Many thanks to Luba (who sent this and spot-checked something for me!) and Mica (who doesn't complain even when I send her 48 pages to beta, and she's trying to pack), who beta-read . . . and, between the two of them, made me write one particular paragraph over . . . and over . . . and over. *giggles* So when you see the one that's really good, write and tell them so. ;)

For other Gen: BA stories, go to Fonts of Wisdom at http://home.att.net/~lubakmetyk/ or write to me. :)

Generation: Black Air 4
Unwelcome Visitors
JBMcDragon

It was early morning on the large ranch in Colorado; Kitty's favorite time of the day. She considered it even better when her lover woke to join her. On this day he had, and they sat on the couch, legs stretched out before them, Kitty in Pete's lap as he read the paper and she drank coffee. The sun streamed in through a window behind them, lighting tiny dust motes and making them look like gold powder as they drifted through the air.

Other than the children, only Nightcrawler was still home. Wolverine had left on "business" for a few days--though he was due back any time--and Amanda had been called away by her mother, who was sick.

Kitty sighed and lay back, resting her head against Pete's slim chest, listening to his heart beat, slow and steady.

Outside, a car could be heard coming up the gravel driveway, and Kitty lifted her head to look out the window.

"It's Logan," she said, smiling as she saw the red Jeep. "And he's got company!" She jumped up, heading for the front door in boxer shorts and a man's dress shirt, rumpled and much too big. She threw open the door, smiling to see a tall, slender woman step out of the car and take off a pair of sunglasses. The woman had black hair that fell like satin to her waist, and alabaster skin broken only by a black circle that covered one eye. "Domino!" Kitty called, smiling. The woman smiled back and waved, then reached over to take a duffel bag from the back of the Jeep.

A man came out of the car then, shoulders massive, hair a perfect white, one eye glowing. "Cable!" Kitty waved, and was answered by a tight smile. He reached around and took the other bag, then all three people started walking toward the house.

"Hey, Kitty," Logan said gruffly, reaching her. He hugged her and then walked inside, stopping just past the slender brunette.

"Hey there," Cable said, smiling and reaching around to embrace Kitty's slight form. Kitty hugged him in return, smiling. A confused expression flitted across her face at Domino's cold stare, then she felt something prick into her back.

Kitty pulled away, looking from one person to the other, and suddenly the world began to swim.

Logan was looking at her coldly, waiting. "Pete!" he called after a minute, worry in his voice but devoid from his face. "Kitty's fainted!"

Kitty looked at him, unsure what was going on. Then the world spun harder, and disappeared.

***

"What happened?" Pete cried, coming in the door. Kitty lay, pale in Logan's arms, her brown hair spilling his hands.

"I don't know. She's not pregnant, is she?" Logan asked gruffly.

Shaking his head, Pete ran over and picked her up. He carried her to the couch they had lain on together moments before, then stopped. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Logan would know if Kitty was pregnant. He wouldn't have had to ask.

Pete stood swiftly, whipping around, heat already forming around his fingers.

Cable was there, his face a mask as he reached up with vise-like arms and clamped one hand over Pete's mouth, the other going around his body and turning him, so the thin man's back was to Cable's stomach.

Pete shoved off the ground, hoping to make Cable stumble, and then kicked back with his feet. Cable grunted as Pete's legs hit his knees, and they both fell. Then Logan was on Pete, and he was pinned between the two men. Pete struggled furiously as Logan grabbed his hands, pulling them over his head so that he could only shoot his hot-knives away from his attackers. Pete twisted, growing weaker with each passing second as the hand clamped over his nose and mouth kept air from getting into his lungs.

He started to see spots, and they grew larger and larger until all he could see was Logan's cold eyes, and then not even that.

***

Domino's head swiveled as she caught a motion out of the corner of her eye. Below her the two men had finally sedated Pete Wisdom, and were checking to be sure he was really unconscious.

Domino's eyes flashed as she saw the slight figure in the doorway, an utterly terrified nine year old boy.

His yellow eyes looked up at her, and he whimpered as she started forward. He backed up, tail flattened against one leg, too frightened to even cry out.

Domino pulled free another syringe, even as she knew her two partners stuck Pete with the same liquid to keep him unconscious. The boy continued to back up, finally hitting a wall. He was shaking his head slowly, in denial that this was actually happening. His breathing was short and quick, lurching through his body.

"N-no," he stuttered as he watched her come near, needle in hand. Tears were forming in his eyes and he tried desperately to push himself farther into the wall.

Domino walked up to him carefully, locking one of her hands around the top of his throat, just under his jaw, and tilting his head up.

He whimpered again and a tear fell down his face, but was otherwise too scared to do anything.

She found his jugular and injected the sedative, then watched him closely. Only a second went by before his body relaxed, and she had to catch him to keep him from falling.

She carried him back into the room with Pete, Kitty, Logan, and Cable and put him down next to the two other unconscious people.

"I'm going after Nightcrawler," she said coldly, unzipping the duffel bag and pulling out a long, thin tranquilizer gun.

She didn't bother being quiet as she went up the stairs, knowing that it would only alert the others to an intruder. She padded down the upstairs hall, opening Kurt's door and walking in. His bathroom light was on, the door open, and she could hear him whistling. Domino twisted around the corner of the doorway, leveled the gun and shot before anything but surprise could register on his blue furred face.

The comb fell to the floor with a clatter, Domino catching the former X-Man deftly before hefting him across her shoulder and carrying him back down the stairs.

***

Pistol awoke suddenly and lay in bed for long minutes, unsure why he had gotten up. He heard someone walking down the hall, away from his door, then go down the stairs and into the family room.

There was a long pause, then two people came up the stairs. They headed down the hall together, and Pistol sat up on his elbows and watched his door. One stopped two rooms up, the other continued to his. The doorknob turned, the door opened, and Cable came through.

Pistol's guard came up, though he didn't attack. Then he saw a gun come through the door and he twisted from his bed as the shot was fired. Something stuck in his shoulder, and he fell heavily to the floor. His vision swam and he waited a moment, expecting his healing factor to take over.

Moments later his healing factor was overcome, and he dropped into unconsciousness.

***

Vault's eyes snapped open. He could have sworn he had felt emotions only moments before. Fear, well, terror, followed by confusion, followed by confusion and fear, followed by confusion. So many odd emotions in such a short amount of time had woken him up, and he lay in bed quietly. Slowly he reached out with his empathic abilities, trying to find what was going on.

He came across three people, cold, calculating.

A tremor ran down his spine. He hadn't felt that since living in Black Air.

Footsteps were coming up the stairs, two people from the sound of it. One pair stopped outside his door, and swiftly Vault rolled from his mattress, landing almost silently on the floor and tucking himself under his bed. Watching, he saw the door open and a pair of men's boots stand there for a moment before entering. Boots walked to his bathroom, then to where he hid. The person checked the walk-in closet, then pulled the covers off the bed. Boots creaked, starting to bend down to peer underneath, and Vault panicked. He swallowed hard, trying to think. He knew from painful experience that any strong, sudden change of emotion would alert the man to his presense, so he didn't dare force Boots to be too frightened to look. Moving silently, Vault pushed himself back into the farthest, darkest corner and started to weave an empathy web. By the time Boots had bent and was peering under the bed, Vault knew the Agent no longer thought he would find someone under there. Still, though, Vault closed his eyes and prayed the shadows were deep enough to keep him mostly concealed. The urge to open his eyes and see if Boots was looking at him was great, but he remembered that it was easier to see someone with their eyes open, so he managed to keep them closed. It seemed a long moment before Vault heard Boots leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

Vault swallowed hard and closed his eyes, sending out pulse after pulse of panic/fear/hate/anger/terror/hate as strongly as he could. Emotions stirred as people woke, already drenched in cold sweat from what he was sending.

***

Trace's eyes snapped opened as he was suddenly furious.

The next thing he was aware of was that there was someone at his door.

Memories came flooding back, of Vault waking everyone using the strongest emotions he could most easily send, because one of the guards was taking liberties with one of them. Trace shoved upward, to his feet, ignoring the wrenching of his tired muscles. He was in the bathroom, where he had fallen asleep after sitting in the corner to think, and he made quickly for the door to Pistol's adjoining bedroom, grabbing at a razor as he did so.

Trace went through silently, closing the door behind him just as his bedroom door opened.

He stood now in Pistol's room at the end of the hall, though it was empty. His ice-chip eyes shot around, looking for anything to use as a weapon. They came to rest on the fireplace poker, and Trace crossed the room swiftly to reach it.

His head shot around as the bathroom door started to open, and he raced back across the room until he stood on one side, partially hidden.

The door opened and someone came quietly through. They never stood a chance, Trace bringing the rod iron down on the woman's skull. She dropped to the floor heavily, her form changing from that of Domino to a woman he'd never seen before. He wasted no time marveling that Domino was a shape shifter, instead grabbing her gun and examining it. Understanding quickly filled his brain, and he made sure the thing was loaded before starting out of the room.

The door to Enchantment's room was open, and Trace stepped through, gun already aimed. A man was standing over the blonde, and Trace shot at him, hitting him in the back.

Trace crossed the room swiftly, picking up Enchantment's still form, realizing she was already drugged, and, struggling with it, carried her out the door and down the hall. He stopped at the ladder to the attic, left down so that they could get in and out easily. Swiftly, he climbed the stairs and put Enchantment inside, then went back down and put the ladder up.

He shifted his gun in his hand, walking to Logan's empty room and trading the tranquilizer for the rifle he knew Logan kept. Trace checked for bullets, then left.

He walked into Constance's room, his eyes darting around. She was already gone.

Trace left and went into Vault's, feeling from the almost overwhelming waves of emotion leaving the room that the boy was still there. "Get in the attic," Trace said quietly, then, as Vault rolled from underneath the bed and darted out, Trace walked to Lynx's room.

Trace twisted the handle and shoved open the door, careful to keep his head clear. A blur swung down where he would have been, had he been walking forward. Trace stepped into the room then, grabbing the weapon before it could be pulled away.

Lynx stood, ready to bolt, on the other end of the bat.

"Attic," Trace said with a jerk of his head, then left.

He glanced in Enchantment's room once more, and saw that the man was no longer on the floor.

The agents were probably mostly immune to the sedative they used, he realized sadly.

Trace continued on, silently.

***

"Cable" had found "Domino" and taken her quickly downstairs, where he laid her on the couch.

"They know," he said, grabbing for another gun.

"Wolverine" stopped him. "We've got Azul, Pistol and Constance, not to mention Nightcrawler, Shadowcat, and Wisdom. We'll come back later for the others."

"Cable" hesitated. Finally, he nodded his head once, jerkily. "Let's go."

The two men grabbed Wisdom and Pistol first, as they were the most important of the captives, and headed out the door. "Wolverine" took "Domino" next, while "Cable" went back up the stairs. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving with so few people.

Trace waited at the top of the stairs, lying on his stomach on the floor so that anyone coming up most likely wouldn't see him until he'd already sighted their head and put a bullet through.

Down the hall, the ladder had been pulled up and the others were in the attic, waiting silently.

Trace heard footsteps and tensed, sighting along the barrel of the powerful rifle. He saw a flash of silver hair and his finger tightened against the trigger, waiting for more of the man's head to come into sight.

The agent looked up just as he stepped up the next stair, his eyes meeting the boy's behind the gun. He threw himself to the side, over the railing, as a shot went right where his head would have been and the bullet sunk into the side of the house.

"Cable" raced into the den, swearing and holding his bleeding ear. "Let's go fast," he snarled. "Before those kids get brave and come down here." The two men grabbed the last of the captives, Azul and Shadowcat, then raced out the door.

***

Trace sat up and raced for the window as he heard an engine start. He took careful aim and shot, and the bullet cracked against the windshield, right between the driver's eyes.

But the bullet didn't quite go through. Bullet-proof glass.

Trace swore and aimed again, hitting the exact same spot even as the Jeep backed away with squealing tires. Trace aimed, shot, heard a tire explode.

The Jeep raced away, one tire flat and the windshield cracked. Trace cursed soundly, but they were out of range and nothing could be done.

***

It had been a full twenty-four hours since they had come in and taken away the adults and most of the children. In that twenty-four hours Trace had set up a command in the house, barricading his family against anyone else who might try to attack. He'd been trained for just such an emergency, and though the others, Lynx, Enchantment and Vault, were still young and only Vault had started his real training, they were handling it well.

Trace sat on the roof of the house, rifle held loosely in his arms. It was the best vantage point of anywhere around, and he could see for miles in almost any direction. Only the hills behind the house caused him any worry, and they were too thickly forested to drive through easily.

The sound of a vehicle coming up the dirt road reached Trace first, and he aimed carefully toward the long trail of dust signifying an arrival. The dirty Jeep pulled to a stop, and Logan got out and walked toward the house.

Trace shot.

Wolverine yelped with pain as he twisted back, clutching his shoulder where the bullet had torn through.

"That was a warning," Trace said loudly, still aiming at the man. "Come any closer and the next will go between your eyes."

Trace watched as Logan looked from his bloody hand up to the roof, where Trace perched. "What the hell are you doing?" Logan snarled.

Trace didn't answer.

Logan made to move forward, and Trace took the safety off again, to be ready to shoot. Logan must have heard, because he stopped and looked up.

"I'm serious."

Logan stopped again and cocked his head to look at Trace. The sun was behind the boy, making a shadow of the alabaster skinned young man. "Trace, where are the others?"

Trace's face tightened. "Leave."

Logan watched him a moment more, then turned, got in his Jeep, and drove away, plans already forming. He didn't trust Pistol, and so by default Trace was suspect. Logan had thought that for a few days Kitty, Pete and Kurt would be enough to keep everyone in check, but apparently he was wrong. If either of those boys had hurt the others, they'd regret it.

***

Pistol woke first. He blinked, looking around, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Air that, for years, he hadn't known was stale greeted his nose, clogging it and infiltrating his lungs.

He looked around slowly, seeing the plain gray steel walls of what he now knew to be a cell surround him, though one wall was only bars. His "siblings" were chained against the same wall he was, all out of reach, and all wearing inhibitor collars. From the feeling that all his senses had suddenly disappeared, Pistol knew he wore one also.

"Hey, Pistol. Came back, huh?" someone said from outside, and laughed. Pistol's heart thudded in his chest heavily, a death toll. You're-dead. You're-dead. You're-dead. You knew better than to trust them, part of his mind said. You knew they couldn't be good.

Someone moaned, and Pistol looked over to see Azul's eyes slowly flutter open. Azul looked around, confusion flitting across his expressive face to only be replaced by despair. Almost silently, the boy started to cry.

***

The sun had long ago set. Vault sat near the back door, "listening" for any emotion other than Trace's, Enchantment's or Lynx's. Trace was in Logan's old room at the back of the house, searching for more ammunition or other hidden weapons. Fear, anger, betrayal all clouded around him like a thick wave.

Lynx was in the attic, on one of the beds they had set up. Hatred was the foremost emotion, followed harshly by that horrible sense of betrayal and abandonment.

Enchantment was in the kitchen, moving in the darkness as she gathered the last of the food before starting back up the stairs. She felt numb, keeping most of her emotions at bay. From her he felt fear, and a slow, steady pulse of resignation.

Vault blinked in the darkness. They hadn't turned the lights on in the two days since the others had been taken. Trace was afraid that They might see what was going on.

Vault's mind wandered aimlessly, checking the premises for any other emotion.

He frowned, sitting up as he felt a tingle of--wariness? Worry?

The shadows to his right moved suddenly, lunging at him through the darkness. There was the hiss of bone against bone, and Vault was thrown to the side, a large form pinning him to the ground, claws at either side of his head.

"Not a word. Not one emotion," a low voice growled warningly.

Vault's heartbeat raced. He couldn't send emotions well enough yet to keep Logan from feeling them. And one thought from Logan would have that middle claw popping into Vault's brain.

"Don't kill me," Vault whispered quietly.

Logan could smell the fear radiating off of him, hear his heart racing in terror. "What did you do with the others? Where are Kitty and Pete?"

Vault took a deep breath and looked at Wolverine with hatred.

Logan almost pulled away from the emotions that raged under the boy's eyes.

"With you."

Logan shook his head. Looked around. "Where's Pistol?" he whispered, assuming that the boy was behind this.

Vault's lips twisted in a snarl. "You took him."

***

Robert had been the head of the genetics department for twenty-five years. It had been with a great deal of pride that he watched first Pistol and Trace, and later Vault and Constance grow into healthy humans--the first of all the tries that actually succeeded. They were his babies, his children, his accomplishments. He had even named them. Robert had been crushed when Trace started to show signs of weakness, coughing and shaking at age twelve. It had been good, in a way. He'd lasted longer than most of the other creations, even if his DNA had started to give out. And Robert had been very proud indeed when Trace lived in spite of his flaws and the dire predictions people placed on his narrow shoulders. When Pistol stepped up and protected the younger, weaker boy, Robert could have died happy. They were displaying all the human signs of . . . well, humanity.

The clones hadn't been nearly as hard to engineer, but the health they possessed was thrilling. And it was all because of Robert.

Then they had escaped. The files were erased. Robert was crushed. For days he wouldn't come out of his lab, preferring instead to go through what was left of his hand-written notes--of which there were few. It was only when Special Agent John announced that they had located the children and might be able to get them back that Robert finally pulled himself out of his depression. He had insisted on the details, all the things they had done to find the children. Special Agent John had told him about satellites, hacking into computers, using every resource open to them. Robert understood little of it, but could grasp the extent the Agents had gone to. They had found out what sort of cars were there, how the people dressed, names and relationships, all to break in and steal the children back.

And so it was with great delight that he watched as three of his beloved seven creations walked back into his lab.

Azul was first, his bowed head full of black curls. Sleek black pants encased his legs, his arms were pulled behind his back and chained, and another long chain ran from an inhibitor collar around his neck to one of the men's hands.

Pistol was next, bound in much the same way, with the addition of two extra chains about his neck leading to two other men. Pistol's head snapped up, his pupils narrowing as they focused to look at the Agents milling around. Robert almost burst with pride, remembering how it had been his idea to use Special Agent Patch's DNA, using that delectable healing factor to help solve the problems they'd been having keeping the creations alive.

Constance had only one chain around her neck, but she walked stiffly, straight backed, refusing to bow to her captors. She had been the first of the creations to be perfect, without a healing factor, and be female. She was truly Robert's finest achievement, and he knew just by looking at her that she would make an excellent Agent someday. Her will was utterly unbreakable. Special Agent John had said that they'd taken her while she was still asleep, otherwise they might not have gotten her at all.

Robert's eyes flickered back to Pistol, twitching up and down the man's body to be sure nothing was wrong. "Welcome back," he said, breaking into a huge smile as he took a few steps forward.

Pistol snarled at him.

Robert stopped walking forward, but his smile only grew. Obviously being out had greatly helped Pistol's will--not that he needed it to be any stronger. "How's he been doing?"

The man holding the chain scowled. "He's fighting. Refusing to work with us at all. Even when we beat him."

Robert's smile faltered for the first time as he looked at Pistol. "And the other two?"

"They're far more difficult to work with than they were," a woman said. "Constance attacked three of our men, and Azul simply refuses to do anything. He hardly even responds. I think he's in shock of some sort."

Robert knelt in front of the small boy, who stood curled in on himself. "Azul."

There was no response.

Robert cocked his head so he could see Azul's face. "Azul."

The boy didn't even blink.

Robert, now worried, reached up and slapped Azul's cheek gently. "Azul."

Still no response.

"Oh dear." Robert rose and turned away, thinking. "We'll have to perform a memory wipe on Pistol and Constance," he said at last, over his shoulder. "That's the only way we'll be able to make them behave again."

"No!" Pistol snarled, lurching forward against his bonds. The three guards jerked back on their chains, sending volts of electricity running through the young man's body. Pistol screamed and fell, twitching as the last of the shocks ran through his form. He shuddered one last time, then lay unnaturally still.

Robert turned and looked back sadly. "Do it. Now."

"Wait!" Constance shouted as they started to pull them all away. Her feet slid on the tiles as she tried furiously to pull away from the guards, back toward Robert. "Dammit, stop and listen to me!" Robert paused and turned to look at her. She was so beautiful when she was frantic. "All right. I'm listening."

"If . . . if I can get Pistol to cooperate with you, will you leave our memories alone?"

Robert thought for a long time before he finally nodded once. He watched as they turned and were led or carried out, then he looked at the head guard in charge of the creations. "Do what you think best regarding the memory wipe. If you can, wipe only part of it."

The head guard started to turn away, but was stopped by Robert's voice. "If we wipe Azul's memory he may never come back to us. See if you can scare him out of it. If that doesn't work, bring him to me."

The head guard nodded and left the room.

***

Vault had left Logan little choice in the matter. He refused to listen to reason, and kept moving like he was going to scream for Trace. Logan finally pulled him out and away, hand clamped over the boy's mouth, claws making sure he didn't try to escape. Logan took him to a hidey-hole in the middle of the forest, used when he was younger and would get paranoid that people were after him. He'd built it knowing he could remain in there for as long as he needed and never be found.

Now Logan grabbed soft nylon rope and bound Vault's hands, hauling them up and tying the boy high, so that his feet could just barely find enough purchase to keep from hurting his wrists.

"Now," Logan growled, standing far enough back that Vault's kicking feet couldn't reach him. "Tell me what happened to the others." He was afraid he already knew. He had watched Pistol closely the last days before he'd left, seeing how the boy eyed everyone as if evaluating them. Pistol trusted none of them, not even some of his own "family," and kept to himself.

Logan was afraid that the boy had ambushed the others while they were low on staff, taking over the cabin and keeping it for himself and his "family." In which case, who knew what had happened to Kitty, Pete and Kurt?

"Fuck you," Vault snarled, remembering seeing Wolverine carry unconscious people out to a waiting Jeep and driving away while Trace fired. Anger rolled off the young empath, fueling Logan's own wrath. "How much did they pay you to turn us in?" Vault snarled, kicking furiously. "Or did you do it willingly, Agent Patch?" Hurt and betrayal shone in his eyes as he clearly remembered befriending Logan, helping him get control of the others, talking to him about what they thought, trusting him not to hurt any of them.

Logan's mouth snapped open to reply, then he shut it with a click and turned away. He took a few deep breaths, trying to evaluate how much of this rage was his and how much was coming from Vault. He knew the boy couldn't control his powers when stressed. It hadn't been high on Black Air's priority list to teach him. "How do you know about Agent Patch?" he asked finally.

Vault's eyes burned with anger. "I know. Trace knows. Pistol knows. We've known since the begining. We learned all about all the former Agents in Black Air. I don't know why I thought you could be trusted. I thought you'd left them."

Logan took a deep breath and was a long time before speaking. "Vault," he said finally, quietly. "If Trace or Pistol has hurt any of them--"

Vault's eyes widened and he struck out again, kicking hard enough to make his entire body sway. "Trace or Pistol! They've done nothing but help us ever since we needed it! It's you who betrayed everyone! How could you turn us in like that?"

Logan stopped, listening to the boy's words for the first time. Vault's breath was catching in his lungs, his eyes suspiciously bright. "What did you say?" Logan asked quietly.

"You took them in their sleep! You and Domino and Cable and--and--"

"I did what?" Logan asked, stepping forward. He lurched back again as a booted foot landed in his gut.

Snarling, doubled over, Logan sat down in a nearby chair. "Tell me what happened," he growled quietly.

***

Constance sat in the corner of their cell, huddled in on herself. Pistol lay, still unconscious from the electricity, in the middle of the floor. Azul sat against the wall on the other side of the room, staring at something only he could see. He was unnaturally still, not even his tail twitching. Constance had called his name a few times, but there was no response, not even a flicker of awareness in his yellow eyes.

"Hey," a man called from outside the cell. "Stay there."

Constance glared at him as he entered, two other guards standing at the door and watching both her and Pistol. The first man walked swiftly to Azul and picked him up, setting him on his feet and pulling him out the door. Constance started to stand, but the ominous click of a gun stopped her.

Another man walked in, heading straight for her. Constance's eyes narrowed and she flattened herself against the wall, refusing to move. The man hooked a chain to her collar and pulled, almost yanking her off her feet. Constance stood quickly, and was thrown back against the wall with a gun to her throat.

"Move slow, kid," someone growled as another chain was hooked to the other side of her collar.

Constance felt hate radiating throughout her body, and did her best to direct it at the two men holding the chains. One of them stepped back at the murderous look in her eyes, but the other just pulled hard on his cable and jerked her out into the hall.

It was as they were walking silently through the corridors that Constance realized she didn't know where they were going. Her eyes flickered around, but there were no landmarks with which to familiarize herself.

"Where are we?" she finally snapped.

There was no answer, and as they continued to walk she felt her fear mounting.

"Where the hell are we going?" she snarled again. There was still no answer.

***

Azul watched with unseeing eyes as they led him into a large, cold, white room. Once this room, the laboratory, would have made his stomach turn and sweat break out all over his body. Now, however, he seemed to feel oddly detached, as if none of this was really happening to him, and any moment he'd wake up.

Someone turned him roughly, and dimly he was aware that they were swearing at him. A large man lifted him, setting him down on a table in the middle of the room. He knew, on some level, that he should have been frightened of the machines they pulled closer. There were sharp things and monstrous, hulking things and most all of them were undefineable.

A man in a white lab coat stepped forward, holding a long needle.

"Numb his shoulder for me," the man said, tapping the syringe and squeezing out the air bubbles. Azul was jostled as someone pulled off his shirt, then soaked his fur and skin with something wet. A moment later he couldn't feel his shoulder very well, and the man in the coat was circling around until he stood in back of Azul.

Azul couldn't feel the needle at first, with the topical numbing agent on, but he could feel it as it went deeper into his shoulder. Even the pain didn't manage to penetrate his haze, though, and he just sat there docilely.

It was a few moments before his vision started to whirl. He blinked slowly, heavily, and suddenly realized he was falling. Hands caught him and laid him back on the table, propping his feet up on the other end.

"All right, is everything prepped?" a voice said dimly, and then Azul closed his eyes and the world around him faded.

***

Logan paced furiously through the tiny room, still avoiding Vault's thrashing legs. "That wasn't me, kid," Logan said quietly, looking up at the young face filled with anger and betrayal.

"Bull shit," Vault snarled back. "It was you. We both know it."

Logan shook his head slightly, unsure of how to make Vault believe him. "Tell me how I can talk to Trace without him shooting me," Logan said at last, giving up for the moment on making Vault trust him again.

"I won't," Vault said, striking out again at Logan.

Logan stepped back before Vault's foot ever hit him. "If you don't tell me, then I'm going to have to break in there and catch every last one of you."

The look on Vault's face almost cut Logan. After all the work they had done with the kids, to be undermined like this and have the tentative trust shattered.

Vault's breathing was coming faster, and the muscles in his jaw twitched. His entire body went suddenly lax, and Logan stepped forward. The child looked utterly defeated.

Then Logan felt the broadband of anger/fury/terror/hate Vault sent out, like a tidal wave of emotion drowning out every other sense. Logan's jaw clenched and he stepped back, clutching at his head and trying to bring his emotions to bay. When he had finally gotten his head back under control, he glared up at Vault.

The boy was looking back at him defiantly, spite in every line of his long body. "They know you're here, now," Vault said quietly. "And I don't care if you beat the shit out of me, it's too late."

Logan took two long steps, a snarl on his face, and watched Vault manage to restrain his fearful backward move. Logan didn't stop until he was nose to nose with the boy, glaring into the child's eyes. "I'm not who you think I am," Logan growled, "and so I'm not beating you. Because I don't fucking beat children."

Vault blinked, and doubt entered his mind for the first time. But in the next moment he was shaking his head, denying whatever hope was trying to surface. "Fuck you," he said quietly.

Logan snarled something crude under his breath and stormed out of the room.

***

Robert looked down at the prone form of the boy, one of his creations. "You did the mind scan?" he asked the telepath there.

The telepath rubbed his head and nodded. "The kid's managed to block out everything. Even under a sedative. There's no way I can get into his head and make him wake up without hurting him worse."

Robert turned away, scowling furiously. If only they had a stronger telepath. Why couldn't they have cloned one of those?

"Who were his guards?" Robert snapped.

The head guard stepped up, a list in his hand. "Jenkins, Stevenson, Boothby and Leonard, sir."

"Go get them. Find out what this kid liked. See if we can lure him out of the shell he's built."

The head guard nodded and walked briskly away, his shoes clicking on the hard floor.

"Poor Azul," Robert crooned, brushing the boy's hair out of his face. "We'll make you better. Don't worry."

***

Logan stared up at the attic window, trying to peer through the glass even though the sun was shining off it. He shifted ever so slightly, trying to move the sun's glare so that he could see into the attic and find out if the children were there.

A gunshot sounded, a rifle, his rifle, and suddenly Logan felt something rip through his neck and go out the other side. The impact knocked him back and down, and he felt blood flood into his windpipe. The shot was perfect, rupturing enough things in his throat that it would have killed an ordinary man. Even as Logan choked on his own blood and waited for his healing factor to kick in, the world spinning, he admired the marksmanship of the gunner.

When his vision finally cleared and he could breathe once more, Logan realized with a wry thought that the gunner hadn't actually meant to kill him.

Trace stood above him, in a tree, rifle still aimed. "Where's Vault?" he asked in a deadly voice.

"I'm not who you saw," Logan said, sitting up slowly.

Another gunshot ripped through his neck, and as he hit the ground he rolled to be out of range of more shots.

"That's not what I asked," Trace said quietly, even as Logan's healing factor was still working to keep him alive. "I asked where Vault was."

Logan swore and started to stand up. Two bullets slammed straight through his upper back. Logan coughed as still more blood flooded his abused lungs. The boy couldn't have too many shots left, Logan knew. In a fight, Logan would win. He considered getting up and fighting, but he didn't want to damage what little trust there still might be by taking down the head people.

"Would you Goddamn let me talk?" Logan snarled instead. He twisted his head around to look up at Trace, who was considering it.

"All right," Trace said at last. "But don't move."

***

Pistol snarled at someone as they passed by, clicking his canine teeth together with a snap. The man jumped, and Pistol smiled wildly.

"All right, take it easy, kid," the guard leading Pistol muttered gruffly.

Pistol slanted a look at the man, but said nothing. The guard was hiding his fear admirably well, but it did no good. Pistol could smell it. He smothered a feral grin. He was wearing his collar, but they hadn't yet activated it.

"Here we are," the man said, opening a door and waiting for Pistol to walk through.

Pistol remembered this place. It was his main training room, where he and . . . he frowned. Constance was the only thought that came to his mind, but she didn't seem right. He had trained with someone else here.

"Ready to work, Pistol?" a man asked as he walked out of another door.

"Yeah," Pistol growled as the guard left the room, leaving Pistol and his trainer alone.

"No powers, no warm up," the trainer said briskly, dropping a clipboard to the floor. "Work on reflexes, your senses and healing factor, and your skills. Just like you would in a real fight. No mats. No pulling punches," the trainer continued.

Pistol listened intently, nodding. It was only the fact that he was paying such close attention that saved him from receiving a kick to the head. Pistol ducked, twisting around to avoid it while lashing out himself at the same time.

His trainer avoided his kick and came back with three more, pummeling Pistol.

Pistol growled in irritation as he had to retreat. He certainly didn't remember this. The last few times he had fought his trainer in these scenarios, he'd beaten the man soundly. It was like . . . like he hadn't fought in a week.

Pistol jumped from his crouched position, kicking out with both feet and catching himself on his hands as he flipped back. The trainer grunted with the impact and stumbled back, but Pistol had forgotten how very fast the man was. The trainer was on Pistol before Pistol could recover his footing from his impromptu flip. A foot landed solidly in his chest, then his knees, and finally his face. Pistol's head cracked painfully on the metal wall behind him, and his trainer came in swiftly and kicked just so at his neck before Pistol could shake off the ringing.

There was an audible snap, and Pistol lay, unmoving. His breath came raggedly and spots swirled in his eyes. Pain lanced throughout his entire body, shuddering down his spine.

"And while your neck is broken and your healing factor is trying to fix it," the trainer spoke softly, bending to align Pistol's head and body so his healing factor could work faster, "I use some wonderful device that will kill even people with healing abilities." The trainer looked down at Pistol, shaking his head. "That was pitiful."

Pistol cringed. "I know," he croaked. A phantom voice added, sardonically, "We forgot our talent back in the room."

Pistol's eyes flashed open, confusion leaping through their amber depths. He had trained here with someone other than Constance before. Someone male, who lived with him. They lived together, fought together, ate together . . . it was someone he didn't want to see hurt. Someone who would have said that they'd left their talent back in their room.

Pistol closed his eyes, feeling his neck heal but his head pound. There was something he should remember. A face, with the palest of blue eyes. A painful smile. Black hair. White, the boy had been white. And younger than Pistol. He had been sick, but a decent fighter and a great tracker . . . he could trace anyone's path, anywhere.

He could trace it.

Pistol winced as the pain in his head grew.

White skin, black spot, blue eyes, sardonic smile, uncanny ability to trace--

"Where's Trace?" Pistol snarled, leaping up as memories flooded back to him. His claws extended as he lunged for his trainer, grabbing the man by his neck and yanking him into the air.

The trainer pushed a button on his glove, very calmly, and suddenly Pistol was robbed of his powers. He yelped and dropped the man, Pistol's nails retracting painfully into his hands. The trainer pressed another button, and electricity shot through his pupil's form. Pistol's trainer winced and stepped back, turning away as the boy went into convulsions.

A guard was in the room immediately, answering the alarm that had been set off when the electricity started. "What happened?" the guard growled as the trainer shut the volts off, and Pistol stopped convulsing.

"He kicked the memory block. He had to. He remembered Trace and came after me with an obvious intent to maim, if not kill." The trainer shook his head, irritation in every move. "Damnit, I told you the wipe wouldn't take as long as he had a healing factor!"

"Well we can't very well get rid of that, can we?" the guard snarled.

"I don't see why not. It's not possible to remove a mutant's powers, you know. All those collars do is block the neurons that give mutants access to those powers. Why couldn't we find the neurons that give Pistol access to his healing factor, and cancel those out?"

The guard frowned, then sighed. "I'll bring it up to Robert. And I'll take Pistol back now."

The trainer nodded and watched as the guard hoisted Pistol up to his shoulders and left the room.

***

"Vault," came a familiar voice from the doorway.

Vault looked up wearily, brightening when he saw Trace standing in the doorway. "You got Logan?"

"Not quite," Logan said quietly from behind Trace. Blood was soaked into his shirt, but whatever had been bleeding had healed long ago.

"Actually," Trace said, smiling, "I got him quite a few times. But then we talked."

"You believe this sonofa--"

"Easy," Trace chuckled, walking over and reaching up to undo the ties that kept Vault off the ground. "I didn't say I believed him. But, really, we don't have much of a choice, do we?"

"What are you talking about?" Vault growled as he dropped fully to the floor. He glared at Logan and rubbed his chaffed wrists.

"Logan might know where Black Air took the others. I certainly can't get around in this world, can you?"

Vault sighed after a long moment and shook his head. "No."

"Didn't think so," Trace said, smiling grimly. "And if Logan had been looking to take more of us back to BA, you wouldn't be here, would you?"

Vault opened his mouth to deny that, then realized it was true. He scowled.

"Use your brain instead of your powers and muscles sometimes," Trace whispered. "It's another ability, you know."

Vault glared at Trace. "So what's the plan?"

"Now? We sleep. We can't plan anything or fight Black Air without sleep. It's important stuff," Trace said calmly.

"How can you sleep knowing Pistol's gone?" Vault snarled, furious. "Azul and Constance--they've all been taken and you're talking about sleep?"

Trace listened to Vault's tirade calmly. "Are you quite done?"

Vault nodded.

"Good. I'm worried about Pistol and Constance and Azul. But we lived there for our entire lives. They'll be fine for right now. Whatever is done can be undone, no matter how unrealistic that seems. Remember that. It's the first thing you learn in tactical training. The second thing you learn is that if you're tired you make mistakes. So before any major missions you make sure you're not tired. Got it?"

Vault hesitated, then nodded.

"Good. Go." Trace moved aside and let Vault pass him and Logan both, then followed Logan out the door. He stopped outside, looking up between the leaves of the trees overhead. "Logan," he called.

Logan stopped and looked back questioningly.

"What are those?"

It took Logan a long moment to figure out what Trace was referring to, and then he smiled. "Stars. Those are stars, Trace."

Trace nodded, eyes riveted on the heavens. After a long time he sighed and looked back, shaking his head. "I hope Pistol and the others get to see them again," he said quietly, picking up his rifle. Logan and Trace headed back to the house in silence.

***

"What did you do to him?" Kurt cried, hurrying into the room. Azul sat huddled in a corner, his knees pulled up to his chin and his arms around his legs. His tail lay perfectly still around his body, and his eyes were unseeing.

"He turned like this after he got here," a short, weedy looking man said. "It's been two days, and we can't get him to respond. He eats, but . . ." the man shrugged. "I was hoping he might respond to one of your people," he continued.

Kurt was ignoring him completely. He kneeled down in front of Azul, brushing black hair out of yellow eyes. "Azul," he called softly, cupping the boy's chin in his hand. "Azul, can you hear me?"

There was no response, not even a flutter of his eyelashes.

Kurt took Azul's hand in his own, feeling it cold and lifeless. "Azul, if you can hear me squeeze my hand."

There was no response from the boy.

"What did you do?" Kurt growled as he twisted to look at the man, his normally soft eyes hard and unforgiving.

"As I said, we did nothing. This just happened," Robert answered. "What I would like to know is what did you do to him while he was in your clutches."

Kurt's eyes flashed. "We showed him kindness, and love. Something I don't think he's ever gotten here," Kurt snarled, rising. "We showed him the outside, and that he didn't always have to be beaten for any small irritation." Kurt stalked toward Robert, his tail lashing behind him.

A guard stepped forward then, between the two men. Kurt stopped walking, recognizing the unspoken threat that any more overt movement would cause great pain on his part. In only two days he had learned well that they were quick to anger, and would cause pain given any small reason.

"Well, good," Robert sneered from behind the guard. "You successfully gave him hope, when he should have none. Just think, hero, if you hadn't done that Azul would still be content to sit in his cell and do as we told him. He would be thrilled at the thought of having a book to read. Instead you took him away and showed him more than he needed, and this is the result." Robert looked at Kurt with the same amount of disgust that Kurt looked at Robert with. "He's no good to us like this. If he doesn't snap out of this I'll be able to do nothing with him but throw him in the pits."

Kurt scowled. "What're 'the pits'?"

Robert laughed bitterly. "We throw all the things that won't survive there. It's a playground for our more . . . violent and perverse agents." Robert smiled coldly at Kurt's horrified look. "It gets worse," he continued, enjoying seeing the man's abhorrence at the very thought. "Things have to fight to death for food there. The creatures that won't survive more than a week get tortured by our agents. The ones like Azul, who can normally run and hide, are used for target practice. And the pretty ones are given to certain clients as . . . favors. They're generally kept as slaves." Robert's eyes narrowed as a sudden thought occurred to him. "Azul is pretty enough and docile enough," he said, watching Kurt's reaction carefully, "that if he doesn't snap out of his, I'm sure he'll be a slave. Given to the highest bidder for whatever that bidder wants, be it a sex slave or a plaything or something to torture." Robert smiled slightly as he watched the thought sink into Kurt's mind. "Unless, of course, you can snap him out of it," he added softly.

Kurt stepped back, toward Azul, hate in his eyes.

"I'll leave you to your work now," Robert said softly, smiling as he left the room.

Kurt watched the men leave, and listened as the door was bolted from the other side, locking he and Azul in the gray room with one hard bed and a toilet. Kurt turned slowly to look at Azul, praying for some expression to have come across the features so like his.

Azul hadn't moved.

"Az," Kurt whispered, sitting down next to the boy and pulling him into his lap. Kurt forced the blue head to rest against his chest and wrapped the boy up, covering as much of him as possible with Kurt's own body. "Azul, you have to wake up. Please."

***

Enchantment and Lynx peered down the attic stairs, listening intently to the voices far below, in the kitchen. They had slept uncertainly that night, knowing that Logan was in their house.

"What are they talking about?" Lynx whispered.

Enchantment shrugged.

"Trace and Vault and Logan have been down there a long time. I want to know what they're talking about. Trace was teaching me tactical stuff before we left Black Air, you know," Lynx continued.

Enchantment just kept watching the floor below with fearful eyes. She didn't want to go back to Black Air.

"I bet I could help them. And I could maybe help beat Logan away if he tried anything again," Lynx kept whispering. "I used to watch Pistol fight sometimes, and I know what he used to do. I could use those moves, I think. I mean, I never had to use them before and no one really taught them to me, but I watched it enough and--hey, where are you going?"

Enchantment looked back at Lynx, terror in her soft blue eyes. "I have to go," she said quietly, and then continued down the ladder.

"But Trace said to stay here!" Lynx hissed in a hoarse whisper.

Enchantment didn't respond. She dropped to the second floor, then, silently, moved to the stairs and started down.

"You're gonna get in trouble!" Lynx called quietly. She made an irritated noise, then started down the attic ladder herself. "I'd better go too," she muttered, "to make sure Chant doesn't get hurt." She jumped the last four steps, then raced down the stairs to where Enchantment was.

***

Logan glanced up at Vault as he interrupted Trace.

"Wouldn't it be better to shut off the alarm systems before we try that?" the orange skinned boy asked.

Trace shook his head, his ice blue eyes never leaving the blueprints. "There are alarm systems that are built so deeply into the structure that they can't be turned off without certain access. I don't even know where to get that access, and we have to be realistic if we want to succeed. Pistol, at least, will be held under the tightest wraps if only because he himself is dangerous. Even if we turn off the surface alarms, the ones we can hack into, the other ones will still go off when we get Pistol." Trace smiled slightly up at Logan. "They went off when you guys started breaking in, which was how they knew to send Pistol and I after you so quick."

Logan nodded. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and his head flashed around, his body tensing.

Enchantment stood framed in the doorway, her short blond hair in complete disarray. Lynx stood behind the girl and to one side, her head tucked deceptively, but her eyes extremely watchful.

"I don't want to go back to Black Air," Enchantment whispered, tears standing, unshed, in her eyes. "Please don't let them take me."

Logan started to stand and go to the little girl, but Vault held out one arm in open invitation and Amanda's clone fled to him, burying her face in his shoulder. Vault picked Enchantment up and cradled her on his lap, brushing her hair away from her face soothingly and saying nothing. He looked back at Logan and Trace expectantly, and Trace looked back down at the blueprints.

"Here's where we enter the containment center," Trace continued, pointing to a certain spot. He glanced up to see Logan's eyes riveted on Vault and Enchantment, and Trace glanced that way himself.

Vault held Enchantment, the girl utterly still, Vault practically oozing calming emotions. Trace saw nothing strange about it, and looked back at Logan. "What?" he asked finally.

Logan shook his head at last, seeing that this was obviously not something the kids even thought twice about. The fact that Enchantment was panicked and looking for comfort, and that Vault had so automatically reached for her while Trace did nothing indicated this had been done, and often. "Nothing," Logan finally said, looking back at the blueprints. "Why don't we split up for the containment center?" Logan asked as Lynx walked quietly up and placed herself between Vault and Trace.

"They'll be expecting that," Trace answered matter-of-factly. "We go in together."

***

"He's not ever going to be all right," Aaron said, shaking his head.

Robert glowered at the screen, ignoring the head guard. The feed came directly from Azul's room, where Kurt was still trying to coax a response, any response, out of his young clone.

"The good news is," Aaron continued, "that since we have the original here we can clone him again. Take his DNA, put it on file and wait until we put our cloning things back together." Aaron scowled in memory. Almost everything had been erased when those mutants had broken in the first time, stealing the children. It would take years for them to re-build their state-of-the-art machines. "Anyway, we'll have another Nightcrawler clone."

"But that one won't be ready to start training for twelve more years," Robert lamented.

"Constance can keep you busy until then," Aaron answered, glancing through the one-way mirror at the girl as she worked in the Safe Zone with her fire powers. He watched as her eyes narrowed and she pointed a long finger. The metal across the room slowly melted, turning into a mountain of slag. Constance smirked and turned toward the one-way mirror, bowing.

Aaron shook his head and looked back at the screen showing Azul. "Constance will keep you plenty busy," he muttered.

Robert was once more ignoring him, though. "Maybe if we did a memory wipe on Azul," he said softly.

"Speaking of which," Aaron interrupted, remembering. "Pistol's memory wipe shut down. His trainer, Mac, wants to know if it's possible to shut down just Pistol's healing factor. That way it won't over-run the memory wipe."

Robert frowned deeply.

"Constance's took," Aaron continued. "She's got more backbone than I remember her having, though."

Robert looked at him, inwardly proud of his Constance. "What happened?"

"One of the guards was . . . ah, trying to take liberties with her," Aaron said, a smile playing at his lips.

"What happened?"

Aaron waited, letting Robert stew. He knew the results would please the scientist. "The man," he said slowly, drawing it out, "is in the hospital. Third degree burns all over his chest, his elbow was shattered, and his back was broken."

Robert's eyes widened, and he looked back through the mirror to where Constance was speaking with her trainer. "Good for her!" Robert crowed, laughing. "I bet the men are giving her more distance now!"

Aaron nodded in agreement. Her guards had been asking for different shifts in different places all morning. Not one of them wanted to be near her. Not even after Aaron had made sure she was . . . impressed with the importance that she not hurt a guard.

"I always knew she was made of stern stuff," Robert said, almost beaming with pride. "She came from Wisdom, you know. He was a great agent in his time."

Aaron nodded. He had heard it often before. "I'd best get back and see how Pistol is doing," he said quickly. Anything to get out of there before Robert started talking about how he had created Constance. Aaron smiled at his superior, then turned on his heel and strode out the door.

***

"What are you doing?" Vault asked, watching Logan dial a number on the portable phone.

Logan's gray eyes flashed up, then back down. "Calling a baby-sitter."

"A what?" Vault asked, frowning. He kept his distance from Logan, still remembering the man coming in and taking his friends away, but sat down in a chair a bit closer.

"A baby-sitter. To watch Enchantment and Ly--hello? Is Rogue there?" There was a moment of silence, then irritation flashed across Logan's face. "Tell her it's an emergency and to get out of class." Another long pause. "Logan. Now go." Logan moved the phone away from his mouth and spoke again to Vault. "Chant and Lynx can't go with us on this mission, and they're too young to stay alone. A friend, Rogue, can get here faster than any other human I know, and she's good with kids. She has one of her own. No, two." He smiled slightly. "There was a baby boy born recently. I can't keep up."

Vault nodded slowly. "Trace and I can talk to her first?"

Logan smothered a rueful smile. "Yeah, kiddo. You can talk to her first." He opened his mouth to say something else, then quickly went back to the phone. "Hey, darlin'. We need your help for a bit--a few days, maybe not even that. No, we need you here by tonight, preferably sooner. Leave the kids, Remy can watch 'em. I know. It's an emergency and you're the only one who can get here in time. I'll explain when you arrive. Thanks, darlin'. I owe you." Logan smiled at something spoken to him, then hung up the telephone. "She'll be here as fast as she can fly--which is pretty damn fast."

Vault nodded slightly.

"We have all the stuff together?"

"Trace is going over it now, making sure everything is in proper condition. I guess he knows what he's doing," Vault said uncertainly.

Logan nodded. With his mind no longer clouded by addiction and drugs, Trace seemed to be quite the leader. Which was fine with Logan. The boy knew his stuff, and he knew Black Air inside and out. They stood a better chance of retrieving the others with him there.

***

"Ah sure hope ya'll have girl's clothes," a cheerful, southern voice called from the entranceway. "Ah came in such a rush Ah plumb forgot to pack!"

Lynx and Enchantment exchanged looks, then headed for the stairwell. They hung over the edge of the railing, peering down at the newcomer. She wore loose denim jeans and an off the shoulder halter top, her hair--which was an alarming shade of red with an intensely bright white streak down the middle--pulled back into a curly ponytail. Her movements were flamboyant, her cheeks flushed, and a smile carried even in her words.

"She's beautiful," Enchantment breathed softly.

Lynx shot her a dirty look, then gazed back down at the woman as she hugged Logan tightly.

"Ah came as fast as Ah could," the woman was saying. "Left Sydney-Eve and the baby with Remy, who was already startin' to panic, and excused all mah classes. Now tell me the trouble."

Logan smiled and put a hand on her back, escorting her into the kitchen.

Lynx and Enchantment strained to hear, but the voices were too low to carry. Lynx blew her bangs out of her face in frustration, then sprinted back up the ladder to the attic. "C'mon, Chant," she called when the small blond didn't follow her up. "We can see the weird lady later. She's probably just here to try and kidnap us anyway."

At that thought, Enchantment raced back up the ladder and pulled it into the attic.

***

Rogue, having been fully briefed on the situation and told, quite firmly, that the fewer people that went on the mission the better, walked slowly out the back door and looked up the rear of the cabin. The two little girls were in the attic, and as Rogue scanned the upper windows a small face appeared, then disappeared just as quickly.

Rogue smiled and walked to the house, then flew straight up to where the window was. She lit on the windowsill and knocked softly.

A pale face appeared, her blue eyes wide.

"Can Ah come in?" Rogue asked pleasantly.

The little girl opened the window slowly, her mouth agape. "Can you climb flat things like Azul?" the child whispered in wonderment.

"Somethin' like that," Rogue agreed. "May Ah see your room?"

The girl nodded and started to open the window farther, only to have a slightly taller but more slender girl race up. "No!" the brunette shouted, then slammed the window forcefully shut.

"Oh," Rogue said, looking as sad as she could manage. "Then Ah guess Ah'll go." She sighed and stepped off the window ledge, letting herself fall several feet until she was out of sight.

"Wait!" came a screech as the window was thrown open again.

Rogue zipped back up, looking innocent, and hovered in the air with only her head visible above the window frame. "What?"

The blond's eyes widened and her mouth made a perfect O. "Wow," she said softly.

"Do ya like it? Ah've been able to fly since Ah was a teenager." Rogue smiled and spun in the air slowly, arms outstretched.

"Wow," the blond said again after a moment.

"You sure are pretty," Rogue said, smiling. She had to blink once, amazed at the likeness between this girl and Amanda. "Ah'm Rogue. What's your name?"

"Nothing!" the brunette shouted, and slammed the window again.

"Well, Nothing," Rogue called loud enough to be heard through the glass, "Ah was thinkin' o' havin' ice cream foh dinner. Iffin ya'll wanna join me, meet me in the kitchen." Rogue spun down and out of sight, landing softly and entering the house through the back door. She walked quickly to the kitchen, ignoring the stares she could feel from the girls hanging over the railing, and opened the freezer.

There wasn't a container of ice cream to be found.

Rogue scowled. There went her perfect plan.

"What's ice cream?" came a shout. The brunette's voice. Kitty's clone.

"It's cold and yummy," Rogue answered after getting over her shock. When Logan had given her a quick run down and told her they hadn't experienced much, she hadn't imagined that they wouldn't have experienced such simple things as ice cream. "But we don't have any after all. How 'bout chocolate milk and cookies foh dinner, instead?"

There was silence from the stairs.

"What are chocolate milk and cookies?" came the brunette's voice again, this time much closer.

"Yummy treats that are only supposed to be eaten for dessert. But since Ah'm the grown-up, Ah get to decide what we eat. An' Logan or any o' the others can't get mad about it."

There was a giggle from the doorway, and Rogue looked over to see two heads poking around the corner. Rogue smiled impishly. "Ya'll wanna try?"

The brunette nodded slowly and entered the room, the blond close behind.

"What should Ah call ya'll?" Rogue asked, getting chocolate syrup and milk from the refrigerator.

"I'm Lynx, and this is Enchantment," Lynx replied imperiously.

"Well Ah'm mighty pleased to meet you," Rogue said seriously. "Ah'm Rogue. Logan is one o' mah closest friends. He says you girls are mighty dear to him, and Ah'm to make sure nothin' bad happens. 'Cept maybe a tummy ache from too much sweets." She grinned and winked playfully.

Enchantment giggled, but Lynx only eyed Rogue suspiciously. "You can't make me like you just because you're funny," she finally said.

Rogue's smile didn't falter, though her mind whirled. She certainly didn't remember Kitty being this much trouble. "Then Ah'll have ta make you like me because Ah feed you dessert foh dinner." Rogue pulled a package of Oreo cookies out of the cupboard, then frowned. "This is empty," she said, puzzled. "Not even a crumb left." Rogue shook it and peered inside, then pulled out a blue hair.

The girls started to giggle. "Azul got to them!" Lynx declared.

***

Logan paused on his way out the doorway, peering into the kitchen. Rogue, Lynx and Enchantment sat around the table, eating Chips Ahoy and drinking chocolate milk. Rogue laughed charmingly at something Lynx said, and Lynx beamed proudly. Assured that everyone was all right, Logan smiled and left the house.

***

Trace lowered the binoculars and glared at the compound in the distance. He had been taught, recently, as a matter of fact, that any captives should be taken to 'the nearest compound with adequate holding facilities.' His "teacher," a Black Air operative, had also said that he would be told how to get to those facilities when and if the need arose.

It never had, but that didn't matter.

Black Air had refigured their security, so it was now impossible to hack into their system from the outside. But that didn't matter, either.

When given the chance, back when the adults had rescued the children from Black Air, Kitty had saved copies of most of the pertinent information and stored them on her computer. Pertinent information such as the location of bases, and which ones had holding faculties.

Trace brought the binoculars back up to his eyes, peering through them. Then he took them down again, and shuffled backward on his elbows, down the slope so small it could barely be called a slope.

Trace knew that Pistol would be taken to the nearest adequate holding facility, and Logan knew how to access Kitty's files and find out where that might be. They had very shortly decided this compound was the most likely candidate.

From Logan's cabin this base was a six to eight hour drive; a forty-five minute flight in a normal plane, and only twenty minutes in the jet Logan had used to drop Domino and Cable off at their base earlier in the week. That left just enough time to secure Pistol before he would wake.

"We go one at a time," Trace said, his voice barely a whisper, "under the fence and past the guards. In five minutes they'll have their nighttime shift change; we go then."

Vault nodded. Logan's keen eyes saw the boy's Adam's apple bob nervously, and he hoped that the kid could hold up under the pressure.

"Check your ear pieces," Logan murmured.

Trace reached up to his temple, turning his on. "Check alpha one," he replied, the code automatic.

"Check two," Vault whispered, faltering over the words he had used in practice but never in an honest mission.

"Check check omega," Logan responded.

Trace nodded that his piece was working without ever taking his eyes off the base. "Ready?"

Vault nodded and licked his lips. Logan said nothing.

"Go." Trace was first, sprinting forward low across the grass. Vault followed after a count of five, his body higher than Trace's but still low. Logan followed after another count of five, crouched and predatory.

Trace reached the fence and leapt over without pausing. An alarm blared instantly, and Vault froze for a long moment. Then he, too, was scrambling over the fence, following Trace's black clothed form like a lifeline. Logan sprung up, muscles unleashing and hurdling him over the tall chain link.

Spotlights were flashing all over as Trace came to a stop in a deeply recessed corner, waiting for Vault and Logan to catch up, though he never once turned to see how close they were.

Guards were running, uncertain where the base had been broken into. Trace counted softly under his breath, then dashed out and around another corner, Vault and Logan close behind. The spotlight only just missed Logan as he dove into the next shadow. Trace was already working at getting the door keyed open, knowing he had only ten seconds before the spotlight passed by and caught them. Once more he counted softly, ticking off the seconds. Vault had sweat springing on his forehead by the time Trace reached six. Even Logan was nervous as Trace reached seven, and the door was still closed.

Then there was a hiss of expelled air, too quiet to be heard above the alarms, and Trace ducked inside. Vault followed him swiftly, almost stepping on the older boy's heels. Logan pulled the door closed as the spotlight came around, catching only the edge of the panel as the door clicked quietly shut.

Inside the compound, Trace pulled a vial of acid out of a pocket secreted on his leg. With deft movements he opened the security access for the door, pulling loose a random wire. Carefully, he poured the acid on the wire, then put the wire back and closed the panel.

"Let's go," he said softly, turning and slinking down the hall. He stopped at another door, keying in another code and entering. His movements were unhurried but swift, and Logan smiled grimly as he realized that the boy had been trained well.

"Hop up," Trace said, pulling out a drawer in a long wall of drawers and unzipping a gray bag.

Vault looked uncertainly at him. "Are you sure this'll work?"

Trace nodded calmly.

Vault took a deep breath and jumped up on the tray-like table, laying down full length.

"Close your eyes, and don't open them," Trace spoke softly. "Remember your training? You're eighteen, so they didn't have false missions for you yet, but you still had to lay in uncomfortable positions for long periods of time. Remember what your trainer used to tell you," Trace continued, pulling the body bag around Vault's feet and zipping it. "You may feel like you have to move, but you don't. Regulate your breathing. Be calm. Imagine wide open spaces with soft floors. Give me your finger," Trace said, and Vault held his hand up. Trace pulled Vault's hand with his while zipping the bag over the boy's face, stopping before it was closed entirely. "This is your hole for air. Cup your hand around your mouth so you don't breathe in plastic. If someone comes and pulls this open, drop your hand down and hold your breath."

Vault nodded beneath the plastic body bag, his eyes still tightly closed.

"Remember, Logan and I are here if you need help," Trace said softly, then rolled the drawer back into its place. Carefully, still talking into his radio and knowing Vault could hear through the transmitter, Trace latched the door closed.

He walked swiftly to another drawer, his hand on the latch.

"Don't open that one," Logan warned quietly. "It's occupied already."

Trace wrinkled his nose slightly and left it closed. A dead body was not something he wanted to smell any more then he had to.

"Put me in here," Logan said, jumping up on a table and putting his feet in the end of the body bag.

Trace zipped it quickly, then pushed Logan's table back in and latched the door. It had been decided that since Vault still wasn't certain Logan wasn't going to turn them in, Trace would be the only one who was free to move around. Logan and Vault would both be latched, and Trace would get them out when the time came.

Trace himself went to the vent, unscrewing it with a screwdriver he pulled from his belt and jumping up and in. He twisted until he could look out, then pulled the vent closed and re-attached it with semi-permanent glue from the inside. Trace sighed and settled in, watching the room through the slats in the vent.

Half an hour passed without mishap. The alarm turned off, and sounds outside indicated the guards had discovered the wire that had "mysteriously" corroded through. It would be assumed that the wire was the reason for the alarm going off, Trace knew. Trace also knew there would be an extensive search of the entire compound before the higher ups were certain that it was only that.

An hour later three guards entered the morgue, checking all the corners, shadows, and any place else that was an obvious hiding place. One of the guards lifted the sheet that covered a body and grimaced. The other sheeted bodies were quickly checked, and one guard even went so far as to open one of the drawers the long-dead bodies were in.

He gagged and closed it again, moving to the next one and unlatching that door. The guard looked down at the motionless body, debating for a long moment whether or not to unzip the bag. Finally the man decided not, and rolled Logan back into the box, latching it. The guard glanced around once more, then motioned for the others to leave. "There's no one in here," he muttered, escorting them all out the door. Trace smiled smugly. The smell may have been horrible in the room, but he had been right. No guard would check each and every body-box. And no guard would unzip a body bag to look at a rotting corpse.

***

Logan was stiff when, eight hours later, Trace rolled him out of the body-box and unzipped the bag.

The compound search was over, and nothing had been found amiss except the one wire. "Good job, Trace," Logan growled almost silently.

Trace smiled, nodding in recognition, and pulled Vault out of his bag.

The boy had fared far better than Logan had expected. His hair was plastered with sweat, but his eyes were clear and he wasn't as stiff as he could have been.

"Well done, Vault," Logan said, and saw a suspicious darkening of the boy's skin.

"We're not done yet," Trace said, walking swiftly to the morgue lock-up and picking the lock. The doors opened, showing rows of uniforms, weapons, personal things and various other items that had yet to be re-counted and re-stocked.

Vault smiled and went to the lock-up, pulling out a guard's uniform and rifle.

Logan took the rifle away and handed him a .45. Trace chuckled wryly, and after a glare at Logan, Vault put the uniform on.

Logan grabbed a suit for a grunt, one that wasn't horribly obvious but still marked people as Black Air employees by those in the know. Trace had a guard's uniform, using the optional hat to pull it low over his eyes and hide somewhat his black patch. It took a very few minutes for them to get the clothing on and hang their own clothing up. Trace and Logan transferred their various implements to their new clothes and picked up rifles, slinging them over their shoulders.

"Set?" Logan asked, glancing at the two boys. Both nodded, Trace more assuredly than Vault. Logan reached back into the closet and pulled out an ID, checking the access number. He nodded to himself and the three men fell into a group, striding out of the morgue.

The door opened as they reached it and two other men in guards' uniforms walked in.

"Who are you?" the one in front asked, frowning. "We were told to check this area for intruders. We're still on security, you know, even if it's not alarm-security anymore."

Logan puffed out his chest importantly and glared at the other man. "Control Agent Todd. We were told to check this room. Who are you and what is your clearance?"

The other man stuttered for a moment, then gave a name and clearance number.

"You can prove that?" Logan growled menacingly.

"Of course!" the other man cried, glancing at his friend.

Logan eyed them both as if disbelieving, then brushed past them. "All right, then. You can't be too careful."

The other man agreed, somewhat coldly, and watched as the threesome walked purposefully down the hall.

Vault's heart was racing as they turned the corner, away from the guards. He had expected to be recognized and caught at any moment, then beaten and put back in a cell. His heart leapt into his throat again as they reached an elevator and stepped inside. Five other people were already in there, and Logan nodded tightly to them.

The people ignored the group of three and continued talking. Vault still didn't breathe until three of the five left at the next floor, and a fourth got off shortly thereafter.

"What floor are you going to?" the fifth asked suspiciously.

"Containment," Logan answered shortly.

"You have security?"

Logan and Trace both turned to the man, glaring. "Of course," Logan said dangerously.

The man's eyes narrowed and he adjusted his black suit. "What are your numbers?"

Both men rattled off false numbers, and before the stranger could ask for Vault's number Logan asked for his.

The stranger gave a number, his eyes never leaving Trace.

Trace elbowed Vault, and the boy blinked. Then he remembered, and focused his empathic powers tightly on the man, exuding trust and security. The man relaxed visibly. Vault leaned back against the wall, letting it support his weight, and shifted the emotions subtly.

The man never realized what a talkative mood he was in suddenly. "Good baseball game last night, huh?" he asked, smiling at Logan.

Logan made a noncommittal noise, recognizing the opening Vault had given him. He shot a look of pride in Vault's direction, and saw the boy blush again. "What do you think about Black Air getting the clones back? I heard the agents that did it were pretty good. Shapeshifters, I heard."

The other man nodded amiably. "Yeah, two of them. The other just had an image inducer. Good work, though."

"We're going to see Robert about them now," Trace said smoothly, relaxing against the wall as the elevator continued down. "Apparently one of them is giving him some trouble?" Trace had no idea if that was true or not, but it seemed likely.

"Yeah, that Pistol character. His mind won't accept the wipe." The man sighed heavily. "I think a few sessions in the Box would do him a world of good, but Robert's a softie."

Vault didn't quite manage to suppress his shudder at the mention of the Box, but the man wasn't looking at him.

"Is Pistol still on the level with the others?" Trace asked.

"Nah, they had to move him down to the Black Level. Both other kids are way above that."

Trace nodded as the elevator stopped and the doors opened.

"Well, good talking to you," the man said, stepping out. He stopped just outside the doors, turning slowly back. "Why so many questions?" he asked softly.

Logan glanced down the hall and saw no one. He reached out, grabbing the man and knocking a nerve cluster swiftly. The man collapsed, unconscious, into Logan's arms. "Open that panel," Logan said, nodding upward.

Trace nodded and reached up, sliding open the trapdoor at the top of the elevator. Logan shoved the man's body through, leaving it on top of the elevator, then closed the door. "Let's go," Logan said quietly, and they headed out into the hall.

***

Kurt looked up as the latch on the door rattled. Hate filled his yellow eyes, fear warring with it for the boy he held cradled in his arms.

There were three guards at the door, two of them carrying rifles. Kurt's eyes widened when he recognized Logan. Logan glanced pointedly upward, toward the camera in the corner, then motioned with the tip of his rifle for Kurt to stand and carry Azul out. Kurt did so, his eyes downcast as though the men he was meeting were truly guards instead of his friends.

Once in the hall they marched onward, rifle pointed at Kurt's back. They stopped at another door, and Trace listened carefully before nodding to Vault. The two of them opened the door and stepped inside, leaving Kurt with Logan in the hall.

Constance looked up at them, distrust clear in her blue eyes. "What." It was more statement than question.

"You don't remember us?" Trace asked carefully, remembering what the man had said about the memory wipe.

"Should I?" Constance snapped.

"No," Trace answered swiftly. Vault stepped forward at a glance from Trace, using every ounce of power he could control to direct it at Constance and make her sleepy.

She stumbled, almost falling. Vault caught her and regretted it the instant she bit him. He swore quietly, holding the girl and training his empathic abilities on her as much as he could. Vault saw Trace blinking to stay awake as he came quickly closer.

***

Logan's head snapped around as he heard Constance cry out and smelled the tang of blood. He stepped forward swiftly, but was stopped by a very pale Vault coming through the door. Trace stepped through after him, carrying Constance.

"I thought you said you knew how to get rid of the mind-wipe," Logan snapped.

"I do," Trace answered honestly. "You cut the mechanism out." He glanced pointed downward toward the girl's temple, which was slashed open and bleeding profusely. Vault held up his fist and opened it. On his palm lay a computer chip the size of a penny.

Logan stared at it a moment, then looked back at the girl. Finally he turned to Azul and felt both temples on the young boy. "He's clean," Logan growled finally.

Trace and Vault nodded.

"Logan," Kurt said quietly. "Do you know where the others are?"

"Pistol is on the Black Level," Logan said, frowning, "but it's guess work on where Kitty and Pete are."

Kurt looked up swiftly. "Quickly, take Azul and undo this verdammt collar!"

Logan dismantled the collar quickly, taking Azul, cold and still, from Kurt's arms. "Elf, you can 'port to Kit and Pete?"

Kurt smiled, winked, and was gone.

"We need to move fast, then," Trace said, looking over at Logan. "That may set off alarms."

Logan nodded. "You go and get Pistol. Vault and I will wait here."

Trace didn't bother nodding before tearing down the hallway at a dead run, unslinging his rifle from his shoulder.

***

Kitty gasped, pulling in deep lungsfuls of air as she re-appeared in a white hallway, Logan and Vault there, holding Azul and propping up Constance, respectively.

"Did you have to tear it out?" Constance was muttering angrily.

Pete choked back the urge to empty his stomach after the teleporting and glanced around. The alarm was blaring once more, as it had the night before. "We gotta leave," he said swiftly.

Logan nodded, glancing down the hall one last time after Trace. "Alpha, come in," he said quietly.

"I'm here." The voice was grainy, but unmistakably Trace's.

"Hurrry up."

"Go. Pistol and I will meet you outside."

Logan hesitated, then turned to the others. "Let's leave."

"But Pistol--" Vault started, horror in his voice.

"You heard Trace over the com. Trust him, if not me." Logan turned on his heel, still carrying Azul, and started down the hall. "Did you get a chance to see the outside, Nightcrawler?" Logan growled.

"No," Kurt answered. "I couldn't teleport there."

Logan nodded briefly and shifted Azul in his arms to have one hand free for fighting.

The fire doors ahead of them clanged shut, and as the group whirled the ones behind closed.

"Link hands," Kitty snapped, reaching out and grabbing Kurt's three fingered hand. The group responded instantly, and they phased straight through the door.

"Run," Vault said, his eyes widening. "I recognize this retrieve pattern. Those doors ahead will close next, and the ones on the sides will open, letting out sleeping gas."

Logan nodded and sprinted forward as the doors started to close. He dropped Azul to the ground, keeping the boy clear while jamming his own body under the closing steel to brace it open. "Hurry it up," Logan snarled as the doors stalled.

The rest of the group dodged under just as panels in the walls opened, and gas grenades came through. Logan rolled out from under the doors, coming to his feet--and seeing three rows of guards standing ahead, all guns pointed toward the escapees.

Everyone in the hall, good and bad alike, felt the blast of emotion. The men before them stumbled down and away, some curling into fetal balls and sobbing uncontrollably. Those behind Vault, those in his group, took long, precious moments to re-gather themselves and continue on. Kitty shuddered, knowing they had taken barely a fraction of the blast and still feeling the horror of it. A man to one side pointed his own rifle to his head and pulled the trigger.

Pete was at Kitty's side, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her forward when she would have stopped out of shock. Vault never flinched.

***

Trace jumped down in front of Aaron, using the butt of his rifle to smash the man's head, sending him flying, Aaron's rifle skidding out of reach. Trace leveled the gun and aimed carefully, waiting until Aaron looked back up at him. "Where's Pistol?"

Aaron swallowed hard and eyed his gun ten feet away. But even he knew when he was beaten. "He's in the Hole," Aaron said quietly.

Trace held the man's eyes for a long moment, searching for any sign of a lie.

"Come back to us, Trace," Aaron said softly. "You were meant for this. Search and grab. Fighting. Admit it. You like it. If you come, Pistol will too. Your terms, of course."

Trace smiled grimly and shook his head. "Sorry," he said softly. "Now, where's Robert?"

Aaron considered for a long moment. "His lab," he murmured.

Trace nodded, then aimed for the man's legs. "You can't follow me."

Aaron opened his mouth to protest, and gunshot rang through the room.

***

Pistol squinted as sudden, blinding light flooded into his wet, putrid world of cold and misery. Only his healing factor had kept him lucid, and as he looked up and smelled a familiar scent, he was grateful to it. "Trace?" His voice, much to his horror, was hoarse and barely a whisper.

"I'm here," that sure, tenor voice called back. "Hang on, 'Stol."

The figure moved away from the opening to the Hole, then appeared again. "Ladder," Trace said simply, then dropped the rope ladder down the Hole and hoped fervently that Pistol still had the power to get out on his own.

From somewhere buried deep in his bones, Pistol found the power. He stood, shakily, and reached forward for the ladder above. He swayed dangerously, pausing to catch his balance, then grabbed the rope and started to haul himself up. Mud and slime stuck to his body, the frigid air chilling it and sending dangerously strong shudders through him.

"No hurry, Pistol," Trace said from above.

But, of course, Pistol knew there was a hurry. Any moment a guard could come back and find them, then call for backup. Pistol pushed his body as fast as it would go, but it didn't respond much more.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, he managed to crawl to the top.

"All right, just a bit farther," Trace said, wrapping an arm around Pistol and helping the heavier man out of the room. "We just have to get to Constance's cell, and Kurt can pick us up. He's seen Constance's cell."

Over the ear-com Trace could hear sounds of battle, but it passed quickly. "Omega almost out," Logan's husky voice came.

"The others are almost free," Trace relayed to Pistol. A guard came around the corner, and Trace dropped Pistol, swinging his rifle up and shooting before he had ever fully aimed. The guard fell dead in his spot, surprise still registered on his features.

They reached the elevator and instead started up the stairs, not taking the very real chance that the elevators had been shut down. "Do you see Constance's cell?" Trace asked as they entered the hall.

Pistol blinked and nodded, feeling heat slowly return to him. His lips and fingernails were no longer purple, and his body didn't shudder quite so hard.

"Go there. I'll catch up in a minute." Trace ducked away from Pistol and sprinted back for the stairs. "Alpha here. Tell Kurt to go back to Constance's cell and pick up Pistol. I'll be right back."

"This is Omega," Logan answered over the com, "why aren't you there, too?"

"Signal's breaking up," Trace said, spinning swiftly down the stairs as he ripped off his earpiece. "I can't hear you, Omega. Breaking up. Breaking. Break--" he dropped the transmitter and stomped it swiftly, then continued down the stairs. The labrotory door was sealed, and Trace used the butt of his rifle to crush the wood. It took long moments, but the door finally opened and Trace strode purposefully through. Two men attacked, and Trace shot one without a second glance. The other he kicked, twisting suddenly and unexpectedly. The rifle dropped, hanging by a strap from his shoulder as Trace's white hands flashed out and caught the second agent, snapping the man's neck before dropping the body and gripping his rifle once more, his ice blue eyes sweeping the room for anyone else.

Four more men were shot in rapid succession, and Trace took barely a moment to re-load his rifle as another man jumped at him from behind. Trace twisted, bringing the gun up too late and using it instead as a club to send the attacker crashing across the room. Trace turned and walked forward, cocking the rifle.

Robert smiled slightly as his creation came forward, the white face utterly impassive to the carnage and hysteria. "I thought you would have died," he said softly, pride in his voice. "Everyone expected it. But, Trace, you're . . . amazing." Robert's smile only dimmed slightly when the barrel of the rifle descended, and stopped barely inches from his face. Robert looked up into the sight piece carefully aimed along Trace's eye.

"Listen," Trace growled quietly. "I'm leaving now. And I'm taking my family with me. And if you or anyone else from Black Air ever arrives again I will go through, one by one, and do just what you taught me. I will assassinate every last person who works for Black Air. Is that very clear?

Robert nodded slightly.

"You do realize how easily I made it here?"

Robert nodded again. "You were brilliant."

"This lab is heavily guarded. I made it in five minutes. I'm leaving you alive, Robert, so you can pass on my message. You will pass on my message."

Robert smiled brightly and nodded. "Of course!"

Trace watched him carefully, then turned and stalked toward the door.

"Trace?"

The boy stopped and turned back, eyes flickering around the room for any sign of deceit.

"I'm proud of you."

Trace nodded, once, then turned and headed back for the outside.

***

"Where is Trace?" Logan snarled as Kurt and Pistol appeared. Pistol crumpled, his skin icy to the touch, his lips and nails white. Mud and water had caked onto his skin and clothing, soaking his hair. He shuddered and brushed something away from his arm, and a large beetle scurried off.

Constance cringed at Pistol's state.

"I don't know," Kurt answered Logan's question as he stripped off his shirt and wrapped it around Pistol's frigid form. "He wasn't there when I arrived."

"We'd better do something fast, people," Kitty said, taking the binoculars away from her eyes. "The troops are coming."

Logan walked over and pulled the binoculars away from Kitty, peering through them himself. He swore quietly, then scanned the rest of the area for any sign of Trace. There was none.

"Trace'll be fine," Pistol croaked from his spot on the grass. Logan looked at him, worried. The boy's healing factor wasn't inhibited by any collar, but he was still closer to frozen then Logan liked.

"There," Vault said, pointing. "I feel him. He's there."

Logan brought the binoculars up to his eyes, using the added power to search far more then anyone else could. His own eyesight was unnaturally good, and with the binoculars adding to it he could almost read the time on any guard's watch. Now his eyes scanned the walls, windows and doors of the compound, searching for any sign of the alabaster skinned youth. He was about to snarl that he was going to go back in and find Trace when a window was forced open, and a black haired head appeared. "There he is," Logan growled, watching intently. "Pete, Vault, see what you can do about keeping the guards away for a bit longer. Trace needs to get out of there."

Pete nodded tersely, taking three long steps forward before firing a barrage of hot-knives at the ground where the troops were approaching.

"Give me those, Logan," Kurt said quietly from the man's side. "If I get a good look I can teleport there."

Logan hesitated, looking over at his long time friend. The elf had already done much teleporting that day, and he wasn't in the best of shape after his stay at Black Air. But, Logan had to concede, Kurt hadn't been too badly mistreated. He nodded and handed Kurt the binoculars.

Kurt gazed through them for a long moment, then handed them back and disappeared.

"Let's go," Logan said, picking Azul up. "Kitty, grab Pistol and help me get him back to the jet. Vault, Pete, cover our backs and wait for Kurt."

The two men nodded as Kitty leaned down, linking her fingers through Pistol's and phasing them both. With Pistol as light as air, even someone as small as Kitty had no trouble getting him back to the jet.

Constance looked at the four retreating figures, then at Pete and Vault standing a bit away. She hesitated, then stationed herself behind the two men.

Moments later Kurt and Trace appeared in a cloud of brimstone stench. Kurt stumbled, one hand going to bruised ribs. Trace wove dangerously, but took a few steps forward.

"Vault, lead 'em to the jet," Pete said, pushing up his sleeves and feeling heat lance through his arms as he shot. "I'm right behind you."

Vault nodded and sent one last wave of fear toward the men, then turned and grabbed Kurt's arm to help him up. He paused after a few steps, seeing Logan coming at a run down the path.

"Let's go!" Logan snarled, his mind working furiously. If he could get back in to the compound later maybe he could destroy the entire thing and set them back a few years, maybe even convince them that it was a bad idea to come after the children again.

Constance, however, had other ideas. She stepped forward, past Pete as he hurried back. The group stopped and looked at her, and Logan started forward to grab her.

Constance's eyes narrowed and her body swayed, almost as if she were in the midst of a dream. Her arm came up languidly, a finger outstretched. "Burn," she whispered as the guards crested the rise and the front line fell to one knee, aiming their guns at the group there.

The men in front screamed in horror and fell. Like a wave of death the heat passed among the crowd, killing and burning mercilessly.

Pete's eyes widened, and he stepped back as heat radiated from the girl child before him. Her arm was still outstretched, and the very air around her was rippling with the intensity of a blast furnace. The grass started to die, and still she kept pouring the wind-borne heat toward the guards and the compound. "Burn," she whispered again, her blue eyes impassive.

The blast reached the compound suddenly, and steel doors exploded off the building as they suddenly were too hot. Fire erupted and was smothered because it couldn't burn hot enough. Eruption followed eruption, followed eruption. Iron melted, plastic burst, wood incinerated. There were screams that were suddenly silenced as the blossom of heat hit the center of the compound and spread outward, devouring anything and everything in its wake.

Finally, all that was left were a few corpses on the outskirts of the heat, still smoking, and the pile of molten steel where once a massive, sprawling complex had lay.

Constance smiled bitterly and stepped away, the power evaporating until it dwindled to nothingness. "Let's go," she said quietly, then turned and walked calmly toward the jet.

Pete swallowed hard as he looked at the ten foot patch of burned grass where Constance had stood, and the smoking, charred bodies of the agents just beyond. He shuddered and turned toward the thirteen year old girl, walking calmly up the slope. "Jesus Christ," he murmured, his hands shaking.

Logan nodded silently, then glanced over at Pete. "She could have ended up with Black Air."

Pete shuddered again and almost lost what little food they had fed him in the cells. "Jesus Christ," he whispered again.

"Can we go home now?" Vault pleaded after a long, silent moment.

"Yeah," Logan answered. "We can."

***

Five days had passed since Black Air had burned to the ground. There were reports that five people had escaped the "mysterious fire," one of which was Robert. Rogue had gone back to the school, Domino and Cable had come back to the house at Logan's request. Not a word had been spoken by anyone of Constance's burning, and Logan did his best to ignore the water that turned to steam while she wasn't paying attention one day.

"What do you think, Nate?" Dom asked as Nathan walked out of the room Azul was in and closed the door silently.

Cable looked up at the assembled group. Kitty and Pete shared a chair, Kurt was perched on the back of the couch, and Logan stood next to Domino. "I can't reach him at all," Cable said, looking down at the floor.

"You mean he's not there? He's brain dead?" Logan asked, feeling his stomach tighten at the thought.

"I don't know. There aren't surface thoughts to indicate one way or another. I can't get below the surface thoughts, either." Cable looked up at Logan, a pained expression on his face. "Logan, I'm one of the most powerful telepaths in this time, and his shields . . . they're nothing like anything I've ever seen. I can't even get a mental grip on them, because everything slides off. He simply doesn't respond at all."

Kurt closed his eyes and looked away, his jaw tensing.

"You can't tell us how to help him either, then?" Kitty asked softly.

"No," Cable answered just as quietly. "I can't."

Kurt stepped down from his perch, scrubbing his fingers through his black curls. "Excuse me," he said softly, moving past Cable to the door. He opened it and entered the small den, where Azul sat curled into a ball, staring at something no one else could see.

"Azul?" Kurt called softly, no longer expecting any response. "Azul, can you hear me? You're safe, Azul. You're back with us, safe and sound, and Black Air won't ever bother you again." Kurt went and sat beside the boy, pulling the child into his lap and cradling his head. "Azul, please respond. Blink. Twitch your tail. Do something to let me know you're in there?"

The child stared at the far wall, his eyes vacant.

Kurt sat the boy back on the couch, getting off it himself and settling on the floor where his eyes were level with Azul's. "Azul," he called softly. "Azul, please? I'm here, we all are, and we love you very much. Come back. Please come back."

Azul stared straight ahead, his eyes unfocused, and didn't move at all.

****************************

Feedback: will be placed on a pedestal and worshipped for all of eternity. No feedback: will cause you to suddenly and inexplicably see me at your door, using your spleen for things it was never meant to do. That, and I won't revive Azul. ;-D JB

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