D'Ancanto

Chapter 7

Marie was on the phone with Captain Harper when Logan, Storm and Jubilee entered MacTaggert's office.

"That's everything I have, sir. The cavalry's here, though, so I'm gonna update you as soon as I finish with them. Hell, yeah, there's a need. Remember how they didn't let Manhattan burn to the ground? Talk to you later, Captain." She hung up and stood, waving the X-Men over. "Here's what we should do--"

"Wolverine will spearhead this mission," said Storm. "He's the most experienced."

"Wolverine doesn't know MacTac."

"I'm sure he can cope." She turned away from Marie to speak with Logan. "I'd feel better if the X-Men were embedded with the police force during the operation."

Marie smacked her hands on the desk. "Excuse me but you don't even have my information yet. It's a little early to start going over my head even for you."

"Then give us the information."

"Getting into a Guild member's head isn't something I can teach. I have to let Gambit take over my eyes and my brain; that alone makes me de facto leader. Furthermore," she slashed at the air to cut Storm's burgeoning protest off, "I have the most experience with how both teams work and if Wolverine's okay with it, I can do some tactile updating. Cops are as tight as X-Men; they'll work for someone else but it won't be as smooth. You're going to need smooth for this mission. That's also why your idea of embedding the X-Men with cops is going to fail and why I'm in a better position to lead."

"I hardly think this is the time for an argument on jurisdiction."

"What about an argument about what a royal bitch you've been to me for the past ten years?"

Jubilee gasped and Logan snapped out of his shock. "Marie, I think--"

"No, Logan, this confrontation is a long time coming," said Storm. "Perhaps if Rogue vents her frustrations, she can finally overcome this childish grudge."

"Okay, first, Rogue is one of my names. I chose it; I choose who calls me by it. Right now, it's for Logan all the time and the operatives on my team when I lead my investigation. You lost that privilege when you, as an adult and my legal guardian, drove me out of the school just because I exercised my goddamn right to choose the Novomane treatment."

"Your memory is faulty. I didn't drive you out."

"Maybe not actively but you did nothing to stop the other students from bullying me. You didn't even pretend to care when I left."

"You left less than four months after Charles, Scott and Jean died!" Storm bit out. "In the span of forty-eight hours, I went from employee to headmaster without anyone to guide me. I'm sorry you felt bullied but I also had to take care of fifty-seven other students, orient sixty-one unexpected enrolments, train an entirely new staff and physically rebuild parts of the school while somehow using funds I had no idea existed and therefore had absolutely no idea how to access."

"But somehow, you had the time to help Pete with his scholarship and Kitty deal with her parents and train Bobby and Jubilee to oversee X-Men training and put together a press-package for Xavier's that basically jump started this place from school to mutant nirvana but you couldn't spare five goddamn minutes--"

"Those students sought my help!"

"I was a kid! I shouldn't have had to beg for help!"

"Then you shouldn't have--" She stopped.

"What?"" Marie stepped out from behind the desk. "Say it."

Logan tried to interfere again but he couldn't get between them.

"Say it, Storm. I shouldn't have gotten the Cure? You don't even like hearing the name; I can read it in your eyes."

"I disagree with your decision," said Storm. "But I highly resent your accusation that I'm prejudiced against those who take Novomane. Xavier's is about acceptance."

"What about you? Does Ororo Munroe believe in equality or superiority?"

Electricity sparked out from Storm's eyes. "Ororo Munroe grew up clawing for life in a village that makes District X look like Martha's Vineyards. She was a mutant and, therefore, ranked under 'garbage' in a world order dictated by a government who used AK-47s in place of approval ratings. I had to be taught that I was human, that I should have self-respect despite my mutation and, by God, I will not let anyone-- no-one-- take that self-respect away from anyone else! Especially not for a reason as flimsy as sex."

"Fuck. You!" Marie jabbed Storm with two fingers.

"Remove your hand."

"Fuck you and your hypocritical pedestal, Ororo Fucking Munroe. I got the cure for me. Me! Because--

"You stand in that uniform without your mutation and still call yourself one of us. And you call me the hypocrite?"

"--I wanted to and it's my fucking body--"

"Your body, your skin, your powers are a gift, Marie! It was a gift and you rejected it. You still do. If you're looking for approval for your decision--"

"No, Storm, your powers are a gift. Mine is a disorder and fuck you very much for resenting my attempts at controlling it."

"You barely even tried to control--"

"How do you know what I did--"

This time, Logan pushed his way between them. "Okay, guys, take it easy. 'Ro, we're going back topside. Jubilee, take Marie--"

"We don't have time for this. This mission needs to be arranged ASAP," said Storm.

"Fine. Then as field leader, I make the call on who spearheads for the X-Men and I choose Marie."

"I don't need you to patronize me!" Marie snarled at the same time that Storm exclaimed, "Logan! Why on earth--"

"I'm not patronizing you," Logan told Marie. "You're right. What you said before with knowing both X-Men and MacTac."

"Thank you."

"But you also fucked up just now. She has a point and you have a point but-- I can't believe I'm actually saying this-- the shoving and the shit-talking was wrong. At least Storm attempts civility; you get your hackles up. You want to be a leader like her, not one like me."

Marie leaned back, her arms crossed. Storm's eyes were blue again, the air in the room no longer crackling with electricity. Her gaze flickered between eye-contact and the floor. Almost regretful. Or, maybe even a little ashamed.

Almost as ashamed as Marie felt for reverting into a whiny teenage bitch at the slightest perceived provocation from her. If daily abuse from crooks couldn't get a rise out of her in her good cop routine, why did she loose her temper with Storm?

Marie stuck her hand out. "I was offside. Sorry."

Storm accepted. "I was as well. I... also apologize that you were bullied badly enough to leave. You slipped between the cracks. It should not have happened."

"In that case, I'm sorry I blamed you for everything that went wrong after I took Novomane."

"And I'm sorry for the remark about using Novomane for sex."

"Wow, are you guys going to fight about who can apologize better now?" Jubilee interrupted. The tension broke, drawing small smiles all around. "Awesome! Let's ride the weird that is Wolverine being the peacemaker and save the world! Again!"

As they seated themselves for the briefing, Storm asked, "Do you truly believe you can be a good leader in this mission?"

Marie straightened her shoulders and imbued her voice with all the confidence she had. "I do."

Storm's smile curled up a little more. "Very well."

Jubilee led her into the sub-basement changing room and opened a narrow closet door. "If none of the girls' uniforms fit you, the boys' closet is right here." She pointed to a similar door across the bench. "You're packing a lot of badonk-a-donk there, Detective."

"Thanks, Jubes," Marie said, rolling her eyes in amusement.

"I'm just saying! When I do military presses, my boobs turn into pecs; you work out and you turn into a Playboy bunny. I bet you can bootyshake with the best of them. Body armour's in this locker; we don't really use it that often so you can just pick whichever and clean it up afterward. We don't have standard boots but I'm a big fan of anything steel-toed and chunky-soled. Anything else?"

"What do you have along the lines of gloves?"

"Just standard heavy-duty neoprene and kevlar. Military surplus stuff. Nothing that won't be a bitch to take on and off."

"I'll deal," said Marie.

Jubilee jabbered away as they changed, unaffected by Marie's curt replies. Marie opted for a small men's costume after trying a couple of the women's suits. Still, she had to leave the top partially unfastened. Her police ballistics vest over it would have to do the cover-up job. The boots strapped higher than police issue and had more give. Feeling naked without weapons, she pulled the holstered batons off her police belt and strapped them on the X-Men uniform. This left her with gloves to worry about.

"I'll meet you at the Council Room," she told Jubilee.

A small, traditional gym stood just beside the Danger Room for warm-up and cool-down exercises. Marie took a pair of faded green weight-lifting gloves out of the equipment locker and tried them. They left her fingers bare but covered the larger parts of her hand, minimizing accidental damage to civilians or teammates. If need be, Velcro straps at the wrists ripped off easily enough. She caught sight of her reflection in the gym's wall-to-wall mirrors. The uniform shaped her body into hard angles and matte plates. Even her hair angled to a point to her chin. Impulsively, she retied her hair so that her bangs curled over her forehead. She didn't look like herself any more-- not Detective D'Ancanto with her business-casual suits and sneakers nor the long-haired teenager who'd barely started X-Men training. Neither-nor again, as she'd always been.

She headed to the Council Room. All the X-Men had already assembled themselves into two groups. With Logan as field leader, Marie knew the arrangement wouldn't be arbitrary. Centuries of military training drummed strategy into his core until it was as much a part of him as the adamantium. Storm and Logan jawed in the front of the room, occasionally throwing glances over to the group. Marie studied the new X-Men. They weren't as young as she feared; only two seemed to be in high school. Bobby and Jubilee were there, of course. Like Logan, Jubilee's uniform sleeves had the leader's red stripe down the sleeves, a hat-tip to Cyclops.

On the other side of the room, close to the exits, stood a fleet of blues. A third of MacTac's cops were here plus another dozen from other precincts hand-picked by Captain Harper and Emma Frost. Even MacTac, used to dealing with large groups of mutants, maintained an intimidated silence in the presence of the X-Men. None to gently. Marie nudged Everett's knee so that he half-tripped backwards.

He whirled around, forehead furrowed but Marie grinned at him. "They're not here for you."

"I know," said Everett. "But they're so... so..."

"It's just a uniform. Look I have one, too."

He almost asked the question but Jubilee pre-empted him by waving at her. "Dude! Over here! I've missed seeing you in our colours."

Marie flushed then mentally kicked herself for the reaction. "Badonk-a-donk adequately contained?" she asked instead.

"Not in a frillion years. So, what're we calling you these days?"

"Rogue." She curled her fingers into a fist. "I'll always be Rogue."

Her arrival began the meeting. Marie chose a seat near the back where she could see both the X-Men and MacTac. At the head of the room, Logan tapped the build-in table screen to start the visual specs. Behind him, the wall monitors responded as well. "Everyone here's gotta know about tonight's gala for the National Mutant Affairs Summit. They didn't have one in the first Summit so that means there'll a lot of people with a lot of power without flak jackets who can be easily blown to hell."

"You don't think the official security will be enough?" asked Blink.

"They're fine for the big things. We're detailing this guy." The screen threw up an image of Senator Trask. The room went quiet. Someone in the back whispered a curse. "Yeah, we hate him but we can't let anyone blow his brains out either. Rogue." He jerked his chin at her.

Marie stood, clicking the table screen to connect to the wall monitors as she did so. Vids and pictures of Trask popped up on the giant screens behind Logan. "We have two objectives. The first is to prevent the assassination of Senator Trask. We have evidence that Trask has been using organized crime backing in his political campaign. This connection's gone south and now they want to kill him. I know he's a scumbag but make no mistake, if he dies, the anti-mutant crowd's gonna rally behind his cause. We need him alive so the authorities can convict him on our second mission."

She tapped the desk screen again. Pete had sketched her babbling best he could but most of the information was text. Rows of it dominated images of cybernetic limbs and faces. "The Citizen Protect Program is funding something called Operation: Bastion. We don't have a lot of information but what we do have is damn scary. Bastion seems to be trialing cybernetic enhancements on people that'll allow them to scan and track mutants. We don't know what they're using-- bioenergy signatures, psi-tracers, DNA scenting-- but we do know it works."

"Your informant told you that?" asked Emma Frost.

"Yeah."

"And he or she is reliable?"

Marie wiggled her bare fingers. "It's pretty hard to lie to me. With everyone's attention at the Summit, it would be a great time for a team to do some info gathering. NYPD's MacTac is here to provide neutral support so no one can accuse the X-Men of funny business."

"On the basis of Detective D'Ancanto's evidence, the FBI's agreed to issue a warrant for a covert search Citizen Protect's headquarters and Simon Trask's private residence." said Captain Harper. "I told them MacTac's going to do the search but we don't have the manpower to do that, help out at the Summit, and maintain patrol for the night. Worse than that, we don't have the training."

"So, this is how it's going to go," said Logan. "Jubilee, divvy your team up into two groups. One goes to the Citizen Protect HQ and the other to Trask's house. You're looking for documentation of this Operation: Bastion."

"Anything digital," Jubilee translated.

"Focus on that but don't forget to take a look for the hard copies, too. It'd be a sign of the seriousness of the project. My team gets Trask's security detail along with MacTac. Make friends now; I don't want you hurting each other by mistake."

"I'll be over-seeing the entire mission," said Marie. "MacTac's trusting the X-Men not to hand their balls to the Feds and, conversely, the X-Men are trusting MacTac to keep their IDs quiet. We fuck this up, we fuck up mutant-baseline relations just as bad as Trask. That means we do the search properly and we do it clean. They don't know we're in and they sure as hell do not get any injuries or fatalities. I don't care what they call your mama, you leave them alone. Got it?" She waited for the whole room to nod. "Good. Jubilee, you can take your team now."

Jubilee saluted, jumping out of her chair. "We'll be the best damn Wolvie-trained ninjas ever."

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

Their departure opened up a few chairs but MacTac remained standing. Sighing, Charlotte shoved Everett into the nearest empty seat before taking her own closest to Marie. Slowly, the rest trailed in, shuffling away from the door.

"So, how're we combining our set-up?" Logan asked Marie.

"X-Men train a lot more like combat pararescue. MacTac's probably going to go with SWAT formation. To keep things simple, we should just stick to what we know. That means MacTac's in charge of perimeter defense and crowd control; they keep shit from happening. X-Men take over if shit actually hits the fan. I'll be stationed the fourteenth floor of this apartment complex kitty-corner to the hotel." A map on the monitor changed according to Marie's narration. "We've been jacking all the video feeds along Trask's route since yesterday evening. There's at least seven points of weakness where their security could fail."

Charlotte raised her hand. "We suggested they alternate their routes throughout the Summit but I don't know if they took our advice."

"As long as we have their daily itinerary, we should be okay."

"I want Nightcrawler in Trask's face in case we need an emergency extraction," said Wolverine.

"He's too visible," said Captain Harper.

"There'll going to be an anti-CPP protest right beside the pro-CPP one; he can hide in plain sight."

"I agree with Wolverine," Marie said. "Nightcrawler, you don't have to be in Trask's detail but stay within visual range at all times. We'll inform all the security."

"What if they protest my presence?" asked Nightcrawler.

"They'll just have to live with it. Can we get Jones on Trask's personal detail to double as Nightcrawler's back-up?"

"Certainly," said Captain Harper.

"Good." Marie looked up. "SWAT's got a light perimeter around the hotel. I want X-Men and MacTac to be aware of that perimeter and position themselves in the weak spots-- here, here, and here. The biggest headache for us isn't going to be the Summit gala, though. The people hired to take Trask out just want him dead. They prefer to be covert so any other time, I wouldn't look for a suicide bombing scenario but because they're desperate, they're unpredictable. They could poison his food, stab him in his sleep, blow up his personal vehicle, fake a heart attack, use blow darts, force a drug overdose-- We just don't know."

"You couldn't get it from your narc?" asked Logan.

"My informant said the original plan was for me to snipe him," Marie said. "That's part of the reason I'll be out of the crowd during the gala surrounded by X-Men and cops. If you all can see me, you know I didn't pull any triggers and they can't pin this on me, the Institute or MacTac. But back to protecting Trask's slimy hide. His people have been notified about the attempt. They'll beef up their security, not that it'll do any good."

"Trask has ex-Special Ops on his security team," said Captain Harper.

"That just means we have our work cut out for us," said Marie. "This is going to be a long op, people. It can end when Trask is out of New York State but we alert each city he travels to and we start the mission up again every time he comes back. Until he's convicted on Operation: Bastion, we have got to be so uptight about this man's security, we shit diamonds every Sunday."

"Can I just say I'm having some serious moral issues about being this man's detail long term," said Pete.

"We all do which is why we have to make him look bad instead of a wingnut Jesus," Logan snapped. "You don't have to date him, for fuck's sake, just don't let him get dead. Now if everyone's done clutching their pearls, half of you take our transport, the other half bunk up with MacTac. Rogue, talk with me a bit."

They waited for the room to clear. "It's too bad your snitch can't weasel more information out of his boss," said Logan.

"We could let him go," Marie said. "Let him gather more intel."

"How'd you know he'd come back?"

She sighed. "I don't. That's the problem. And we are going to let him go. He's seen enough of the Institute to use it against you."

"What, someone wants to shoot this place up? It must be Tuesday."

She shoved him playfully. "There are worse things, y'know. Things you can't cut even with your multiple adamantium penile extensions."

"Hey, who said you could talk to your old man like that?" He pushed her back. "The clinic is Moira's domain. He goes when she says so."

"Five bucks says he'll lift half the narcotics before the end of the week."

"Only half? You're being nice."

Shit would hit the fan. Rogue's back tingled with it, sweat popping up in beads slicking up her bullet-proof vest even through the sports-shift she wore under it. Her communication officers had set up in three groups-- Juliet-One, the covert team in Trask's New Jersey home; Juliet-Two, at the CPP head quarters; and Whiskey, the largest team manning operations during the gala. Leaning over one of the comm-officers, she pressed a button to open up the mic so she could listen to the conversation with one of the covert teams along with the camera feed. Only rustles and the occasional whispered "clear" came through which meant good things for Jubilee's covert group but the lack of info made Rogue's stomach roil.

She patched into the team on the street. "Whiskey Team, this is Hotel, what's the word on the street?"

"All clear," said Cannonball.

"All clear," Everett agreed from several blocks away.

Seven more "clears" came through the speakers.

"Storm's heading up into the ballroom," said Wolverine.

"That took a while," said Rogue. "Cameras?"

"Hrmph."

"Well, score one for the pretty mutants. Put her and Worthington on a magazine cover and we'll almost be respectable."

"Hotel, this is Thomas, MacTac. We have confirmation of Tango heading east on Fifty-Seventh. Can we get anyone there for confirm visual?"

"On it," said Nightcrawler. His commlinked fuzzed to static for a few seconds then, "I am on Fifty-Seventh now. There is a limousine here heading east, ja?"

"That's the one."

"Then I shall maintain eye contact until first marker. Nightcrawler out."

Nodding, Rogue turned to the final table. She plugged into Jubilee's personal team in the Trask home. The cameras revealed an expertly appointed post-colonial design, well-designed but not ostentatious. The cam's wearer was making their way down a carpeted hall.

"Any trouble, Juliet?"

"Zero," came Jubilee's whisper. "Kids at school, housekeeper's grocery shopping. Entering what I think may be the study."

The cam whipped around inside an open door.

"Or the laundry room."

Rogue had to smile. "Check in on you later, Juliet-One."

"Roger that."

Minute by excruciating minute, the communications room tracked Trask's progress through the team's cams and hacked security feeds. Rogue longed to be at all three places. Traces of Gambit's psyche screamed for first-hand visuals, not the grainy digital images with its limited, uncontrollable points of view. Gambit was the expert; he'd know the look and feel of a Guild hit. Rogue tamped down his voice. Gambit had never worked with her team. Either of them.

"Trask's car has arrived," said Cannonball. "MacTac detail is in position."

Then, surprisingly, Storm's voice intruded on the conversation. "What is the ETA on their arrival?"

"What're you doing on this feed?" Rogue demanded.

"You object to another set of eyes within the gala?" asked Storm. "They will not watch me as closely as uniformed guards. Their ETA, please."

"Five minutes thirty," said Logan. "Detail knows to only allow thirty seconds for the photo-op."

"I am near the southern wall, facing away from the windows," Storm said. "I see two of your MacTac operatives, one at the main entrance, the other near the catering doors."

Rogue pursed her lips. Well, Storm was leader of Xavier's Institute for a reason. "You think he'll stick to the schedule?"

"Oh yeah. He wants to live long enough to make president," said Charlotte.

"God help us. Jones, you're closest. Give me a three-sixty, nice and easy with latitudes."

"Got it, Hotel." Charlotte turned in a circle. The camera at her temple, attached to the earpiece, sent dark images of crowds rimmed by streetlights and camera flashes. The surrounding skyscrapers offered little clarity, only rows of dark or bright rectangles. The others' camera feeds were no better albeit in different angles.

"This is shit," said Rogue. She clenched her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"It's not any easier from down here," said Logan. "But unless the assassin has night vision, he'll have a hard time, too."

"Unless he's not a sniper," said Rogue. "He could be someone in the crowd with a sawed-off shotgun."

"If there's anyone in the crowd with a sawed off shot-gun," said Charlotte, "everyone in the NYPD is fired."

"What if it's someone in the NYPD?" Cannonball asked, quite innocently.

The communications room went silent.

"Christ, that's just what we need," Rogue said.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"I know, Cannonball. You just pointed out a weakness in our plan. Fuck. Okay, Wolverine, tighten it up."

Logan grunted. "Consider me in his shorts."

"Thank you for that retching visual, Wolverine. Half of Whiskey, converge on the gala ASAP. We're looking at close-quarters weapons now. The rest of you, keep your eye out for snipers; it could still happen. MacTac, alert the bomb squad to scan through the building. Start from the ballroom and work outward. Advise Trask's detail to keep him clear of all the windows."

"Roger, Hotel."

"I see Senator Trask now," said Storm. "Shall I introduce myself?"

"Negative," Rogue said. "Act totally normal." Turning to the other consoles, she jacked into Juliet-One and Two's commes. "Tell me you have something."

"Not yet," whispered Jubilee.

Whiskey Team's cameras threw up an Escher-esque view of the gala's main ballroom and its surroundings. Rogue scanned them all, her eyes feverishly moving between fourteen screens. Something... something itched the back of her head. Something that was a combination of Gambit, Logan and her own experience as a cop. She chewed on her lower lip, staring, staring, staring. Shadows shifted in the windows of the buildings surrounding the hotel. Thick parades of pedestrians filed down the streets, interrupting the geometrical rush of cars. A drunken pair toppled a group of college students. A businesswoman balanced several bags as she talked on the phone. Three hunched figures traded items near an alley. Limousines and town cars stopped at the end of a blue carpet leading up to the gala steps, depositing coifed couples before a mob of reporters and protesters. So many people. So many chances to take a mark. If Gambit couldn't narrow down to one agent, Belle had a fleet of assassins to--

Rogue slapped down her earpiece. "There's more than one. Someone get me to that-- there's more than one of them!"

One of the communication officers stared up at her. "Ma'am?"

"Send it out to Whiskey Team. The Guild didn't hire just one assassin; they sent a free-for-all. Get Trask the hell out of there, now! And someone get me a squad car!"

At that moment, Cannonball reported, "Possible sniper at the Carrington Apartments. That's, uh, a brick façade a block down. Eighth floor, corner window. Checking it out now, ma'am."

"The bomb squad just reported in a suspicious looking package a block down the same block as the hotel," said a comm-officer as Rogue dove into a squad car and slapped the sirens on.

Logan barked into her ear. "Stay away from here, Rogue."

"No can do, Wolvie," she said. "You guys are spread too thin and you need my eyes to spot the most likely to make the hit. Where's Trask?"

"We're trying to pull him away now. Sonnuvabith reporters smell blood in the air; we're having a helluva time doing this quietly."

"I don't think we should worry about quiet right now."

Everett's voice crackled in. "This is Thomas, Whiskey-MacTac, we have one suspect down. Repeat, one suspect down."

And outside in the crowd, Nightcrawler reported, "The protesters on either side grow restless and some of them are armed. We need that bomb squad van out of view before panic ensues."

"Who fucking parked the van in front of the fucking hotel?" Rogue snarled. "Comm-team patch me to the goddamn CO on that squad!"

Shots cracked.

"Shitfuck!" Rogue gunned the car. The hotel housing the gala eked around the horizon. "Tell me that wasn't in the ballroom."

"Negative! The protesters are rioting!" said Nightcrawler.

"Tango's on his way via an alternate exit," Logan said. "We have a man on his detail down, repeat, man down at the gala."

Rogue screeched the squad car to a stop at the hotel's larger alley. She kicked the door closed and sprinted for the kitchen doors. "Is the suspect detained?"

"You could say that. He's out cold with three of New York's finest pointing guns at his--" Glass shattered in the background.

"Give me your position, Wolverine."

"Busy, Rogue."

She stopped. Held one hand up at the wall. Closed her eyes. Her mental landscape opened up, a translucent floor tiled with memories. A feral growl shook one of the tiles. Rogue opened it up. The psychic trace of Wolverine leapt out of the white boxes, naked, enraged, in pain. His ran for her, claws out for her neck. She opened her arms.

Scents and sounds bombarded her. Rogue shook her head like a dog wringing water from its fur and covered her ears. She lifted her nose up and took a deep sniff, trying to glean Logan's distinctive smell-- cigars, leather, metal. She uncovered her ears. So much information! Too much. She began to close him up again when footfalls around the corner alerted her to another's presence. She pressed herself up against the wall.

As soon as she spotted an arm, Rogue slammed her arm into the other person's neck. He gagged, stumbling backwards. She wrapped his arm up around his back and hooked an ankle around his knee, forcing him to the ground. "Who are you?"

"Waiter--"

She pulled a silenced .22 from his side-holster. "Packing fancy for a waiter."

He scowled at her.

"Fortunately, for you, I don't have time for this." With a practiced twist, she wound plasticuffs around his wrists. "This is Rogue. I have one suspect detained on the main floor outside the kitchen ready for pick-up. How's the ballroom?"

"I believe you have drawn the danger away with Trask," Storm said. "I see nothing out of the ordinary here. Do you need me anywhere else?"

Rogue ran for the stairs. "No, stay put. Take care of everyone there."

"Understood."

Four flights per floor. Rogue cursed the high ceilings. She opened up another box in her mental landscape. The Earth's magnetic fields flowed between her fingers. Wobbling, she floated up to the second floor. The door slammed open with a push of her index finger. Logan pulled up short behind it. Behind him, Trask huffed and puffed, as did his detail.

"They shot at us through the fire-escape," Logan reported. "How many of them are there?"

"As many as it takes," said Rogue. "That's what you get for double-crossing the Guild, Senator. You son of a bitch."

Trask spun around, his jaw tensed for a snarl but he caught himself in time. All obvious signs of his anger melted away. "I have no idea what this is all about, young lady--"

"Detective!"

"--but I'm sure you must be mistaken." He smiled. A pretty, shiny smile for the pretty, shiny viewers at home. "You have my cooperation, of course, until this misunderstanding is cleared."

"Oh, it'll be clear all right. Every single dirty cent going into your hate-crime project."

"Now, now, that's libel."

"Actually, it's slander. If it wasn't true which it is." Rogue stared down one end of the hallway then down the other. "What's our best option?"

Logan pointed up. "Stairwell's enclosed, no windows. Any Assassin would be as trapped as us. Once we get to the roof, firing up on a rifle's trickier than down. Get a chopper to fly us out of here."

"But can the Senator go up fifty flights of stairs?"

"I can damn well try," Trask said.

"Let's do it. Two of you in front, two behind," she told the detail. "I'll take point. Senator, stay glued to the walls."

Logan positioned himself in front of the Senator. "Go!"

Rogue harnessed Magneto's powers again and shot up through the centre of the stairwell. Third floor. Fourth floor. Fifth. Nothing. Tenth, eleventh, twelfth. The men below panted.

"Can you use that to deflect bullets?" Logan asked.

Rogue shook her head. "I don't have enough control. I don't think I'd know how to fix on something as small as bullets. Twentieth floor." She checked in on the rest of the teams. "How're y'all doing?"

"Ballroom is still clear," Storm said.

"We have most of the protestors dispersed," was Nightcrawler's report. "It is difficult to say who has been hired and who came armed for personal reasons."

"No one else with sniper rifles," said Everett. "But the bomb squad hasn't given the place an all clear either. Do we evac?"

"Unless the bombing is a certainly, no," said Storm. "This summit must be seen as a success. Have you got the senator out of the building?"

"We need to get topside," said Logan. "And elevators aren't an option."

"Hurry. The guests are restless."

"The guests are." Rogue rolled her eyes. "Okay, you heard her. We're half-way there. Hotel, get us transport in T-minus ten."

Eleven minutes later, they burst out into the roof. A police chopper whipped grime into Rogue's eyes. She shielded them with one hand. Trask boarded with his detail and strapped in tight. The pilot made a circling movement with his hand. Logan and Rogue stepped back.

A memory flashed in Rogue's mind. The pilot. Salvatorre. "Wait!"

The chopper lifted off. Taking a short running start, she jumped for the landing skids. She managed the hook her arms around them. The blades and engine drowned out Logan's questioning roar. Her lip smacked on the skid. Her legs dangled. The chopper suddenly veered portside, heading low towards one of the hotel's large air vent. Rogue pulled herself up, teeth gritted, but the air vent still caught her ankle. She hoped the click was the vent because that was going to smart later.

The chopper suddenly straightened and God bless chin-ups because they were the only reason she still managed to keep a hold while the damn thing sped through New York City airspace like a suicidal hummingbird. Rogue swung one leg over the landing skid but a sudden dive to starboard threw her upside down. The chopper's underbelly swam. Her stomach felt like she left it back on the hotel roof. She tried to harness any of her absorbed abilities but it was damn near impossible to get to her zen state when she hung off the bottom of an airborne helicopter.

"Goddamn stupid fucking senator fucking better find the goddamn information or I'm fucking shooting him myself goddamn!" Rogue swung herself back upright. Licking her split lip, she released the skid and grabbed onto the rim of the half-open helicopter door. One of the detail guys grasped her wrist. They pulled, her stomach scraped the edge.

"Cover him!" she commanded and headed to the cockpit.

A pistol barrel met her advance. That was okay, 'cause she had one pointed at him too.

"What now will you do?" Salvatorre asked.

"Put your weapon down," said Rogue.

"Or what? You will shoot? I think not."

"I'm not in the fucking mood to be witty, you goddamn sorry ass excuse for a manwhore. Put your weapon down."

"You have no power here."

"Neither do you. What's going to happen after you land? You still have three of us against one of you."

Salvatorre only grinned. He wasn't going to fly this all the way to New Orleans; no, that would lead the chase right to the Guild's front door which was the last thing Belle would want. He'd take them to a Guild-safe zone, probably with a half-dozen men ready to blow the chopper to smithereens. She had to land this thing before they got there. Logan's powers were no good here. Magneto's were too unpredictable with her lack of training and if she let him take over her mind, he'd probably kill Trask himself. Bobby? Freezing the blades would kill everyone. Ditto Pyro. That left--

Rogue pulled Pete's organic steel out of his little white box. Her skin went oddly numb as it transformed. Aghast, Salvatorre pulled the trigger. The bullet ricocheted out the passenger door. She grabbed the weapon out of his hand with one movement and pulled him out of the seat in a second, smooth swivel at the waist. But he was trained assassin; he recovered quickly, grasping another smaller hand gun and a knife.

Rogue took the controls. "You really want to threaten me with those?"

"No," said Salvatorre. And, casually, he shot Trask's security guards.

Rogue slammed the chopper starboard. Salvatorre grabbed the nearest handhold: the passenger seat. His weapon remained trained on Trask. Rogue let the chopper drop. In the back, Trask screamed. Salvatorre chuckled.

"You are worthy of being an assassin."

"Thanks but I have a job." She jerked the chopper portside and, as the motion moved Salvatorre toward her, flung her arm out in a punch. He dodged it easily but at least he took his attention off Trask. Time to get crazy. Rogue pressed down on her comm. "Mayday! I need a mid-air save!" Then she tackled Salvatorre, leaving the pilot seat empty.

Ignoring the freefall, ignoring Trask's screams, Rogue blocked Salvatorre's hits. He was good. He was damn good. There was no way in green hell she'd be able to fight him back if they were on solid ground. Even with Logan and Gambit's memories to draw on, it was all she could do to stop the critical hits. Her arms and legs ached as Pete's powers drained out of her. Blow after blow cracked against her bones. She knew she hit him at least twice but nothing too damaging. At least he wasn't going for Trask.

Her leg suddenly burned-- he'd had a knife. Rogue rammed an elbow into his gut and shoved the blade into a seat. Her brain screamed in the vertigo. She braced herself on the ceiling. Or maybe it was the floor. It was hard to tell now. Salvatorre kicked her jaw. Rogue caught herself against the windshield. Flashes of white fluttered in front of her eyes. Oh hell, no. She was not going to pass out.

Ripping the snaps off her gloves, Rogue lunged for Salvatorre's leg. He kicked down, skinning her chin. She pulled herself higher. The chopper jerked into a faster spin, sending them flush against the ceiling. Trask wailed in the background. Salvatorre still had something in his hand-- where the hell did he tuck all those weapons? Rogue seized the driving shift under her belly, using it for leverage to flip into a full-body slam against Salvatorre. She rammed her arm back; he caught it and twisted. Something popped. She stomped up-- down?-- on something soft and squishy. His glove-covered hand pressed up on her face, suffocating her even more than the free-fall. She grappled for some part of him to hold on to but her right arm wouldn't obey her commands. But if the palm of his hand was on her face and his thumb was on her chin… Rogue reached back. Her skin made contact with Salvatorre's bare face.

-- in five-point-three seconds. Glock G22, taken apart and reassembled in six-point-two seconds. Smith & Wesson .357, taken apart and reassembled in five-point-seven seconds. Walther P380, taken apart and reassembled in five-point-one seconds. Now to the rifles. M24, taken apart and reassembled in--

The memories disconnected abruptly. Rogue's head slammed on metal, her breath frozen by a blow to her midsection. Salvatorre or Gris-Gris or whatever he called himself, flopped bonelessly beside her. She was belly-down on the passenger side window of the chopper and was so damn hot, her clothes must have been on fire but she couldn't put pull the pieces of her brain together to do anything about it. It was all she could do to turn her head and look for Trask. There he was, the son of a bitch, knocked out and held safe by his seatbelt and helmet. Score another for public safety advertisements. Yipee.

The window above her head crumbled and disappeared. Then there were saws and lots of shouting. Shouting in her brain, shouting outside, Rogue couldn't tell and didn't care 'cause it all gave her the mother of all headaches.

--bare feet cracked the icy covering on the snowfields, the branches whipping his face open even as his body tried to heal around the steel in his bones--

--plastic collar held her neck still which was good but she didn't need the shock blanket; she was hot, too hot, she burned, burned, burned, oh god--

-- "salad nicoise, two halibut steaks, two mango creams--"

She cringed away from a beam of light directed straight at her eye. "Fuck off."

"She's conscious," said the EMT.

"Rogue." Storm popped up beside her, her white fluttery dress and white fluttery hair disgustingly perfect even after all that fight. "Don't move, child. Your powers have gone wild and you may have a head injury. I am sorry but it was the only way I knew to stop the helicopter--"

--didn't want to kill anyone. They just had to be controlled, as a matter of national security. He was a patriot, dammit, and sometimes for the good of the country, you had to get your hands dirty--

"Xavier's Medical Centre, Westchester County. Moira MacTaggert and Anna Ghazikhanian will know how to treat--- watch your hand! I want everyone on this Medevac gloved and masked."

-- "Mama! Papa! Nie pozostawia ja! Papa!"

They had her strapped down and her nose tickled and the lights were hazy, hazy, patchy while smudges of black and white hung on and the chopper fell, fell, fell…

-- could only hide with his sister under the bed as the bad men wrecked the whole house--

"Marie! Marie, it's Moira. Moira MacTaggert. Marie! I want you to open your eyes, Marie, and focus on my pen. Can you see my pen?"

She gasped. There were four pens actually. Fingers spasmed around her own arms, her knees had turned to gelatin, she tried to speak. "Insh-sh-surance is g-g-gonna b-be a b-b-bitch this m-month."

"Deep, steady breaths, Marie."

"Sh-sh-sure. No problem, D-Doc."

Logan yanked her hands away. Her nails raised welts along her biceps. The shudders nearly lifted her off the stretcher. "I gotcha, Stripes. Take it easy."

"T-trying."

"I'm going to give you a sedative, Marie," MacTaggert warned her only half a second before the injection went into her upper thigh. "Give that a few minutes. Take deep, slow breaths. Trick you body into thinking it's okay."

Marie closed her eyes and filled her lungs. By habit, she imagined her neutral space: A willow-filled islet in a calm, turquoise sea. A tire swing so close to the water, her toes tickled the sea anemones. And beyond the sea, endless rows of boxes, barely visible under a great white floor.

"I've got it," she said, opening her eyes. In her mind, was a vast white expanse, dimpled with sunken boxes. A little girl in pigtails skipped across them towards a willow-filled islet where a tire-swing hung just for her. In the distance, the ocean tides crept over the white floor, calm, crystal.