuminated the older man who was sitting at the desk, pursing his lips as he skimmed the notes for his speech that afternoon. He was wearing the standard black cassock, but it was unadorned, and his beard was shorter than most of his colleagues, giving him an altogether more modern look than one might have expected from an archbishop of the Russian Orthodox Church.

Alexi Garnoff was indeed quite a bit younger than most of his colleagues, as well, which made his rise through the ranks of the Church even more meteoric in hindsight. Unlike other rising ecclesiastical stars, however, his attention was not focused on the political situation in Russia, but on social activism. His choice to take up the position at the head of the Church's Department for Church Charity and Social Service had not come as a surprise to those who knew him well, but it had led them and others to write him off as essentially unworldly. Perhaps even a little old-fashioned.

His subsequent 'outing' of himself as a mutant, and determined activism in the cause of addressing the needs of mutants throughout Russia and the Orthodox world had thus been something of a shock.

Kurt had volunteered quite insistently for this protection duty, in the circumstances, and he smiled at the older man when he stepped quietly into the room. "Hello, Father."

Garnoff blinked up at him for a moment, clearly startled by the appearance of a stranger - and perhaps, just for an instant, startled by Kurt's appearance. But his rather severe features were lightened in the next moment by a warm and genuine smile. "Good afternoon, my son," he said in accented but very precise English. "How may I help you?"

"I was hoping we might speak about your recent work", Kurt told him, ignoring the startlement quite easily. "My name is Kurt Sefton, and I have something of an interest in it."

Garnoff looked at him for a long, long moment, and although the smile did not vanish, it turned slightly quizzical. "You are telling me the truth," he said slowly, "but not the whole truth. I can sense it. As well as a great deal of concern - for me?" The smile did fade, now, as Garnoff's expression turned troubled.

Kurt blinked at him, then nodded slowly. "So that is your power. We did not know the details. Yes, sir, it is true. I came here as part of a group to protect you."

"To protect me. I was expecting a less than friendly reception to my speech from some among those here, but that is not what you mean, is it?"

"No. We have had reports that someone wants you, very specifically, dead."

Garnoff closed the folder in front of him, a gesture with a strange edge of finality to it. "I am not - have never been politically active," he said after a moment.

"You do not have to be", Kurt said, his voice quiet and almost apologetic. "There is a faction at work who would have mutants take supremacy, and would strike at any of our kind who work for peace. Including you."

"Ah. I see." Garnoff smoothed the sleeves of his cassock, then touched the plain steel cross he wore for an instant, his expression thoughtful, reflective. Strangely calm. "I shall speak to them when they come, then."

"No!" was the almost desperate response. "Sir, these people are fanatics, there is no reasoning. Those who were sent to kill you, will kill you, if they are allowed to reach you."

The look Garnoff gave Kurt was gentle, yet still somehow reproving. "There is always reasoning. Someone convinced them to become... fanatics, as you say. Words won them once. Words can win them again. But I will not run," he went on, more firmly.

He bowed his head in acknowledgment of the look, almost shamed. "And if you cannot keep them from completing their task? The world would be a poorer place. I have followed your career."

The soft laugh the archbishop gave was only slightly strained. "I do not wish to die, of course. I have much work I wish to do. But," Garnoff said briskly, although his hand strayed to his cross again, "it will be as God wills. I must seek to act rightly within the situation as it develops. That is all any of us can do, my son."

"It is true", Kurt allowed. "But my friends and I will be here, in any case. I will tell them you wish to speak to those who are coming... but to act rightly in turn, we cannot do nothing as they attack you."

"I will not have people harmed on my behalf. The others here for the conference must be warned."

"It will be done", he promised.

--

It had seemed like such a good plan when they'd realized that Trask's people were somewhere in the woods, trying to make their way quietly to the conference center. Garnoff's insistence that he wasn't leaving had complicated things; Scott hadn't expected Trask's people to stop coming even if the archbishop had led Kurt whisk him away, but having him still here made it even more essential that they track the hostiles down and take them down out here, at a safe distance.

He should have brought more than one tracker. Not that he'd have brought Kyle along for this just yet, not given who might be out here, but still. Not ideal conditions, Scott thought, sticking close to Jean as she made her way through the woods. She'd directed the others to targets, or at least to their general vicinity, and had apparently found one for them, as well.

"Identifying any of them yet?" he murmured.

"They're all spread out," Jean muttered. "Taking advantage of the grounds. It's a good idea, but a pain in the..." Trailing off she narrowed her eyes. Someone's up ahead. Doesn't know we're back here.

Can you tell who? Scott sent back to her down their link. He was so, so hoping that the answer wasn't Ilyas Saidullayev. Not that he didn't have faith in his team, but he didn't want this to turn into a real mess if it didn't have to. Craters were tacky.

There was something off about the hostile's mind, but Jean didn't have time to focus on that. I don't speak the language... Jean sent, but flashed Scott the mental image she'd found of the man's reflection in the window of the vehicle he'd come in - it wasn't terribly clear, but it was the best she could get without stopping and taking the time to do a deep scan.

Damn. That's William Moses, Scott sent back, recognizing the picture from the files. Still working with Trask... I was really hoping that wasn't the case. He paused, mind racing. Directs blasts from his hands, 'Ro and Nate said. He's vulnerable from behind. Split up?

Jean nodded, deepening the link to give Scott at least some access to the telepathic sense of where their target was, and where they were in relation to him. I'll get ahead of him, she sent, then tapped her TK to jump up into the branches of the tree they were below.

Scott nodded to himself and then started to move through the woods as soundlessly as he could. It wasn't his specialty, so making some noise was inevitable. As he came up behind Moses, the man - quite a bit bigger in person than Scott had thought - didn't seem to notice. At least, he didn't turn.

The sound of cracking knuckles, however, alerted Scott to the fact that the man was aware of his presence. "Let me guess - a new one," he rumbled. "And probably as useless as all the rest."

Scott proceeded to do something he never did - except when he needed to stall an opponent for long enough for his wife to sneak up on them.

"Yeah," he said after a moment, consideringly. "I do need to have a talk with my people about actually drowning rats, when they get the opportunity..." Just because he didn't do the snappy banter didn't mean that he couldn't.

Moses whipped around then, surprisingly fast for his size, and raised his hands chest-high while glaring at Scott. "That's assuming you are around to tell them anything at all." With his words came a blast of energy, fired straight at Scott's torso without any further prelude.

--

This was not how she'd expected this to go, Tanya Callery thought dourly, picking her way through the woods. They could have smashed right through to that conference center - or tried, at least. She didn't think the sneaky approach was Moses's idea. Or Trask's. The woman had the habit of going for the jugular when the opportunity presented itself, however much she might wrap herself in obscure futuristic philosophy.

Splitting them up - that was devious. Saidullayev, if she had to wager. She only hoped that the X-Men had brought enough people, or at least, some of their telepaths. Not that it will help much, if they did... She'd thought Gideon Faraday had been anal-retentive about protecting his staff from hostile telepaths.

As sneaky as Callery was being, however, Cain Marko was at the exact opposite end of the scale, sitting on a large stump by a creek bed, leather jacket tossed over a nearby log and a ham sandwich in one hand. He waved as soon as he saw Callery, shoving the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth and brushing his hands off. "Howdy," he said with a grin, a few crumbs falling to the ground. "Fancy meeting you here."

Callery rolled her eyes at him, but her lips might have twitched, very slightly, in a smile. "It's been a while, Marko. Should I mention how very much I didn't like walking all the way back to Ushuaia?" She paused beside a tree, eyed it thoughtfully. Not as good as the lampost was.

It actually rather annoyed her that she couldn't risk sitting down beside Marko and having a conversation. There were a number of things that the X-Men would probably like to know about Trask and her people, and there was a limit to how much she could safely pass to Lakatos. Their contacts had to be brief.

"In fact, I've been holding something of a grudge." Hint, hint. I don't know if the madwoman's got anyone else here watching.

Cain picked up on the hint, standing and cracking his knuckles. "Well then," he said, "Only sporting to be a gentleman and ask if you're gonna be smart and surrender. 'course, if you ain't, then might as well be nice and let the lady take the first shot." Meaning, make it count.

Wait. Could she get across a little information, maybe? Can't get away with babbling any of Trask's plans, but I might be able to give them some idea of what they're looking at... "And give up on the promised land?" she asked, moving towards him -deliberately slow, as if looking for an opening, instead of buying time. "Mr. Faraday, for me, was just... foreshadowing, Marko. He was all philosophy. You need to be a fanatic to follow someone like that, because there's no point, just chaos. But she's promising a better world." And it is damned attractive to the disenfranchised, fuck it all.

Circling Callery, Cain watched the smaller woman intently. He'd been told that she was acting as a double agent, which earned her a lot of respect in his book just for sheer guts, but that meant that there was still a chance she could be playing everyone. "Sounds to me like the lady's buying her promises and selling you out for 'em. What'd you think you were going to do here? Whack a guy then get away scot-free? She sold you up the river, toots. The rest of your yahoo buddies are probably on their way to the hospital already." Come on, lady, take the bait, Cain thought. How many of you are there? His communicator channel was open and active, relaying the entire conversation to the team's network. Any information Callery could give would be picked up by someone, just in case it was important.

"All I need to do is keep you here," Callery said, and decided all at once, rather recklessly, to risk it. "You're the only real threat, Marko." She moved to the left, eyeing him. Smiling in a way that was supposed to be superior, but came out more strained than anything else. "Any energy projector who came with you is deeply, deeply fucked." It was the best she could do. There was no easily deniable way to warn them. She launched herself at Cain in the next moment, hoping to hell they weren't being watched.

--

Despite the fact that Jean had telepathically directed them to the area in the woods where she'd 'spotted' another presence moving in on the conference center, neither Shiro nor Tabitha saw any sign of the hostile at first. The woods were quiet, almost oppressively so, barely a breeze marring the stillness. Which made it all the more startling when in the midst of all this silence, their coms crackled very loudly - and died.

Shiro hissed a curse and ripped the comm piece out of his ear. Forge had designed them to tolerate significant external disturbance (like Shiro's own radiation), which meant this was not just a random occurrence. "She's here," he said to Tabitha just loudly enough to be heard, and dropped into a defensive crouch.

Tabitha ducked to the side, at an angle to Shiro to both keep him in sight and guard a wider view. Ears pricked for noise, she held her breath as she waited.

The woman who came into view was slender and blonde, perhaps mid-to-late twenties. She wore simple black clothing that seemed slightly bulky in the way that said 'body armor underneath'. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," she said in a soft singsong - and then looked right at them. Her blue eyes were glowing very slightly in the dimness.

"Boo." Without a warning, Shiro fired. Not at her, but rather at her feet to get her on the defensive. Even as he did, he was calling up his fire form and lunged at her.

Tabitha cut around to the side, out of the line of fire. She pulled up a bomb to throw after Shiro's fire. She tossed it at the woman with a shout, attempting to divide her attention.

Both X-Men's forms of energy projection were visible, both clearly distinct. Which was what made it even more surprising when Shiro's fire and Tabitha's time bomb grew... fuzzy, shifting and merging together into bright white energy that spun around the blonde woman as if it was water being sucked down a drain.

Her eyes had closed, in that brief moment. When they opened again, they were incandescent blue. The blonde woman smiled, and a shockwave of concussive force exploded outwards from her slender form, directly at Shiro.

Shiro barely had time to brace himself as the redirected blast hit him, and like a bat hitting a ball, slammed him clear through a tree. He collapsed in a wheezing heap on the ground, his aura faded.

With a worried glance at Shiro, Tabitha charged at the woman. Where bombs didn't work, a swift right hook to the jaw might. She was allowed to get in close - but only close enough for her opponent to demonstrate that yes, she'd had some hand-to-hand training as well.

"Tabitha Smith, isn't it?" the other blonde said, and landed a solid kick to her knee. "I don't think we've met."

Tabitha swallowed a vicious curse as her knee gave to the blow. Her stomach heaved with the sudden pain. She swallowed against it and met the other woman's eyes. "Amber Hunt, nope, I'd sure remember someone like you."

"You've seen my name in a file, though, right?" There was a cold sort of anger in the other woman's voice. She stepped forward and landed a solid punch to Tabitha's jaw. The Amber Hunt who had been Moira's patient hadn't known how to fight, beyond basic self-defense. Things had changed since then. "One of your team's successful missions. Too bad you all suck when it comes to follow-through."

Tabitha stumbled back a few steps, resisting the urge to put a hand to her face. She kept them up in front of her, waiting for a new attack. "Someone sure has a selective memory. You left Muir under your own power." Tabitha shot a bomb into the tree behind Amber.

Amber had already braced herself for the impact of the bomb, and was taken by surprise when it hit the tree instead of her. She hit the ground, bleeding from a few stray cuts from wood bits that had been turned into shrapnel. Her eyes were still glowing as she looked up at Tabitha, however.

"Under my own power. And back out into the world that you leather-clad frauds are supposed to be making safe for people like us," she said, and the world exploded in Tabitha's face.

Tabitha skidded along the ground, suddenly grateful for those leathers Amber disparaged. She briefly considered letting the herd of elephants finish her off before she struggled back to her feet. Smart-assed comments failed her as she swayed on jelly-like legs.

"No one cares about your sob story," Shiro spat, back in the air after a few moment's respite, and aiming a flaming roundhouse at the young woman. "Take some responsibility for yourself." Hypocritical though that might sound coming from him.

Amber got her arms up to block the kick. The fire shrouding Shiro's body charred her clothing, but the skin beneath was unmarked, and although she reeled backwards briefly, she recovered her balance almost immediately.

"That's refreshing. At least you're not pretending to care." White light gathered around her again, her hair stirring in an invisible breeze. The air grew abruptly heavier, almost oppressive. "Not like this bishop. I have a problem with frauds."

Shiro smoothly kicked again with his other foot to distract her from retaliating, while reinforcing his personal force field to brace for an attack just in case. "You are an idealist who has been confounded by a madwoman. Right now, there is no use talking to you."

Tabitha knew her power was nearly useless. She clearly was inferior at hand to hand, she could barely stand on her throbbing knee. She slowly used a tree to straighten from her crouch. That left her one shining option.

She chucked a rock at what she hoped was Amber's head.

--

For an archbishop, Garnoff turned out to have a rather remarkable ability to lie. He told the conference organizer of a threat "brought to the attention of the Russian consulate" with a perfectly straight face. He encouraged the other man to call the authorities, even after Kurt reasssured him that the X-Men had indeed alerted the relevant agencies via their own contacts. It would add urgency, he'd pointed out to Kurt, and allow for the conference organizers to keep everyone in the main hall, together and relatively safe.

"It was well done", Kurt allowed. He'd barely left the older man's side since telling him the truth, almost appointing himself the archbishop's personal bodyguard. It hadn't sat well with the young priest accompanying Garnoff, but the archbishop had managed to talk him around. "And it should be enough, I hope."

They were with the others, yet off to the side of the large room, where they could talk with relative privacy. The priest, Nikolai, was sitting at the next table, watching them anxiously. "This is a difficult situation," Garnoff said. He seemed as collected he had earlier, although there was a slight tension around his eyes that was noticeable if one looked closely. "I would not want to see any of them hurt. Even those on the opposite side of the ideological fence," he said, and mustered up a strained, but still surprisingly charming smile.

"We mean to protect them all, as far as we can if the worst happens", Kurt told him, quiet but firm. "But I thank you for making that job easier."

Garnoff was eyeing him thoughtfully. "Who are you, really, Kurt Sefton?" he asked after a moment, sounding honestly curious. "You and your friends out there... I do not believe you are from any government, although that was my first thought."

"Who am I?" he repeated with a wry smile, keeping his voice low. "I am a younger prince, of sorts, of a Roma clan, born to an international terrorist and a German baron. I am the son and brother of witches, I am a circus acrobat, I am the near-assassin of a president against my will...and now, I am an X-Man. We work out of America, though we belong to no government, as you say, and this is what we do."

Over at the next table, Nikolai was very obviously trying to pretend he wasn't listening. Garnoff gazed at Kurt for a long moment, one eyebrow raising slightly, before his expression softened again into a smile. "You do not often have the chance to be that forthright, do you? I sense a trace of happy defiance in you."

"Most people do not ask. Because they already know some or all of it, because they do not know there is anything to ask, or they never have the chance to speak to us." He shrugged slightly. "I would not tell just anyone, also."

"Ahh. Are you a son of the Church, then?" Garnoff's smile grew slightly. "Clearly not my Church, if you are German-born..."

Kurt nodded. "I was baptised into the Catholic church at thirteen. It is not a decision I have ever reconsidered."

"Catholics." Despite the situation, absurdly, there was a definite twinkle in the bishop's eyes. "Well-intentioned, but rather misguided."

Kurt blinked at him, then started to laugh. "I must introduce you to Father Michael, when this is over. I think you would get along."

"Your own priest? I would welcome the conversation." Garnoff's eyes strayed towards the doors; there were no windows in the lecture hall, which made it the ideal place to keep the participants gathered together. "Those of us who see no difference in God's children, whatever their genes, need to... how is it said, stick together?"

"I have known him since I was a boy of twelve", Kurt confirmed. "And for a child taught to fear the reception he might get outside his own family... to find a man who saw only a child, not a demon, was quite an awakening."

Garnoff was silent for a long moment, listening. "My gift makes it easier to see beyond the evidence of my eyes," he said, "but it is little enough, really. Any human being can do the same if they choose. It doesn't take empathy to be empathetic."

"Any can", Kurt said with a half-sad smile, "but too few do. Let us hope that may change before too long."

--

It was the warning provided by Moses's gesture that saved him, and only barely. Scott dove for the ground, but the blast clipped his shoulder, sending him somersaulting a few times into the undergrowth. He used the momentum of the uncontrolled tumble to roll back to his feet, and used Jean's awareness of both his position and Moses's to make sure he fired off his answering blast in the right direction.

It didn't hit Moses, but it was close enough to make him dodge, and the tall man ducked behind one of the wider tree trunks to shelter himself from any more shots. He didn't have the advantage of knowing where Scott was through a telepathic link, however, and so he had to emerge from behind the tree in order to seek out the X-Man for another blast of his own.

Scott flung himself to cover behind a tree, breathing hard. His arm hurt, but it seemed to be working fine. Hurray for body armor. "Phoenix," he said a bit raggedly, over his com - he couldn't quite collect his thoughts enough for the switchboard just now. "In position?"

"Yes," came the terse reply, which was made more than a little bit redundant by the tree branch which came up behind Moses and whacked him across the ribs.

Scott swung around the tree in time to see Moses stagger, and fired another blast, this time at the trees around the other man. If they could manage to pin him down, Jean could put him down for the count.

Moses had been knocked to his knees by the blow to his ribs, and soon disappeared under a shower of leaves, branches, and debris. Besides the cawing of several irate birds, there was no sound, not even the rustle of branches to show that Moses was preparing a rejoinder to the attack.

Jean stepped out from behind the tree opposite Scott. "So... do I need to hit him again, do we think?"

The answer - a resounding 'yes' - was given just a moment later, when the pile of branches exploded into splinters as Moses blasted his way out from under them. He staggered a bit as he got to his feet, and the two X-Men could see the blood trickling from several cuts on his face, but he was clearly not beaten yet.

Scott bit back a curse and aimed the next blast square at his chest. Break some more of his ribs and maybe he'd go down and stay down.

Unfortunately, it seemed Moses expected the retaliation, as he was already moving sideways by the time Scott fired off his blast. The beam clipped him in the shoulder, which meant that his next return shot was one-handed as he ducked behind a nearby tree.

It was close enough that Scott staggered away from the wake of it, going for cover again. "God damn it, I'm getting sick of playing hide and seek," he gritted over his com to Jean.

"I could flatten the forest," Jean offered, leaping back up into the trees to try and play spotter from up there. "At least, part of it. But I don't think it would be an optimal solution."

Scott heard the sound of another blast, and instinct had him diving away from the tree just as it exploded. He rolled and came back to his feet. Wide-range blast, he sent rapidly to Jean, trying to spot Moses. One-two punch... The blast he let off was as unfocused as they came, but had more force behind it than he ordinarily would have used against a human being.

At the same moment Jean slammed out with a telepathic blast, hoping to shut his mind down. Unfortunately for their plan, the oddity Jean had sensed in Moses' mind suddenly became much, much clearer. "Shit. He's been psi shielded..."

It was entirely due to this fact that when Moses went down it wasn't for long; he climbed to one knee waveringly and then hauled himself upright again, backing up as he got to his feet to put more distance between himself and the two X-Men. He fired off several more blasts, two-handed this time, but they were scattered and hurried, not at all the carefully-aimed shots of before. Obviously he had decided that retreat was the better option.

He was headed in the opposite direction to the conference center. And yet... Let's make sure he doesn't change his mind and turn around, he sent to Jean, firing off two blasts in return, one of which smashed through the trunk of a tree just beside Moses. I'll take the low ground. You take the high?

Mentally berating herself for not having expected the shielding, Jean nodded to Scott and lifted into the air, swooping along behind Moses and taking the occasional pot shot to make him keep his head down.

--

In the split second it took for Callery's shoulder tackle to reach Cain, the unstoppable Juggernaut planted his feet and exhaled forcefully, his jet-black armor forming around him in a quick burst of flame. The petite woman's charge hit him in the midsection, pushing the both of them back almost twenty meters along the creekbed, Cain's booted feet digging large furrows in the moist soil.

Cain smiled as he reached down, picking Callery up by her shoulders and grinning at her from under the helmet. "Surprised?" he asked, tossing her in the air and swinging his shoulders to headbutt her into the other side of the shallow creek. "Looks like that saying about old dogs and new tricks ain't all that accurate."

He'd pulled the blow as much as he could, trying to make it look good rather than do actual damage. But hell, the little woman was darn close to being as invulnerable as he was, and frankly Cain had been itching to cut loose a little.

It was kind of hysterically amusing that she was actually glad to be headbutted into the creek. Because being stunned/mildly concussed meant that she needed a minute to gather herself, and she could do more talking... dear God, will you listen to me? A rattled, breathless laugh slipped out as she pulled herself out of the creek, swaying. The swaying was not an act.

"Nice... new trick. We have them too!" Callery grabbed at a tree to steady herself, grinning rather shakily at him. "You're the only threat here, Marko, and that includes if Dayspring and Grey came with. None of your telepaths can do a damned thing to us anymore." Not entirely true, but it worked to tip him off to the issue. "Those Askani shields are great things."

"So you all came prepped for blasters, bricks, and brains," Cain summarized, making sure his communicator was broadcasting. "Me, if I want to try and break into your head, I'll do it the old fashioned way." He reached down to the creek bed, hefting a basketball-sized rock out of the mud and sidearming it towards Callery in a predictable arc.

Callery dodged it, laughing again. "Oh... how I've missed the direct approach," she said, and ran for him again, weaving back and forth through the woods this time. If there was one edge she had, it was that she was faster and more agile. And she'd probably pushed her luck as far as it could go, with the conversation.

Were there any weak spots in that armor? It was more idle curiosity than anything else. It wasn't like she actually wanted to win this fight, and the opening she left him as he closed would have been hard for someone observing from a distance to see. But it wasn't any less obvious to an opponent.

Cain took a few shots from Callery for appearances' sake, a one-two combination to the gut and hip that he actually felt through the armor, and a swift one-legged kick to the back of his knee that almost staggered him. Her attempt at a jumping punch to the ribs, however, was blocked with one meaty hand enclosing her much smaller fist, and a quick heave sent her in a lazy arc that barely cleared a nearby treetop.

Glancing down the creekbed, Cain could see where it met a larger, faster-flowing stream, forming a large pool. Getting an idea, he advanced towards where he'd tossed Callery. "Give it up!" he hollered as he batted a tree completely out of the ground, "You're washed up here."

She caught his meaning. It would be good enough. And maybe there was one more thing... "Not a chance," she called, pulling herself back to her feet. "Part of being a Canaanite is not giving up, Marko. Ask your friend Nathan about that - she got the idea from him!"

"Canaanite?" Marko repeated, more out of genuine confusion. Then her words sunk in. Nate's crazy brain ghosts. Well, shit.

Loping towards Callery, he cocked one arm back for a punch, holding his other one out with three fingers subtly extended. Two... one... and then the swing--

The punch connected, but she caught his arm as it did and held on. The splash as they both went into the pool was impressively large. Callery pushed away from Cain, breaking the surface and gulping in a lungful of air before she propelled herself towards the far edge of the pool. Good enough...

Calmly, Cain sank to the bottom of the pool, watching Callery make it to the bank and head off. Waiting a full minute, he let the armor fade into particles of ash floating away in the water as he surfaced. Keying his communicator, he trudged towards the shore. "Juggernaut here," he announced. "One down and booking it."

--

Amber stumbled backwards, blood dripping at once from a gash along her forehead. It was a nasty cut, and should have affected her much more than it apparently did. She put her hand to it for a moment, laughing a bit breathlessly. "Ilyas is right," she said almost wonderingly. "I do absorb the impact."

"Absorb this." Shiro ignited the air in front of Amber's face and rocketed into her with his shoulder. She'd deflect the blast just like she did before, he was sure, but unless her powers came with precognition, she wouldn't see his fist flying through the fire to punch her in the nose.

She didn't, until the very last second at least. So the blow connected, although not quite as squarely as Shiro intended. It still sent her stumbling backwards. A somewhat more half-hearted blast of white energy slammed into Shiro, but it was more reflexive than anything else. Bleeding freely from the nose, Amber caught herself against a nearby tree, her glowing eyes going distant, as if she was listening to something.

"All right then," the two X-Men heard her murmur.

Shiro stumbled back but caught himself in midair. Proximity was his greatest advantage in this fight, and now she'd managed to get away. He swore to himself and glanced at Tabitha. "Got any more rocks?" he asked her.

The corner of her mouth quirked up. She tossed a rock up into the air and caught it. "I'm a lousy aim, but I could try to do some damage." She eyed Amber with violence.

Amber's eyes refocused, and she gave Tabitha the most coolly malicious smile imaginable. The instant Tabitha let the rock fly, she raised a hand - and the blast of energy she produced, aimed with alarming precision, smashed the rock into shrapnel.

Tabitha tried to throw herself out of the way, but shards of rock bit into her face and hands. She felt blood welling from the small wounds as she hit the ground again. "Shiro, I hope you have something up your sleeve, because I'm all out of ideas."

Shiro knew he was fast. Not Maximoff or Beaubier fast, not even Cannonball fast. But he could beat most flyers in a race, and that's what he counted on. "I don't know about you," he said as his fire form flared, "But I am going to kick her ass," and rocketed to Amber to engage her again.

Amber smiled, and waited until Shiro was almost within arm's reach. Abruptly, the fire surrounding him flared erratically, dying. The glow around her, on the other hand, redoubled, until it was almost painful to look at.

It was almost comedic the way that Shiro instantly fell out of the sky and crashed at her feet. He opened his mouth to say something, but a sudden crushing fatigue kept him silent. He looked up at Amber through heavy eyes, and if she were a telepath, she'd have sensed a rather vicious curse that involved her future children, frogs, and wasabi.

"Figures I'd get the B team," Amber murmured derisively, then turned her back on him, stepping out of his reach - and heading in the opposite direction from the conference center. "Give my regards to Moira," she said over her shoulder. "Tell her I appreciate all the powers training."

Tabitha resisted the urge to chase after her, she just wasn't up for any more ass-kicking when it was her own getting beat. She limped painfully over to Shiro. "Hey, you alive?" She collapsed next to him and started to check him over.

--

"The authorities are ten minutes out," Scott said as he met Kurt, Bishop Garnoff and a nervous-looking younger man - his aide or something, Kurt had said - just inside the front doors of the conference center. "I think that it's best to get him out of here and somewhere safe, and worry about talking to the police later." Their focus had to be on defusing the situation here; explanations were better left for after the fact.

"I will see it done", Kurt promised. "I will take him to the brownstone - there are not many places more secure."

"I don't know." Scott was well-aware of the range issues for Kurt when he had a passenger along, but the idea of dropping Garnoff into the middle of New York, brownstone security or not, made him worry about collateral damage. Yet it might work as a stopgap measure, until they could get him out of the state entirely... I have got to settle down and think. He was starting to feel his bruises already, and he couldn't seem to come down from the adrenaline high.

"What else can we do?" Kurt asked tensely. "Until we can arrange proper protection for him, or even for him to return home..."

Scott shook his head at Kurt for a moment, listening to the others reporting over his earpiece. Moses's team had cleared out quickly, or so it appeared; he wasn't sure he believed that they'd retreated entirely, which was why he had the others patrolling the woods. It was too hard to be certain, with whatever Trask's telepaths had done to their minds. That was the problem. The lack of certainty.

"But where are these people who threatened the archbishop?" Father Nikolai asked uncertainly.

"Not here yet, or not returned," Kurt told him simply. "They were fought off, but they may be biding their time. The threats were very real, I promise you."

Scott shot Kurt an angry look for the less-than-reassuring comment. 'Not here yet'? What the hell, Kurt... Garnoff paled and the young priest's expression grew more set. "But you must find them," Nikolai went on firmly. "The archbishop cannot hide away - he cannot do his work from hiding."

"Kolya," Garnoff said softly, protestingly. "This is not a matter for us to resolve. They have fought to protect me. I do not intend to hide, but for now we must defer to their judgement and ensure that there is no further violence." The sight of a slightly battered-looking Scott had apparently made him change his tune about not leaving. Or perhaps it had been sitting in that conference hall, watching the faces of so many others who were in danger because of his presence.

"We'll get the archbishop somewhere safe," Scott said before Nikolai could respond. "My friend is a teleporter - he can do that instantly. The rest of us will keep searching for these people." The priest had a point about the long term problem. Scott somehow doubted Trask would stop with one failed attempt. One thing at a time. Get him out of here and safe for today...

Kurt glared right back at Scott - there had been a point to saying that, which was to make sure that the archbishop did in fact agree to his evacuation. The expression vanished as he turned to Garnoff, though. "I will take you to my sister's home. I can guarantee you will be safer there than almost anywhere."

"Would they know the bishop's car? It is a consulate car," Nikolai said suddenly, eagerly. There was a fiercely determined light in his eyes. "If the authorities are coming, you could use it to draw these people back out. So that they may be arrested."

"Nikolai!" There was a trace of steel in Garnoff's voice this time. "You will allow them to do their job, and not make suggestions-"

"It actually might be worth a try," Scott muttered, glancing at Kurt. God save us from amateurs, but if they IDed the car on the way in, it just might work. Moses's team had come by car, after all. "One of us could drive the car, the rest could shadow in the plane..."

Kurt nodded his agreement. "It sounds like a plan. And I will be gone with the archbishop in advance."

"I will get the car," Nikolai said.

"Wait-" Scott started, but Nikolai was already sprinting outside, heading down the parking lot. Scott made a face, turning away to carry on a quick conversation with Jean and Cain via the coms. It really was a shot in the dark, but if Moses's people had any thoughts of coming back for another attempt, better to see if they couldn't force a fight out here. Fewer innocent bystanders. Scott remembered all too well what Moses alone had done to that subway station back in December when he'd gone after T'Challa.

"It will be all right", Kurt said quietly to the archbishop. "Once we are gone, you will be safe."

Garnoff smiled very faintly, his eyes anxiously following Nikolai's progress. He moved forward as the young priest vanished, pushing the glass door open slightly so that he could keep an eye on the younger man.

"Archbishop, I think you should come away from the doors," Scott said, slow to react with half of his attention on what Cain was saying in his earpiece.

But Garnoff ignored him. There was the sound of an engine starting, and the black car with diplomatic plates emerged from the end of the row of vehicles, moving slowly towards them and then coming to a stop perhaps ten feet away. The driver's side window rolled down and Nikolai's head popped out. "I can drive," Nikolai called out to them, looking very determined. "Then, you and your people can react more quickly!"

"No," Garnoff said immediately, and was out the door and heading towards the car, looking fully prepared to drag the young man out by his ear if need be. "You will not, Kolya. Come out of there!"

"Sir", Kurt said quickly, following. "Would it not be better to give Father Nikolai something to do? Such as, perhaps, driving the car while my friends follow in the plane?"

"I will not have you using yourself as bait!" Garnoff was at the car already, hand on the door. "You will leave it to these people, Nikolai-" The burst of aggravated Russian that followed sounded like words that a priest should not be using. Nikolai looked suitably shocked.

Scott started towards the door as well, his mouth open, the caution to Kurt to get Garnoff back inside half-formed.

And then the car exploded.

Kurt was far enough away to avoid the worst of the blast, and the flying debris, but he was still thrown off his feet and into the wall behind him with some force - and a distinctly unpleasant crack. The howl that came out of him then wasn't all from physical pain, and it was barely twenty seconds before he was back on his feet and running for what was left of the car.

Scott cursed and followed, relaying information on the coms and down his link with Jean as quickly as he could. The car was a smouldering wreck; there was no way Nikolai could have survived. Kurt was dragging Garnoff away from the flames, but it didn't take much medical knowledge to see that the bishop wasn't going to survive this either.

"Kurt, get down!" Scott shouted, scanning the treeline. He hadn't seen a blast, but...

Kurt obeyed as soon as there was a decent space between Garnoff and the fire before laying the older man gently down and dropping beside him. "Archbishop Garnoff? Sir?" he asked desperately, willing the man to be alive.

He was, barely, and his eyes opened in an effort to focus on Kurt. His injuries were terrible, not least the burns, and he didn't even try to speak. There was acknowledgment in his eyes as they met Kurt's, and forgiveness... and apology, which was the hardest thing to see. And then his head slumped to one side before Kurt could even call to Scott to get an ambulance, and it was over.

Kurt put his head down, but didn't cry.