The X-Project

Scott and Ororo escort the rest of the group out of Central Park, while the Blackbird rushes back towards the mansion. In the end, Jean's right - it was too far.


The advice that Scott gave the New Dawn people was clipped, blunt, in no way taking into account the fact that they'd just been through something of an ordeal. "-back to your hotels," he said brusquely. Ororo's storm was still raging fiercely, and the lights of the emergency vehicles off at a distance were barely visible through its darkness. "Answer any questions from the police there. We'd appreciate you keeping specific details about us out of it - your boss will be in touch as soon as they land at the other end and we get her checked out medically to make sure she's okay."

The young man in the sodden suit looked about ready to protest, but Scott leaned in closer, saying something too low for anyone else to hear over the wind and thunder. The other man nodded suddenly, giving the X-Man a rather strained smile, and then led his people off in the direction of the nearest subway. Scott watched them go, his face stony.

"I hope that she was the only target," he said to Angelo as he came up beside him. His voice was flat. "If those-if the hostiles circle back around, they're sitting ducks. But we have to get out of here." He turned without another word and started to follow Ororo and Callisto, who were already partway down the street with the girls, heading for the car.

"She was the target", Angelo said grimly, falling into step with him. "I saw the whole thing... other people got hurt, but they were just collateral. It was her."

"Doesn't matter. What matters is what they decide to do now," Scott said, his voice a little distant, now. He was watching the edges of the park. Too much cover, there, and they were in the open. "Pick it up, Ororo," he muttered over his com, and started walking faster himself.

"I don't even know who they were." He sped up unconsciously, sticking at Scott's side. "I thought it was Trask, but they were kids, and they weren't all girls."

"This isn't the time." Was he going to have to dissect this situation on the way home in the car? Scott thought suddenly, dimly. His heart was pounding in his ears. "Post-mortem later." Nausea clenched in his stomach at his own unconscious choice of words, but he fought it back.

"Okay." Angelo lapsed into uneasy silence at that, running through events in his mind if not aloud.

The silence wasn't any sort of a respite. In fact, part of him wanted to speak right back up and tell Angelo he didn't have to stop analyzing the situation after all, but... no, they would do that later. Right now, they had to get out of here safely. Get the girls home safely. Get these children home safely.

--

White light danced erratically between the boy's limp fingers, but it was untargeted, a reflex action only. The fact that he wasn't likely to wake up and start blasting again was a good thing in some respects - the Blackbird was rushing back to the mansion, and a second crash for the year was definitely to be avoided.

But the problem was, of course, whether he was going to wake up at all. In the air or out of it.

The beam had been too wide, too unfocused, and much too hard, the concussive force all but shattering the boy's ribs on his left side and coming within a hair's breath of breaking his neck. There was internal damage - hell, there would have too be with that much force hitting him - but she couldn't exactly operate on the Blackbird. Jean had secured his neck, hoping to prevent any further damage as Sam raced them towards the mansion and it's operating suite, and now she was prepping and injecting stabilizers, trying to keep him alive long enough to get there.

For his part, Cain just hunched against the curved bulkhead, looking down at the kid. Jean was trying her best, but this kind of injury wasn't anything new to the older veteran. He'd seen soldiers in the infirmary tents after an artillery attack, not a mark on them but with their insides shaken up so bad they'd bleed out before nightfall. Scott hadn't meant to blast the kid that hard - Cain knew that much. The X-Men's leader had too much self-control to lose it like that.

But intentional or not, when just opening your eyes could unleash the force of a locomotive on someone...

"He's gonna be okay, yeah?" he asked out loud, knowing the answer full well but also knowing the question had to be asked.

"If I have anything to say about it, yes," Jean said, not looking up. The lung was definitely collapsed, possibly punctured, although the boy was still breathing, so it couldn't be taking on fluid too quickly. It was the liver and stomach lining she was most worried about - if either had ruptured he'd possibly still die of blood poisoning, even if they did get him onto the table. "I'm just not sure I do have anything to say about it," she added quietly, biting her lip.

"Kid made his choice," Cain intoned matter-of-factly. "I'm surprised you ain't seein' that."

"Did he?" Jean asked, not looking up from her work. "I'm... not entirely certain. From the scan I did on his team mate I really can't tell, and that worries me."

"They were so... dead-eyed," Machado said quietly, from where she was strapped into one of the seats. She had sat right down, at Jean's instruction, and stayed absolutely out of the way. Her own eyes were almost haunted as she stared at the injured youngster who'd been trying to kill her. "When they found us in the woods, they made no sound at all. Their faces... no expression at all." She seemed to realize she was being repetitive, and fell silent for a moment, looking even more troubled. "But they're so young," she said more softly.

"Kids are impressionable," Cain said, looking directly at Jean instead of Machado or the would-be assassin. "Once they believe in something, you can get them to do anything. Don't really matter what --shit!" he suddenly exclaimed, lurching towards the injured youth. "He's crashing!"

Jean was moving already, the emergency med-station's crash cart popping out of it's storage locker seemingly of it's own free will as she pulled at it telekinetically. "Keep clear!" she snapped as she switched it on and heard the hum of the paddles powering up. "With the damage to his ribs we can't do this any other way."

Cain nodded, reaching out and grabbing the paddles. "In case he goes off or something," he grunted at Jean, shouldering her out of the way and leaning over the body, interposing himself between the convulsing youth and the two women in the back of the Blackbird. He pressed the metal contacts to the boy's skin, all too aware of just how fragile the kid was right now, teetering between life and death.

"What the hell do they say here? Clear!"

Machado hadn't unstrapped herself, but she was leaning forward as far as the harness would allow, her eyes fixed worriedly on the injured youngster. The concern that radiated from her was almost palpable, especially given that the boy had been one of the people trying to kill her less than an hour ago.

"Damnit, Cain," Jean muttered as her view of her patient cut off, but she couldn't argue with his logic, not after seeing what the boy was capable of. The second she heard the familiar discharge of the paddles, though, she was back out next to the big man, glancing down at the boy. "Again," she said, stepping back, when it was clear the first shock had not restarted his heart.

Cain placed the paddles against the boy's chest again, feeling the barely-perceptible tingle of electricity as another jolt shot through the body. "Come on, come on!" he shouted, more directly at the unconscious youth. He turned to Jean, a sudden strange look of panic in his eyes. "You gotta do something. Work his heart with your brain or something, right?"

Jean was focused on the boy, though, and didn't see Cain looking at her, although she vaguely noticed the franticness of his tone. "Move," she said shortly, stepping back to the side of the bed and assessing the situation. "Heart massage is not going to restart it if the defibrillator doesn't." Jean reached out and took the paddles, charging them one last time with a flick of the switch. Her eyes flickered briefly shut, lips moving silently, before she stepped forward and sent the charge jolting through the body on the table.

Which simply slumped back on to it.

"He's dead," Jean said, eyes closing in pain.

Cain stepped away, slowly turning from the body before rearing back a leg to kick out in frustration - before catching himself and remembering that they were on a fast-moving jet high in the air. "Summers ain't gonna like hearing that," he said quietly through clenched teeth.

Jean's eyes snapped open and she glared at Cain a moment, mouth opening to say something, but she shut it just as quickly with a sigh. Moving to the cabinets where the med supplies were stored she pulled out the only spare cover for the emergency table and draped it over the body.

Cain could hear Sam radioing in their approach as the Blackbird began the descent towards the mansion. Looking over his shoulder, he took in the expressions on Jean's face and on Machado's. They'd saved her life, that was the important thing.

He could keep telling himself that. For as long as it took.