The Zeitgeist Awakens

[angelique]

Chapter 9

A tall, shapely redhead joined the short, burly man and the petite, almost boyishly slender girl making their way down the hallway, as a few others decided to take their turn in the Danger Room.

“So how did your new getup serve you?” Jean asked.

“Well, it moves with me quite well. I like how the built-in reinforcements replace the plastron and the chest guard. Und Herr Drake,” Kassandra said to Iceman in a voice to rival his own abilities, “you can refrain from wondering why I’d need one of those.”

Logan smirked as they walked past. Bobby Drake imagined himself to be the wittiest of the X-Men, and quite frankly, often had most everyone wishing he’d just freeze his mouth shut.

“Anyway,” Kassandra continued, as they entered the War Room, “the long coat is perfect for giving a point to my concealed weapons permit. And it seemed to protect me quite well. The shrapnel didn’t do any worse than sting when it hit. Altogether, I like it, danke.

“And, Warren, Logan, Jean, now that we’re all here, let’s shut the door and convene immediately.”

“Does Xavier know about this?” Jean asked.

“I’ve allowed him to check in on me, of course. But no. Not about this specific operation. Jean, we need you to guard all our thoughts. There may come a time when we will need to reveal records of this conference and what is said here,” said Kassandra. “But until a subpoena says otherwise, not a word or thought about this leaves this room.

“Since you encountered this group at what appeared to be their headquarters in Montana, Kurt’s sustained partial memory loss of a nature I’m beginning to understand. And since then, my mission has been compromised. Most of my agents have disappeared. A few are already dead. A few have exfiltrated, but it is all too likely they’ll eventually be rolled up, too. I am afraid there is a connection. The reason why Kurt survived the attack on him, and why any of my agents are still alive, is because this group has plans for all of them.”

“You have new operatives, right?” asked Logan.

“His Holiness and the cardinals are in good hands, Logan. However, I could not get new agents. At least no more directly answerable to me. If I did, I’d put more people in more danger. And that’s also why I have to leave tonight.”

SNIKT! Wolverine’s claws instinctively shot out. They were no longer threatening phantoms like Angelique Sauvegarde or Elizabeth Errol-Koenig.

“Yes, Logan,” said Kassandra, “my covers are completely blown.”

“That’s why they stole Kurt’s memories!” said Jean.

“Partially. I’m not in any terrible danger yet, despite the fact that I’ve inconvenienced them terribly. No, they have some use for me, too.”

Logan stood and slammed a clawed fist on the table. “Then why aren’t we rescuing your agents? Why aren’t you in hiding? Why aren’t your fed buddies helping? And why, dammit, won’t you let Xavier know?”

“BECAUSE!” Kassandra leapt up and stared Logan down as best as her 5 foot 1 inch frame could allow. “With the complete fiasco brewing in Europe, and the fact that these people will soon bring the battle to New York, you are going to have more than enough to do. I, on the other hand, have to get them when, where, and how they least expect it. And Charles has been under the microscope since going public. He cannot have anything to do with this.”

“And,” interrupted Archangel, “’the last thing we need is future Timothy McVeighs imagining that mutantkind is teaming up with the federal government for the sole purpose of persecuting anti-mutant religious minorities.’ Logan, I don’t like sending her into this alone any more than you do. But based on the information she’s sent me, I think she knows what she’s doing.”

“Danke, Warren. And while I appreciate your desire to help me, it is precisely for that reason that I must handle this alone. And I really shouldn’t even wear the X.” Kassandra removed the belt buckle from her uniform. “Nobody must think the X-Men or the federal government are responsible for what’s likely to happen. If anyone gets hurt or killed in this operation, I have to take the fall.”

“But Worthington and I tangled with these people before. We know what they can do. They aren’t like the sentinels, kid. They’ve got this kamikaze thing going.”

“I know.” Kassandra tried to sound reassuring, but her voice and an unfamiliar scent gave her away. The few times he’d seen her go into battle, he smelled grim determination on her. This time, it was indeed different. However worried Wolverine was about her….

“Warren,” Jean thought. “Kassandra cannot say this or Logan will pitch an even bigger fit. But before you get back from Paris, we need you to try and talk Jubilee into returning with you. She’s under the false impression that she’s safe with X-Corps.”

“Logan,” said Jean. “Kassi’s already afraid. More than you are. And not of what they might do to her.”

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​

That medal. Kurt knew it wasn’t among the few things he had at the rectory. He rifled among the things he’d kept in storage here. Come to think of it, he didn’t even recall having it when he returned from London. But Brian would have let him know if he’d left anything of his there.

Puzzling. He rifled through his things some more, and found a sword belt and sabre. Ah, yes. It had been a very long time since he had last seen this. Logan had it made for him. But what was that it said on its flat? “Epheser 6:10-17.” Logan would not have thought to inscribe a Bible verse on it. Come to think of it, when Kurt thought of how he got that sword in the first place, his mind drew a complete blank. Strange, how it looked like a slightly longer version of Zeitgeist’s weapon.

​

As they left the War Room, Logan retracted his claws and grabbed Kassandra. “I’m sorry, kid. Not everyone can have my stomach for fighting. And that’s one thing I never wanted to give you.”

“You’ve been nothing but generous to me, Logan. But that killer instinct? I’m afraid I did not get that from you.”

“And I think I know what scares you now, kid,” said Wolverine. “I never got all it is that you and the Elf get out of your religion, but whatever it is, I think it’ll help keep you human. And I don’t think you’ll really go into this or anything alone as long as you hang on to that.”

Kassandra wrapped her arms around him and planted a peck on his grizzled cheek. “I’ll remember that, Logan. Danke schön.”

As they walked down the hallway, Nightcrawler dropped in on them. “Kassandra, Ich muß mit dir sprechen.”

“I’ll leave you two alone, then,” said Wolverine.

“Tschüß, Logan!”

“No goodbyes, Little Elf! Just get back here safely and soon.”

“Leaving so soon?” Kurt asked.

Kassandra sighed. “Ich muß.”

“Would you mind if I walked with you to the hangar?”

Kassandra almost laughed. Why would she mind? “Nein. I’d like to talk with you, too.”

“So why did Logan call you ‘Little Elf?”

“Why do you think?”

“Warum ‘Little Elf’? Is it because he thinks your abilities are similar to mine?”

“Ja, so könnte man es sagen.” And because we’ve shared more than similarities, she was tempted to add.

“Oh,” said Kurt, still not one hundred percent satisfied with the answer. “And the medal- I remember. You weren’t just giving it to me. It really was mine. And the only way you could have ended up with it that makes any sense is if I had given it to you. I mean, how else would you know it was mine? But we only just met today, nicht wahr?”

Tears welled up in Kassandra’s eyes. She blinked them away. “Kurt, Liebster, I hope you’ll believe me and take this easily. But as it’s said, the simplest explanation is usually correct.”

This statement left Kurt more than a little befuddled. He’d have to think about what she meant by that later. “So would you like this back?”

“Nein, Kurt. Keep it, bitte. To remember me. Or at the very least hang onto it until I get back.”

“And I’ll look forward to when you do, Liebchen. Gehst und kommst du wieder mit eine steife Brise.” Kurt briefly wondered about the Piratensprache he suddenly found himself speaking. Lately, he hadn’t felt up to the daring swashbuckler role he used to enjoy so much. But for some reason, around her, he seemed to fall right back into it.

Kassandra surprised him again before she entered the hangar. She grinned and held up an imaginary cutlass in a salute. “Ja wohl, Käpt’n.”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 10

“Hey, cop!” Stacy strode up to the plane just as Kurt left and Kassandra was about to board. She had some things to say, and didn’t want anyone else at the Institute to hear. She didn’t want anyone thinking she was going soft. Or willing to socialize with law enforcement. “We gotta talk.”

“Ja?”

“Listen.” Stacy lowered her voice. “I just wanted to say thanks for trying to save our butts out there at the X-Ranch.”

Kassandra smiled. “Bitte. But it’s not as if my efforts did much good.”

“Can’t blame you for trying, though. But we need to talk about something else. I’ve seen plenty of weird real-life soap operas, a couple going on right now in that mansion. Logan and anyone else who can smell it may be fine with it, but this is just too weird, even for me. What’s this thing you’ve got going on with Wagner?”

Much to Stacy’s surprise, Kassandra did not deny anything, behave defensively, or act at all like a woman put on the spot.

“I might as well be upfront. You’re almost as good as an empath.”

“No kidding, Captain Obvious. You knew his name. You said something in German. And you topped it off with the pheromones. Good girls like you never fire off so many like this over guys they’ve just met, especially if the guy wears a collar. Something’s up.”

Kassandra sighed. “Remember how you found Kurt back there in Montana? Don’t tell him unless you want to do similar damage. He needs to remember this on his own. Everyone knows this but him, right now. But he’s been one of my best friends for, oh, about ten years, give or take. And they erased it all.”

Stacy could hardly believe her ears. It was bad enough that they murdered what few friends she had. It was bad enough that they tried to kill her. But at least they had the decency to let her keep what few happy memories she had. If anything could possibly be worse, this was it.

“Well, what’s a soap opera without someone getting amnesia, anyway?” Kassandra said, her attempt at humor failing utterly to mask her bitterness.

“There’s more to it than that. Level with me, hon. You and he weren’t ‘just friends,’ were you?”

Kassandra could argue quite effectively that even those in the most platonic relationships deserved more than to be labeled “just” friends, that such a friendship was just as important, if not more so, than any other sort of relationship, and that she’d be content if she and Kurt were “just” friends. She would have technically been telling the truth. But Stacy would know she was also dodging the question. She morosely shook her head. “Not to sound judgmental, Stacy, but I always knew you were wasting your talents at the X-Ranch. Someone as perceptive as you would be a terrific counselor. Or detective.”

“You’re not making fun of me, are you?”

“Not at all. Oh, and by the way, you'll have some good friends among the X-Men as long as you make no assumptions about how they like you. Warren in particular. Tschüß!” Kassandra closed the cockpit.

Well that tore it. Stacy didn't know what Kassandra meant about the bird boy, but a cop who’d already gone to a bit of trouble on a prostitute’s behalf, and then respected her enough to admit honestly why she radiated heartbreak, rather than keep up some futile pretext of toughness, deserved more than a mere thank you. What was the one thing that cop wanted most? For Kurt to remember her? Maybe for them to pick up wherever they’d left off? There were ways to go about reminding him that that hadn’t even occurred to Kassandra. That cop most certainly would not help him forget his collar. She was far too much of a good girl for that. Well, Stacy wasn’t. And for a fuzzy blue guy with funny ears and a tail, Kurt was kind of cute anyway.

 

[angelique]

Chapter 11

In the Name of Humanity
​

Part 1 of 12
​

By Angelique Sauvegarde
​

​

To members of the Church of Humanity, Christ dwells exclusively in an unmutated human genome.

His representative claims no name, but a centuries long history, unverifiable according to investigators, of mingling with famous scientists, explorers, and occultists, and the title of “Supreme Pontiff,” much to the offense of all upstanding Catholics.

Many followers are excommunicated Catholics, unhappy with the Vatican’s expressed sympathy for mutants. They carry AK-47’s, hand grenades, and a variety of other weapons of unknown origin. And at a glance, the Kevlar-reinforced clothing of their clergy bears a superficial resemblance to priestly vestments.

And while their base of operations is tucked in the most inaccessible reaches of Montana’s Rocky Mountains, their activities have taken them to cities like Rome and New York.

They believe the end of the world is near, and that they are to secure an eternal place for humanity- without mutants.

Members pay dearly for their beliefs. Investigators have reported that the leadership:

● ordered attacks upon mutants of unknown capabilities

● enslaved mutants who could serve their purposes

● used torture and other means of mind control to ensure compliance from members and mutants alike



Authorities have also questioned former members about their involvement in the attempted bombing of Notizie San Gabriel in Rome, the assault of an FBI agent investigating that and other crimes, their stockpiles of illegal and even unknown weaponry, and their connections with the Acculturation Resistance Movement based in Zürich, Switzerland. Further allegations suggest they are behind the attacks on a Nevada brothel and an Atlanta gene research facility, as well as a number of disappearances and murders currently being investigated. However, due to lack of evidence, the authorities have been unable to act on these and the aforementioned complaints.

Reactions have been mixed in the nearby communities of Dillon and Butte. On one hand, residents fiercely defend the right of this group to believe and teach what they want. But many are concerned about how the presence of a group allegedly responsible for numerous acts of domestic and international terrorism will affect the safety, economy, and reputation of their community. Butte mayor Shannon Downey summed up the feelings of the community this way. “We’ve always been a community that values radical and even unpopular thought. On the other hand, with the current state of our economy, we can only hope that tourists, businesses, and new residents are not scared off by the presence of this group.”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 12

“…and all that you've held sacred falls down and does not mend...
”…when you're standing at the crossroads that you cannot comprehend…
”…and all your dreams have vanished and you don't know what's up the bend, just remember….”


​

The full moon shone brightly over New York. Even so, there were plenty of shadows the light could not penetrate. Kurt sat atop St. Michael’s rooftop after a few acrimonious words from Father Whitney. A boy he had tried to help just died from his inability to control his mutation. Back in Salem Center, the new girl Stacy had made some very obvious advances toward him that he rebuffed, not because of his vow of celibacy, and not because he did not desire a woman’s companionship, but because, much to his surprise, a woman did indeed occupy his thoughts. A particular woman. The nightmares and unexplained flashes of memories he wasn’t sure were his had been only getting worse since she showed up. And obviously, there was some kind of war brewing, if the X-Men would work with such artillery as her.

All this served to deepen the misgivings he’d already been entertaining, about his vocation, and even his faith. He unfastened his Roman collar. That he even thought he had the right to wear it in the first place seemed completely unreal. In fact, so much of his time at St. Michael’s seemed that way. And when he revealed to Father Whitney that his troubles could not be addressed by simple daily reading of the Breviary, what response did he get? No offer to pray with and for him. No direction to appropriate Scripture passages. No referral for counseling or a recommendation for going on retreat. None of what Kurt knew a priest or deacon with doubts could expect. Just a terse “you know the way out.”

Only one thing was clear now. Merely wearing a collar and working at that church would not give him the lasting peace he so badly needed. He had gathered up the few things he could, including a letter addressed to him. He had long forgotten what it said, but had a feeling it was important, otherwise, he would not have kept it. Then he left the rectory. Leaving the collar behind him. Somehow, Kurt suspected that leaving the priesthood really shouldn’t have been so simple.

“Hello, Warren? Bobby? Anybody? Any X-Man out there with a communicator on?”

“Nightcrawler, it’s Northstar. How far can you teleport?”

At any rate, rejoining the X-Men would not be so simple. But once back in Salem Center, he reread the letter.



Mein Lieber Kurt,

Getting a hold of you has been rather difficult lately. I couldn’t email you or call, but I have Warren to thank for your address. First off, I wanted to say tolle arbeit, busting that slave ring. You’ll make a good agent, yet. And you’ve just proven that while it is possible to remove a good mutant from full-time heroics, removing the heroism from the mutant just won’t happen. At least not in your case.

Nonetheless, I wish I could tell you to completely disappear for the next several weeks, or that I could do anything to keep you out of the mess that’s brewing. I may have to create the biggest flap ever to expose this anti-mutant cult and put a stop to their plans once and for all, and I really do not want you in the middle of it. Far too many people will suffer as it is, and many, many more will if we both aren’t terribly careful. But I know you will throw yourself into any maelstrom to protect someone. And so all I can do is pray. And remind you of what you once said about me, that I am not yours to surrender. Remember that you are God’s own by adoption and by His Sacrifice, and not your own to surrender. Remember that, no matter what you see or hear, particularly over the next several weeks.

I am also beginning to see that your future and mine are somehow connected in all this. For the sake of your safety, you will not hear from me again until I see you. But keep your eye on L’Osservatore Romano. Or really any newspaper, for that matter. And, this Father Whitney- trau Ihm nicht!

Dein’ immer,

Kassi

Strange way to sign a letter. Kurt wondered if that was a habit of hers.



Thousands of miles away, the snow, which lightly powdered the ground at Yellowstone National Park only intensified the light of the full moon and the stars blazing across the sky. Kassandra had retired early that evening hoping to get plenty of rest for the events she anticipated. She awoke with a start, threw on her clothes, grabbed her weapons, and left the lodge as quickly and as quietly as she could manage. Instantly. Before she plowed ahead into a future that frightened even her, she had to experience this moment in utter solitude, without any tourists looking on.

Logan was only partially correct. Sure, she was frightened of what she could become. But that was a familiar cross to bear, this constant wondering if she fought for just causes or a bloodthirsty desire for vengeance. She doubted Kurt remembered how he once called her an angel of mercy. Just as well. At this point, she felt he couldn’t be more wrong. This was beyond a crisis of conscience. And while she never liked the idea of going into any real battles, this was not the relatively prosaic fear in anticipation of war. No one went into war without enough intelligence on the enemy. She couldn’t even read their leader’s timeline to confirm if all she’d heard was true.

Of course, it helped that what she’d heard was so far-fetched that another run of Angelique Sauvegarde’s articles had seriously hurt the cult’s credibility in the area. And some journalistic research brought more critical information to the surface. The illegal involvement of state governments and even some of her fellow federal agents with this cult, as troublesome as it was, would only help her case in the long run, if she made it that far. She couldn’t go public with that knowledge, yet, but at least she made sure the information was now in Xavier’s hands. So far, so good. Nonetheless, the imminence of directly taking on an unknown enemy by herself played a pounding, discordant Stravinsky ballet upon her nerves. That riotous Rite of Spring, no less.

And now she sat on the foremost bench, a black-coated silhouette. In one hand, she held a CIA standard issue Smith and Wesson, never fired outside of target practice. Across her knees, lay a glittering sword, which did not share her gun’s relatively pacific history. She could, theoretically, just leave. Leave her weapons and disappear. She briefly contemplated hurling them to where even volcanologists feared to tread. She might as well. As far as she was concerned, her career, and perhaps her life, would soon be over. The gun would be destroyed in the superheated waters. The adamantium sword would not be, but it would soon be completely embedded in the travertine deposits that constantly formed here, to never again be wielded by anyone. No, that was a criminally stupid idea. Still, the idea of retiring her weapons permanently had some appeal. She sure felt like a criminal anyway.

She scanned the surrounding area, then suddenly stiffened. No one else was awake, but there were eyes on her. Oh, stupid, stupid Kassandra. Just barely thirty-five yards away, and slightly to the right of the geyser mound, some large creature or creatures stirred in the shadows. Bison. She looked over to get a better look, and caught with her eye the warning sign. “Dangerous Ground,” the bold letters screamed, even in that dim light.

Some people, mostly locals from Montana or Wyoming, tended to refer to this part of the Rocky Mountains as “God’s Country.” A bold claim, and perhaps not very accurate, its sublime power and beauty notwithstanding. The whole place testified to the precarious balance and outright danger of its existence, even on a gorgeous night like this. The magnificent beasts who were, for now, content to sleepily observe her from a distance could be stirred to deadly stampeding rage with the least provocation. In rushing springs, still and vibrantly colored pools, and not far below the seeming tranquility of the forests, rivers, and the earth’s thin, snow-dusted surface stirred waters hot and acidic enough to burn the flesh clean off anyone unfortunate enough to fall in. And not far below that, the world’s largest magma chamber awaited a day when it might, or might not, finally blow. She wept quietly.

It became clear. Any feeling of peace even this most beautiful of places could give her was ephemeral at most. She opened her eyes, and they fell to the engraving on the sabre’s flat. “Hebräer 4:12.”

“’Denn lebendig ist das Wort Gottes, kraftvoll und schärfer als jedes zweischneidige Schwert;” she murmured to herself this favorite of verses, “est dringt durch bis zur Scheidung von Seele und Geist, von Gelenk und Mark, es richtet über die Regungen und Gedanken des Herzens.’”

She recalled the rest of what Logan had said, about her not really being alone. “Lieber Gott,” she whispered, “I know my options. But I need to understand. Which is the path You want me to take through this fallen world?”



“Just remember that death is not the end.” [1]



The tension became palpable. The bison, somehow knowing that their warm campsite would soon be flooded with scalding water, got up and moved further away. Steam began pouring more furiously from the vent. And with a gurgle, a whoosh, and then a hissing roar, with only one moonlit silhouette to witness it at that hour, Old Faithful erupted.

And though the steam blanketed all around in a glittering white mist (that smelled a bit like a teleportation signature), Kassandra saw what she had to do. She sheathed her sword, wondering what possessed her to consider getting rid of such a gift. Then she holstered her gun, stepped out of the fog, and returned to the lodge. There would be a time for beating swords into plowshares. When the fabric of time and space would be torn up, and everything that ever was good in every universe would be rewoven into perfection. She looked forward to that. But until then, as long as there was a need to stake everything against any unjust war, she’d keep her sword just as is.

And though she finally understood exactly how Nightcrawler felt about attempting a blind teleport, she felt a little, very little bit better. Not any braver, but at least more resolute.


[1] Bob Dylan, “Death is not the End”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 13

And so Kassandra flew her favorite unmarked stealth fighter dangerously low over the Montana border around the looming mountains of the Continental Divide. Once again a mutant would herald a battle coming, not as foreseen, but when and how she saw fit, like a thief in the night. They would not know of their moment of reckoning until they’d return to that violated sanctuary they called their Cathedral, and find her ready and waiting for them. And there it was. She circled round, firing upon where she was told their anti-aircraft artillery was, then landed. She choked back a sob, wiped her eyes, and willed herself to maintain adamantium resolve and emotional control as she marched right into that den of iniquity. Empty. But the lions would return. She drew her sword, held it point down, dropped to her right knee, and made the Sign of the Cross. “Heiliger Michael, bete für uns. Vater unser im Himmel, geheiligt werde dein Name. Dein Reich komme. Dein Wille geschehe, wie im Himmel, so auf Erden. Unser tägliches Brot gib uns heute.”

She left time and saw the timelines of what horrors approached, intent on tangling with her. One in particular tore her heart. The one they’d call their false prophet.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The mutant designated 143 could see in his mind, the only part of him that had any function left, a bright, transparent vision in the sanctuary, kneeling. “Und vergib uns unsere Schuld, wie auch wir vergeben unseren Schuldigern,” she said.

This worried him. She was there, but somehow beyond the reach of his telepathic influence. He could only get one thought from her. Remarkable. Somehow she knew he’d try to probe her mind. She was now addressing him with not so much as a thought but a strong feeling.

“Mein armer Liebling, what have they done to you?”
Saliva dribbled from his perpetually gaping mouth. Nobody here had addressed him before, except with orders. Forget about compassion. But that was meaningless. Compassion would not help him do what was needed. And it was a rhetorical question anyway. The girl already knew. And what had been done to him was nothing quite like what they’d do if he didn’t cooperate.

And here they came.
Zeitgeist stood up. She raised her voice and her sabre. “Und führe uns nicht in Versuchung, sondern erlöse uns von dem Bösen. Amen!”

“Your prayer will not help you. The prayers of the wicked are not heard.”
“Feeling judgmental today, aren’t we? And how do you know I’m one of the wicked?”

“You are part of a mutant plague that’s infected the government. And you are to deliver the war of our apocalypse.”

So be it. They had some use for her. Others had and would have similar ambitions for her. If a rider of war was what they wanted, that’s exactly what they’d get.

“Prepare for your part, mutant, and gaze into my abyss.”

“How philosophically egalitarian.” said the wraith, as she instantaneously dodged a bolt of blue energy. “You mangle Nietzsche as badly as the Bible. And your cheesy attempts at mind control will not work.”

“Nonetheless, you will surrender all you hold dear. Your answers. Your secrets-”

Zeitgeist glanced past the giant in the cartoonish mockeries of papal attire. Finally, it was clear why she couldn’t get a timeline on this character. “They are not my own to surrender. Particularly to some holographic Jim Jones.”

“Brethren, neutralize the mutant. But we need it alive. Inhuman creature, your claim to know Scripture, philosophy, and the human mind is laughably pathetic.”

“Let’s share a laugh, then. Reverend Stryker was least remotely interesting, but still just a spring without water, a mist driven by a storm. I’m almost disappointed, because I’d heard quite a bit about you. And then I discover that you, Your Unholiness, are not even real! Now can all of you please stop firing and put down your weapons? I’d like for us to handle this like homo sapiens.”

“You dare consider yourself human?” the hologram sneered.
“For once you got something right. Sure I’m human. My father, God rest his soul, was human. My brothers and sister are human. And God knit me in my human mother’s womb. I just happen to have a human X-factor mutation and an all too human temper, which I will lose if you don’t call off your dogs.”

“Arrogant monster. You will suffer for your insolence.”
“Yes, I will. But not how you think.” The peaceful resolution that was meant to be would not happen. She’d prayed for God’s will to be done. But the people claiming to fight in His name clearly had other plans. “And you’ll only send your followers to their deaths if they try to kill me.”

“A glorious martyrdom.”
“No, a most undignified suicide.”
“We cannot make this vermin cooperate. Brethren, exterminate it.”
“Come on guys, you’d have a better chance of surviving if His Unholiness just served out some of his Kool-Aid.”
“He who loses his life for my sake will save it.”

“Jesus said many would come claiming to be Him, and warned against following them. Okay, guys, obviously you don’t get it. I HAVE appealed to your alleged faith and your human reason. And now I have had ENOUGH!”

With time slowed, she could still dodge whatever they fired at her, but still allow them enough time to see what she was doing. Maybe learn that theirs was an exercise in futility.
“Ever read Deuteronomy 30:19?” she shouted. And with her adamantium sabre now whirling furiously, she stopped cutting their bullets out of the air or deflecting their bolts harmlessly away. Now she deflected everything right back at them.

“’CHOOSE LIFE THAT YOU MIGHT LIVE!” They kept going. That’s right, verdammt. Their twisted parodies of priestly cassocks and vestments were reinforced with Kevlar, as their minds were with the twisted idea that true martyrs actually abandon hope and long for a violent demise. She could not afford to remain on the defensive.

“Gott, erbarme Dich unser,” Zeitgeist prayed, and her sabre bit flesh. One man lost both his arms, his armor giving little resistance to her adamantium blade. The others surrounded her, pumping more bolts and bullets into the air. Even with time slowed, she had to use every muscle in her body to duck, dodge, parry, and slash. Two more fell. They weren’t learning. She stopped time altogether. If she had to hack her way through this mess, the only humane thing to do then was to get it done quickly. In an instant, the ranks she cut down fell around her, spilling blood and limbs all over the floor.

She then flit over to the red-robed image. Its overlarge wrist guards were hooked up to all kinds of technology. Kassandra didn’t want to be bothered to check which controlled the image inducer or the teleportation nets. It didn’t matter. She severed all connections, then resumed a slow flow of time. There was no escaping now. And in the instant that the image of the nine-foot tall, three hundred year old cosmonaut flickered out, Kassandra saw all she needed- the reality behind the phantom, and the timeline she sought. It was a past full of pride and pain. And a present and future dominated by an understandable bit of post-traumatic stress mixed with a huge amount of paranoia, megalomania, and- ach, forget the psychology- one insanely bitter vendetta. Kassandra didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream.

Instead, the wraith held her sabre point to the ‘Supreme Pontiff’s’ throat. Her eyes burned. “If I fly them to Butte right now, they might survive. Don’t even THINK of disintegrating them with your desecrated hosts.”

“You don’t want to kill me. I hold the memories of one dear to you.”
The glowering wraith pressed her point. “Should that impress me? I know all about you now. You hurt him and others dear to me. You had similar plans for me. I do take that very personally. And you have been plotting all kinds of mass murder. I DO want to kill you. But be thankful this is not about what I want.
“My Lord Himself said, ‘Upon this rock I will build My Church, and the Gates of Hell will not prevail against it.’ Your plot to bring it down was doomed to fail from the start. Rest assured, though. Your last chance for redemption will come soon. I do suggest you take it. Until then, it looks like you’ve got quite a mess to clean up before your next guests arrive.”

With that, she disappeared, along with a couple of wounded to take to the hospital, under federal custody. The fact that she did what she must, that she tried to be honorable and humane and all that, and that it was all for a just cause did not ease her conscience one bit. She tied one last tourniquet and wiped the ghastly crimson mess off her sabre.

At St. James’ Hospital, the doctors had taken charge of their new critical care patients. Kassandra specifically requested that they monitor their patients’ signs for unusual electrical activity and to filter their blood for nanoprobes, hoping against odds that it would be enough to ensure their survival. Then the priest finished administering Anointing of the Sick, and Kassandra finally had some time for an important conversation.

“Hallo, Father. It’s been one week since my last Confession. The two to whom you just gave Anointing? I’m responsible for that. What’s more, there are eleven more that weren’t as fortunate.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It took a while for her to get a good signal, but she needed to make sure nobody but her own people would be tapping the line. She called Cyclops on his X-Link.
“Cyclops, it’s Zeitgeist.”
“Kassi?” He was surprised.
“I need to cut right to the chase. There is a reason why Worthington did not brief you about the Cult of Humanity.”

Scott noted that Kassandra avoided calling this group a church. She continued. “It actually was a good thing Kurt had expected him to brief you on their encounters with them. Because I trusted that he wouldn’t.”
“What?”

“Espionage, mein Freund. This is classified information. Religious leaders are world leaders, too. And you didn’t think an international plot to start a genocide by assassinating them would go unnoticed by anyone in my line of work, did you?”

“So why are you telling me now, after so many people-”
“-like so many of my operatives, died? And Jubilee and Magma almost with them? You think this is easy for me, Scott? I knew there was a chance this would happen. I told them in no uncertain terms when I gave them their assignments that they would not likely make it. And they were all willing to take that chance. You would have done the same.”

“And I would have gotten everyone else to help you.”
“Yes, and gotten everyone else killed, which is why you could not know up until now. I know you’ve had your hands full enough in New York. But now I have a personal favor to ask of you in Montana.”
“But-”

“Not another word! Listen!” Zeitgeist could not have him revealing on record that he was heading up there anyway. “Just so we’re perfectly clear, this is NOT an X mission. I am ordering a raid on the Cathedral. I have scouted and softened their defenses a bit. And I disabled their teleportation nets, so they think they have no choice but to stick it out and fight. Now I need to lead a full cavalry charge to wipe them out before they’ve finished regrouping.”

Scott grit his teeth. Kassandra was a nice kid, though she could get a bit intense, but who did she think she was, giving him orders?
“Trust me, Scott. You do not want to be responsible for this. They will show no mercy, but rather try to take what they deserve. Jean knows they have a powerful telepath under their sway, so trust nothing you see when you get here. But tell Logan to trust his nose. And bring everyone you can.”
“But-”

“Yes, I’m concerned about what’s come over Polaris lately, too. But she’ll come through. I’ll see you soon.”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 14

The final confrontation went just as well as Kassandra expected, much to her dismay. Her investigator had perished, along with everyone else in the cult. Not one of them survived. This bitterest of victories was no Waco. It was even worse than the mass murder-suicide that was Jonestown. Even those who managed to leave the cult went missing. Those whom they could find all turned up dead, despite Kassandra’s orders that they be put under witness protection. The two at St. James Hospital, despite everyone’s best efforts, disintegrated right before their doctors’ eyes, before Kassandra could question them. And even the X-Men did not come out of this unscathed. Logan, Scott, and Lorna were all wounded.

Back in Salem Center, Kassandra needed a break before returning to McLean, Virginia and preparing for her eventual grand jury investigation. She had just checked in on Jubilee and Magma, then warmed up her fingers and now sat at the piano staring at the keyboard, for once at a loss regarding what she felt like playing.

Kurt slid beside her. “I know I have forgotten a lot of things lately, but I do remember this.”

“Was ist das?”

“You issued a challenge. And I accepted.”

Kassandra for once wasn’t sure she felt at all up to fencing, but there was more than honor on the line. “Das ist wohl wahr, Kurt. You choose the weapons and styles.”

“Sabres, unrestricted styles, and…” Kurt thought for a bit. “For some reason I feel like listening to Mendelssohn.”

“Mir ist’s recht,” said Kassandra. “But just to make things even more interesting, I will not use my mutant abilities, though I hope you don’t exercise similar restraint.”

In the Danger Room, at last, Kassandra cued the music, then saluted. Kurt noticed that though she held the sabre in her left hand, she had both hands gloved.

“Bis zum ersten Kontakt,” she said.

This shouldn’t take long at all, thought Kurt. “To the first touch,” he agreed.

The piano played a charging theme, as they engaged. Nightcrawler attacked immediately. Kassandra parried and riposted. A tenor began lightly singing the words to a Heinrich Heine poem.

“In dem Mondenschein im Walde sah ich jüngst die Elfenreiten..,”

“You won’t let me get a point in, nicht wahr?”

“Just as I said. I’m fighting to prove my point. Besides,” Kassandra grinned, “I know something you don’t know.”

“Ihre Hörner hört’ ich klingen, ihre Glöcklein hört’ ich läuten.”

“You’re not left handed.” Kurt smiled as he parried and retreated. So she’d seen The Princess Bride, too. And she was actually pretty good with the left hand. Forget about switching hands. Time to switch styles. He grabbed another sabre. But had Kassandra fought this match before? She was already attacking with a blade in each hand, and some style that wasn’t strictly Florentine, but seemed oddly familiar anyway.

“Was ist das?”

“Unglaubich, nicht wahr?” said Kassandra. “I adapted a few techniques from Zulu stick fighting.”

* * * *
​

“Was ist das?” Kurt was almost taken aback by how Kassandra, now just finishing her second year at the Institute, had taken so well to fighting with two blades, despite the fact that he’d only been working with her on Florentine style for a few minutes. While she was barely within the rules, she was throwing in tricks that weren’t familiar even to him. And this element of surprise enabled her to get in the first point, for the first time within normal time. She possessed the speed and ferocious agility of a sabrist, but typically fenced with the patient endurance of an epeeist. While she had beaten Kurt before without using her mutant gifts, she usually took a hit or maybe two before she could anticipate his plans for attack and rally.

“Zulu stick fighting, Kurt,” Kassandra replied. “It did originate as a two-sword form, after all.”

“This will be interesting. Let’s see what other African tricks you can adapt.”

“Nun gut. You asked for it!”

Kurt smiled as Kassandra attacked with everything she had. “Just bear in mind, I don’t think you’ll be able to fence competitively like that.”

“Oh, and like your typical style is all competition legal?”

“Touché.”

* * * *



The song was now in its second verse. “Ihre weissen Rößlein trugen gold’nes Hirschgeweih’ und flogen rasch dahin; wie wilde Schwäne kam es durch die Luft gezogen.”

Kurt decided he’d start using the advantage he had. He began teleporting about Kassandra, trying to steal her tempo. It didn’t happen. She was always right where he was with a parry or counterattack.

Kassandra smiled. “As I expected, you put even Errol Flynn’s footwork to shame. Too bad I know all the ways you telegraph.”

“Was?”

“Those little cues you don’t know you provide. You always smirk when you think you’re going to surprise me.” And Kassandra did appreciate seeing that again.

“Lächelnd nickte mir die Kön’gin,..”

But speaking of footwork… Kurt’s tail darted for Kassandra’s right ankle. Well, she agreed to suspend the rules for him.

“…lächelnd in Vorüberreiten.”

She allowed him to pull her- into a back aerial, and as she parried with her right, her left hand’s blade smacked him across the abdomen on the way up.

“Touché!”

She landed, saluted, then promptly transferred her sabre to her right hand, removed her mask, and tucked it under her elbow. Kurt did likewise, and took her left hand in his. “Sehr gut. Who taught you to do that?”

“Galt das meiner neuen Liebe? Oder soll es Tod bedeuten?”

“Du, mein Liebster,” Kassandra replied. “And I didn’t mention how your tail always twitches when you think about trying to trip me up.”

Kurt rubbed his chin in thought. “Well, now that you’ve proven pretty conclusively that you have fenced me before, I feel the need to discuss the ramifications of this revelation. Perhaps over dinner tonight? My mind must have been scrambled pretty badly for so brilliant und so eine schöne Schwertkämpferin to escape my memory, and we must get better reacquainted.”

“Du bist unmöglich, Kurt, wie immer. I accept. I’ll be at St. Anne’s until 6 for choir rehearsal. I’m filling in for their regular organist. Maybe you could meet me there?”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 15

Rehearsal wrapped up, Kassandra finished the piece she’d selected for the postlude, and then she pattered down the stairs from the choir loft. She paused at the holy water font to bless herself. Strange. She knew Kurt would be here, but she couldn’t see him. And she was vaguely aware of some strange man approaching from a side chapel.

A hand grabbed her shoulder. Kassandra immediately let loose an ear-splitting shriek and swung her fist. Only this man’s carefully honed reflexes kept her from breaking his nose.

“Kassi?”

Oh, mei! Kassandra took a ragged breath. That voice, that Bavarian accent, and the fact that the stranger, up close, looked a bit like a young Errol Flynn could only mean one thing. “Kurt?”

“Es tut mir leid, Kassandra. I usually never affect people this way with the image inducer.”

“I didn’t know it was you!” Kassandra gasped.

Kurt smiled. The irony of having to ask this question was not completely lost on him. In fact, it was delightful. “So would you be more comfortable if I kept the image inducer off?”

“Ja! Meaning no disrespect to the image of Herr Flynn, but this is a church. It’s never supposed to be a masquerade. And you do remember what the Pope said about mutants in the Church, nicht wahr?”

“Very well.” The image flickered out, and there stood Nightcrawler, perfectly pointy-eared, pointy-tailed and yellow eyed. And nobody screamed about a devil in God’s house, but…

“Kassandra, are you all right?” Nearly the entire soprano section, which had been chatting in front of the church, clattered through the vestibule and burst through the doors.

[font=&quot] “I’m fine. My friend here just made the mistake of startling me.”
Kassandra then whispered to Kurt, [/font]“Sei unbesorgt. For one, they already know I’m a mutant.”

“Es tut mir leid, ladies.” Kurt dipped a finger in the holy water and made the Sign of the Cross. “And I promise to be more careful from now on. I wouldn’t want to risk any of you losing your fine voices on my account.”

And so, amid good-hearted laughter, Kurt and Kassandra strolled from St. Anne’s to what Kurt promised was the area’s best place for a couple of mutants to share food, wine, and conversation, keeping mostly to the shadows, as they knew all too well that not everyone shared the same kindly attitude toward people who look different.

“Lucky you,” said the pale, purple-eyed hostess, “A table in the mutant section just opened up.”

“Mutant section? Was ist das?!” Kassandra looked over at Kurt, appalled.

“Sorry, Miss,” said the hostess. “Most of our low-gene customers are uncomfortable eating around people like your friend.”

Low-genes. Oh, this kept getting better. “I’d think your non-mutant customers would be more uncomfortable if they heard you calling them that,” Kassandra hissed, recalling the names she’d been called, even when people thought she was just a biracial, German-speaking, Catholic immigrant. She spun on her heel and started for the door in a huff. “Kurt, ich kann hier nicht essen.”

“Kassi,” whispered Kurt, putting a gentle hand on her elbow. “This is the only place around here besides the dives that will serve me without requiring my image inducer. And most of those are segregated, too.”

Kassandra stopped, sighed, then resigned herself to being seated. And she nursed the idea of writing a letter to the management about the stupidity of separating mutant and non-mutant customers.A very strongly worded letter. “Ich verstehe. But I’ll never be comfortable with any kind of genetic apartheid. And our hostess’ attitude just proves once again that ‘evolved’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘improved.’”

“Well,” said Kurt, “It certainly sounded like the latest evolution over at St. Anne’s was an improvement.”

They talked for a while longer about music. Kurt confessed that he was almost amused at the athletic way he saw Kassandra stretch her petite frame to reach the pedals and the top manuals simultaneously. Especially for a piece as demanding as that Widor toccata she played after the choir had finished. Almost. For some reason, he was not surprised that she pulled it off.



------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kurt knew that Kassandra’s small, slight appearance was just that, and it completely belied her ability to do big things. Like physically throwing her body and outstretched hands against a keyboard, and, almost as if by some miracle, eliciting the most beautiful sounds possible out of that instrument. This was also a girl who, before she began working with the government, normally regarded fencing whites as formal wear, and whose typical idea of Sunday best was a clean track suit and running shoes, ostensibly because she liked to jog after Mass. For a more formal occasion, she could be persuaded to wear a skirt and blouse. And even after she took her jobs with the government, she tended to dress rather, as she put it, practically. She always looked cute to him, regardless. But tonight she was radiant, taking the stage for her recital with a shy bow- in a perfectly fitting off-the-shoulder dress of palest coral, the lacy hem of which swirled around her well-defined calves as she turned and sat at the keyboard. She had evidently succumbed to Kätchen’s insistence upon shopping for something other than track or business suits.

And the inferiority complex watching her play nearly gave him, well, he was glad she addressed that earlier as he watched her warm up.

“Nicht alle können Klavier spielen, Kurt. Und das ist gut so. So you don’t have as many fingers as I do. You’re still a better gymnast, you’re better at literally hanging out, and I’ve just accepted that I’ll never look as good in blue as you do. Now relax and enjoy the show.”

And the program was amazing from start to finish, including a particularly inspiring rendition of Chopin’s sixth polonaise. But at the end, which seemed to come too soon, after a flushed and beaming Kassandra bowed to shouts of “Encore!” she returned to the stage. Taking another bow, she winked mischievously and obviously in Kurt’s direction, and sat back down at the piano. There would be an encore. Of course no note of it was made on the program. But this time, after all the years Kassandra endured Kurt’s flirting and teasing, she finally had a chance for revenge. A purple tinge crept up Kurt’s face. That first low trill ascending into a slinky scale could only be Gershwin. “Rhapsody in Blue.”






Kassandra interrupted his thoughts. “Kurt, was ist los?”

“Just another one of these moments I’ve been having since I first got back from Montana. Nightmares, flashbacks, and the like. And I’ve heard that you can tell people things about their pasts that even they don’t know.”

“Anything in particular, Kurt?” Kassandra asked.

“Try everything that’s been erased.”

“Let Kurt ask the questions,” Jean said, before Kassandra had left that afternoon. “Answer only the most specific ones. Don’t accept carte blanche to read his entire timeline back to him.”

“Kurt, are you sure you want to know all of that, right now? A lot of it is pretty traumatic stuff.”

Kurt frowned, then shook his head. “Since Father Whitney confessed how I was being used in their plot, I thought just knowing that would make everything better right away, and it hasn’t.”

“I’m not surprised. But actually, Kurt, I am amazed that you’re recovering this quickly.”

“Quickly?”

“I’ve been having nightmares about this, too, and they couldn’t even touch my mind. I’ve seen the sort of things most people try to block from their memories. Honestly, Kurt, at this point, there are some things you are better off not remembering.”

“Well it isn’t just the nightmares. And I didn’t bring you here to talk about that, anyway. It’s thoughts and images, some of them actually quite pleasant, that seem to come from nowhere, and I don’t know if they’re real memories or planted like my whole time in the priesthood was.”

“You’re right to wonder. You’d been given what has to be one of the worst case of selective amnesia and false memory syndrome I’ve ever seen.”

“Was? Don’t tell me you’re a psychologist too!”

“Eigentlich, ja. But I tend to accept dinner invitations from friends rather than patients.”

“And that’s what I wanted to talk about.”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 16

The conversation stretched for hours through a prime rib dinner and, afterward, an excellent bottle of port wine. Kurt shared what he could remember in flashbacks, and Kassandra helped him make sense of them. It was not easy for her, as she did not wish to exert any influence over Kurt’s own memories, there were more than a few items that would be a bit too difficult to deal with then and there, and it was little awkward for the shy and unassuming girl to see herself in Kurt’s timeline. After a while, Kurt decided he had to address some questions that did not pertain directly to his past.
“Kassi, it’s just struck me that as bad as it was to be stripped of these memories, they didn’t really succeed in taking away what is dearest to me.”

“Your faith, Kurt?”

“Nur gequetscht, nicht gebrochen. I’ve discovered that I really am not cut out for the priesthood. But after what you’ve told me of your own experiences in Montana, while I may still wonder about my calling, I think my confidence in God’s will is returning. Do you often struggle with these moments of doubt?”

“Ja doch. Immer. But it’s this beautiful, treacherous world we live in, and our ability to find our own way through it, that I do not trust. God always has a plan for the best, even when I can’t see that. Whether to cooperate or not is our choice and our responsibility. Nearly all of human history, including that of us mutants, is made up of refusing to do God’s will, and the dreadful and complicated effects of those choices.”

“That cult also believed God had a plan.”

“Nein, Kurt. They had a plan of their own that they made into a false god. And the supreme pontiff chose to reject your offer of mercy and let rage take control. To the detriment of us all.”
“So, do you ever wish we did not have free will?”

“It would solve a lot of problems, nicht wahr? But for one. Think about what the X-Men would be if Charles just telepathically manipulated everyone to do what he wanted, except on an omniversal scale. Like what the Beyonder had already attempted. We’d be incapable of any real virtue, trust, love, and friendship. Would I be here now reconnecting with an old friend because I genuinely care for this person, or because it was programmed into me?”

“Speaking of reconnecting,” said Kurt, as they donned their coats and headed out. “I was also thinking about hope. I think I am meant to share my adventures with someone. As wonderful as it is to confirm that we’ve indeed had a happy history together, I’d like to know if we could pick up where we left off.”

“It is possible,” Kassandra blushed. She had to make sure this was real, and that she was not even unconsciously trying to sway Kurt’s decisions. Many people could not see past his outward appearance, and they feared him. A few women could see and appreciate the handsome features, lean acrobat’s physique, and the considerable charm beyond the plush-like blue skin and glowing yellow eyes. Past all that, Kassandra knew was a genuinely gentle soul, and to reduce her feelings to terms of attraction or desire, she felt, would not do him or her regard for him any justice. And especially after all that happened, he needed to make his own decisions. “But what kind of future would you want? Rehashing your relationship with Cerise? I mean, I can’t promise you many adventures to share if I end up behind bars. After all that’s happened, all the blood I have on my hands, serving in prison ministry might be a good option, if you want to see anything of me once the grand jury hands in its indictments.”
Kurt chuckled. “A teleporter in prison ministry? You don’t really think that’ll happen, nicht wahr?”

“It might have to.” Kassandra shrugged.
“How about what you want? I’ve noticed you don’t often talk about that.”

He had to mention that? “Because it’s easier to not think about it. Regardless of how the investigation and trial pans out, I am officially done with the CIA. The best I can hope for is that, besides having exposed that cult’s activities, I’ll have to actually start living more or less as a regular mutant. For now, I can’t say what all that will entail, besides being feared, hated, and all the usual stuff. Anyway, whatever I want for myself usually doesn’t happen. If my luck holds, I’ll just have to continue dealing with that.”

Kurt wrapped an arm around Kassandra’s slender waist and cupped her chin in his other hand. “One of the things I’ve learned from all this is that life requires constant adaptation. Can you adapt to a change in your fortune, Liebchen? Because I’m willing to take that chance.”

Kassandra looked up into those smiling golden eyes. Seeing Kurt actually smiling again after all he’d been through was, in and of itself, a consolation worth everything she’d been through. Perhaps even worth everything she’d done. But no, she would not think of that now. Only one thing could prevent her from enjoying this moment. Or seven, rather, who seemed determined to cause some trouble. “Ich vermute es, aber-”

“Hey, mutie! Getcher filthy deformed hands offa her!” bellowed one man.

“Remember what I said about living as a regular mutant?” said Kassandra, with a nervous smirk. “Looks like I’m going to get some more practice.” She then bolted, to Kurt’s horror, almost directly into one of the thugs who now surrounded them.

“Where ya, goin’, sweet thing?” he said, wrapping his thick arms around her. “Ashamed to be seen with that freak? Ya should be.”

“Yeah,” said another, his breath now repulsively hot in her ear. “Pretty little piece a’ tail like you really should be datin’ yer own kind.”

Kassandra struggled. “What, like you? Let go, or you’ll see just what ‘my kind’ is!”
“Ooooh, that mutie-lover’s a feisty one.”

“Gentlemen,” said Kurt, fangs bared and tail lashing, struggling and resisting the urge to teleport those who dared lay hands on them to uncharted dimensions infernal. “The lady’s given you fair warning. She really is not your type.”

“Shut that freak up, guys. Make sure he’ll never look at a girl like that again.”
“As for you, girl, once we take care of yer mutie boyfriend, we’ll show ya what real men-”
“Kurt! Raus!”
“Nein!”
“I AM A FEDERAL AGENT!”
“OH, SH-!!!” One man took a foot unconstrained by physics to the solar plexus. Another only just barely saw a blurry, transparent fist head his way before lights out. They flew back about twenty feet. Kurt made quick work of two more, teleporting vertically out of their grip and slamming their heads into each other. And Kassandra’s wraith-like image spun, eyes burning and fists up, to face the remaining three.

“So, what was your friend saying about ‘real men’?”
“And didn’t I warn you,” said Kurt, “that she’s not your type?”

They turned away to run, only to find the wraith suddenly blocking their path. Turned again. And there she was, as well. And again.
“Had enough of me already?” said the wraith. “I’m afraid you all are under arrest.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Bist du verletzt?” Kurt reappeared from the shadows, as the last of the police cars left the scene.
“Es tut mir leid, Kurt,” said Kassandra.
“Are you hurt?” Kurt repeated. He took her left hand.
She winced. “Es ist nur gequetscht, nicht gebrochen.”

“Only bruised, not broken? Donnerwetter, Kassi! How much speed did you pack into that punch?”

“That would be a question for the physics department, nicht wahr?” Kassandra shrugged. “Look. I’m okay.” She held her hand up, and flexed her fingers. Already the swelling and discoloration, which would have taken weeks to heal for most anyone else, had subsided. “I just feel a bit foolish. I knew you wouldn’t like this. I could’ve seen this coming. We could have ported out of that mess, but…”

“But they attacked us, and we had to stop them before they’d tangle with people less able to handle them. You knew, and they pretty much admitted, that trouble was all they had on their agenda. Why else would people like that linger outside any place that serves mutants?” Kurt gently pulled Kassandra closer and with velvety fingertips brushed the stray curls away from her face. “We did right, Liebling. I just want you to take better care of those hands. And now, where were we?”

Kassandra thought for a bit as Kurt’s tail gently twined around her calf. He did refuse to leave her to fend for herself, even though she was capable of handling the situation, he hated fighting even more than she did, and he had ample opportunity to escape. Typisch Kurt. She still had to be careful. It wasn’t as if she was sure she’d see a lot of him in the future. On the other hand, she was not sure when or if she’d have the opportunity to enjoy his company like this again. There were too many possibilities, most of which were not pleasant. Meanwhile, the soft tenderness of his touch was driving her nearly frantic. Oh, well. She’d have to adapt to that. “Strangely enough, we were talking about my circumstances actually improving.”

“Starting right about now?”
“Ich vermute es. No time like the present.”
“Das ist wohl wahr,” said Kurt, as his lips finally met hers.

Everything seemed to stop. This would be no shy or playful first-date type kiss, Kurt realized to his surprise. Feelings long locked away and forgotten, which only recently started clamoring again for recognition, could no longer be denied. He then wondered if she’d managed to transport him out of time. It sure felt like it. He cracked open one eye to make sure. No, everything looked normal. But he was beginning to feel quite weak in the knees. And, while nothing could feel more natural, something about this did not feel at all familiar.

He reluctantly retreated to take a breath, savoring the soft scent of her hair, the lingering taste of fine wine, and the way her lean, athletic body softened like butter in his strong embrace. Apparently, he’d had a similar effect upon her. “Well, mein’ Schatz, I should have figured that you’d port through a celestial dimension.”

“Du schmeichelst mir.” Kassandra blushed, but checked herself. Some part of her was shocked by this, even though she had seen it coming and even dared hope for it. But coming out of a past of guilt, horror, and disappointment, heading into a future that held only a slim chance of lasting happiness, she had silently resolved to never again let fear and uncertainty ruin a good present, however fleeting it might be. But something was still amiss. “Aber was ist los?”

“How is it that I could have known you for so long, and only just now get around to giving you even the least of what you deserve? Ich verstehe es nicht.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I deserve this. But it’s not as if you hadn’t tried before.”
“Now that, I can believe. By the way, I think you have something blue on your lip.”
Kassandra smiled as she wove her fingers through Kurt’s wavy indigo hair. “Das glaube ich!” And they kissed again.

 

[angelique]

A Time to Heal

Kurt and Kassandra strolled hand-in-hand down Graymalkin Lane after an outing that, as Kurt was glad to see, was ending up like an excellent date as well as an evening getting reacquainted with an old friend. Okay, so the night didn’t go entirely without a hitch. A segregated restaurant here, some threats to their lives there. But a couple of mutants on the town could hardly expect better. Especially when one could go from delightful to devilish in an instant, and the other only looked like a stereotypical demon.

“Kurt,” said Kassandra, in her richly Namibian-accented German, “Ich hat ein wunderbar Abend. Ich enttäusche dich nicht gern, aber-”

“Liebchen, how could you disappoint me?” said Kurt, as they walked up to Xavier Mansion.
“It’s not what I could do, but what I’ve already done.”
“You seem ready to face the consequences.”
“Ja. But I don’t think I can adequately prepare you for this.”
“Was?” Kurt blinked, and then saw Kassandra standing en garde with her sabre ready. Of course it took her no time to retrieve her weapon. But why here and now?

“Logan! Don’t!” one girl shouted from the foyer.
Kurt looked frantically to Kassandra. Nobody ever told his best friend “don’t” expecting him to listen. And nobody ever tried unless he was about to do something dreadful.

“Kassandra, raus!” Kurt did not like the idea of her seeing his best friend in the throes of his feral rage.

“She damn near led you to your death!” a man roared.
“Kurt, gehst du raus!” Kassandra retorted. She didn’t like the idea of such a gentle soul such as him seeing her duke it out with his best friend. Especially since such a battle would likely be quite fierce and bloody. “He won’t settle down until he faces me.”

“And I’M GONNA RIP THAT LYING HEART OUT!!!” Wolverine burst out the front doors, followed by a distraught Jubilee hobbling out the door. He bounded toward Kassandra with all adamantium-plated claws extended. And Kassandra dodged, parried, and retreated, but made no effort to stop the furious feral.

“Was ist los?” Kurt ported over to Jubilee, too upset to remember his English.
Jubilee was too horrified to recall that she didn’t understand German. “I told him I took one of Zeitgeist’s assignments before joining X-Corps, and he now blames her for- for what happened.”

What happened. That fateful morning when the X-Men woke to find the consequences of not heeding warnings to improve their security. Jubilee, Magma, Skin, Bedlam, and two others, kidnapped by what Zeitgeist called “that cult” for various nefarious purposes, then crucified and left for dead on the front lawn of the Xavier Institute.

Kassandra could not keep up the fight in normal time. Wolverine fought with what amounted to three daggers on each fist, and though he wasn’t much taller, he packed more than twice her weight in solid muscle and adamantium. And the ferocity of one betrayed by his Little Elf. As Kassandra stepped out of time and slowed it down, she did not need to see the timeline to know that there were only two ways to effectively stop the fight.

“Logan, you’re right to be upset-”
“Save the psychobabble.” Wolverine pounced upon her with his full weight and all the force he could muster in both fists. And just as Kurt decided to ignore what Kassandra had said and intervene, she parried with a strength that defied physics. Then screamed and fell over, dropping her sword as searing pain exploded in her right arm. Logan raised his fist to run his claws through her. Killing her would be easy, healing factor notwithstanding. Up through the solar plexus, and some shifting of gears could make mincemeat of her vital organs, ensuring she’d bleed to death before she’d have a chance. But he caught a look at the sudden sickly chalkiness of her face. When she was outside the normal flow of time, she could look quite ghostlike. But nothing like this. And then there were the tears. Wolverine had nothing against making blood flow. But tears were another matter. Dammit. He only meant to kill the kid, not hurt her.

And with that, she disappeared.
“WHERE’D SHE GO?!”
“To the infirmary,” came the well-modulated voice of Professor Xavier. “Dislocated shoulder, broken wrist, and compound humoral fracture. Hank and Annie are diagnosing it as we speak.”

“Mein Gott!” Kurt teleported to the infirmary. It didn’t take a medical degree to know what compound fractures could mean for someone whose bones were very quickly, in all probability, healing all wrong. And for someone who played the piano and organ to have something go wrong with her arm….

“You literally came down too hard on her, Logan,” the Professor continued, “and you should count yourself lucky to still be in possession of your head and viscera.”

Chuck had a point. This was a kid whom had twice single-handedly KO’d Sabretooth, armed only with a couple of sticks rather than an adamantium sabre. She didn’t fight full out even then, and the first time, she couldn’t even do her time warping thing without passing out.

“Now, I do believe she’ll actually want to see you, after you’ve calmed down.”
“Logan, please?” cried Jubilee.

Logan took a couple of shaky breaths. And retracted his claws. If there was one thing that he and Kassandra had in common, besides the healing factor, it was that for either one of them to be willing to extend any kind of olive branch was no small gesture.

He picked up the sword that Kassandra had left lying in the grass. “I’ll see her now.”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 2

“So, also das ist die Stewardeß über die du immer sprichst.”
“Kassi-”
“Mir ist’s recht, Kurt,” interrupted the strange blonde woman Kurt was trying to introduce. “Ich spreche auch Deutsch. Und du,” she said to Kassandra, “mußt Kurts guter Freund Kassandra sein.”

“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises!” said Kurt.
“I could show you more,” the girl practically purred with a wicked glint in her blue eyes.

“Um…” Kurt cast a slightly embarrassed glance Kassandra’s way. Her politeness notwithstanding, she could not help looking the way she felt. Awkward. Most awkward. And perhaps a bit nauseated.

“What, lover?”
“It’s all right,” said Kassandra, “but if you want to tell Kurt something in my presence that I won’t understand, try a language I don’t know. Like maybe Romany.”

“Was?” said Kurt, dismayed by the flurry of invisible daggers that suddenly flew between his best girl friend and his new girlfriend- two people that, despite their differences, he desperately wanted to get along.

Kassandra glanced over to Kurt, then cast her eyes downward. “Macht nichts, Kurt. It’s nice to meet you, ‘Amanda.’”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

“Was ist los, Kurt?”
“You just had your arm broken, and you’re asking me what’s wrong?”
“Tell me. You obviously feel some need, and I need the distraction.”

“Well, if it will help get your mind of things now, when Amanda and I were seeing each other, I recall you and she being quite testy with each other.”

“Oh, we were. I hated her persistent and flagrant dishonesty, and she hated my hypocrisy. We had only two things in common. We both care about you in our- shall we say- different ways, and we both were right to feel the way we did. So for your sake, we ended up agreeing to keep our mutual dislike amicable.”

“Even so, I remember this managed to strain our friendship. But I can’t remember you being the jealous type.”

“And I wasn’t. Should I have been?” Kassandra tried to smile. And only barely managed to succeed.

“Hank, have you given Kassandra anything for the pain?” Kurt asked.
“Hang on, Adimu.” Dr. Henry McCoy and nurse Annie Ghazakhanian were in video conference with Kassandra’s mother, Dr. Adimu Altheim. “I just did, Kurt, right before you bamfed in here.”

“It looks like it already wore off.”
“I don’t think it ever took,” said Kassandra.
“Oh, dear.”

“Kurt,” said Kassandra, “I know what you’ve been thinking. How on earth we manage to get along with each other when I have trouble getting along with others dear to you.”

Just then, Professor Xavier, Logan, and Jubilee all walked into the infirmary. Kurt glanced uneasily from Kassandra to Logan.

“Sei unbesorgt, Kurt,” Kassandra whispered.
“I ain’t gonna kill her, Elf, even if she deserves it.”
“And she doesn’t,” Jubilee retorted. “You wouldn’t let me tell you it was my own fault I didn’t follow her escape plan.”

“Jubes, I put you at risk even offering you that assignment, and you know it,” said Kassandra. “I’m responsible. And the only one left alive who is, for that matter.”

“Besides me.”
“I’m not the one recovering from a crucifixion. And I didn’t tell anyone you were involved. Considering how Logan sees it, venting his anger on me may not be an appropriate response, but it is perfectly understandable. And I knew he wouldn’t kill me anyway. Too sensitive.”

“Well, thanks kid,” said Logan, scratching his head, “I think.”
Jubilee threw her still bandaged hands in the air in frustration. “What kind of drug do they have you on, Kassi?”

“Nothin’ strong enough for her kind of hurt,” said Logan. “And I ain’t just talkin’ about for her broken arm.”

“Which already needs rebreaking, in several places,” interrupted the Beast.

“Was?” Kurt was feeling a little overwhelmed. Seeing his best friend try to kill the girl he was beginning to remember he loved was disturbing enough. For her to basically admit she had it coming, after she had predicted to Kurt something about grand jury investigations and prison time, to then see that Logan and Kassandra understood each other possibly in a way he never could, well, that just boggled his mind. Forgiveness from either of them tended to be hard earned. Of course, it was for different reasons. Wolverine, in his rage, would forget everything but the sheer burning rawness of whatever he felt at that moment. Zeitgeist, on the other hand, never forgot a thing, good or bad. She couldn’t even if she wanted. Regardless, here they were. The berserker, and… and exactly what kind of person was this girl with whom Kurt was very happily lip-locked only less than an hour ago?

“And it’s because you’re all so sensitive that I’m afraid none of you can stay,” said Beast. “We’ll have to operate.”

“Sorry, Logan, Jubes,” said Kassandra. “Es tut mir leid, Kurt.”
“Sorry, too, kid, Elf. By the way,” said Logan, indicating her sword. “Adamantium or not, I just couldn’t let you leave this lying around outside.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Logan passed a haggard-looking Annie on his way back to the infirmary. He’d just spent he couldn’t guess how long splitting a few cords of firewood. Finally, he decided he’d had it with waiting. He was going to look in on the Little Elf, regardless of what was going on. Seeing Annie leaving was a good sign that at least she was out of surgery. “How did it go?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah, you’d like to know how we fixed your handiwork!” Annie said with pardonable sharpness. “She’ll be fine, no thanks to you. But so help me, the next time we have to operate on an accelerated healer….” She then flounced down the hallway, muttering something about declawing and other… veterinary procedures.

Logan supposed he deserved that. He stepped into the infirmary to see Kurt and Xavier already there, sitting at Kassandra’s bedside. They both looked about as worn as the rosary Kurt clutched. Kassandra, on the other hand, looked relatively peaceful, despite the fact that one arm was cast from shoulder to fingers and in traction.

Dr. McCoy was again on the line with Dr. Altheim. “Setting the shoulder was the easy part. Resetting the bones proved to be nothing short of nightmarish, however. I had to give her anticoagulants to prevent inopportune clotting, and the incisions acted like they had minds of their own, trying to close up before I was even done. Furthermore, I gave her as much anesthesia as I dared for someone her size. It didn’t help at all that she woke up ten minutes into the procedure, delirious, throwing off the inhibitors, and losing all control over her time warping. I suppose she was trying subconsciously to speed up the procedure and recovery time. But of course I could not proceed when I couldn’t see her properly. So my only choice was to call in Charles.”

“Good thing for my sake,” said Xavier, “that Kassandra’s convinced this will never happen again. I hope, Logan, you share her resolve. Otherwise, you may have to take it upon yourself to track down Stacy and persuade her to return. I don’t look forward to ever again serving in the place of an anesthesiologist.”

Of all the people to leave the X-Men for something as stupid as a simple misunderstanding, it had to be the one person who could have handled this better than the Professor. Logan glanced over to Kurt. The Elf could not mask the expression on his face. The broodiness Logan had seen far too much of lately was back and more concentrated than ever. He then remembered that there was a reason he called the girl Little Elf. If it were this bad now, there was no telling how Kurt would have reacted if his best friend wasted the kid. Hell, Logan was pretty sure it would be about as bad as he’d end up feeling. Likely worse than how he felt when he found Jubilee out there, for all intents and purposes, dead.

“Anyway,” Beast continued, “because she can’t help but block telepathy when she’s outside of time, I had to take a calculated risk, sedate her again and put her in restraints before Charles could get into her mind and convince her to stay out, and stop pulling off and destroying the inhibitors. Highly difficult. It’s a good thing the healing factor means fewer visits to the infirmary, because true to form, nothing personal Adimu, but that same healing factor has made your daughter a terrible patient.”

Logan tried, and almost succeeded, to suppress a smile. That was a universal characteristic among accelerated healers, and the fact that Kassandra got her healing factor from his stem cell donation rather than from her own genes did not make the least bit of difference. Except that he began to feel almost proud of her for becoming the latest thorn in the furball’s side.

“Nothing new about that, Henry,” said Dr. Altheim, with a warm smile. This was a woman who’d known poverty, wealth, oppression, pandemics, and war from a number of perspectives, tried against the odds to give her four children a normal life, and still insisted she owed all the worry lines in her forehead exclusively to her youngest daughter. “She always was the most difficult of my children anyway. Is she still under sedation?”

“No, Adimu,” said Charles. “That has long since run its short course. It was not easy working with someone who can resist drugs and telepathy. But now, she’s only asleep. I managed to convince her to enjoy a deep, painless sleep for the next ten hours.”

“And,” said Dr. McCoy, “Based on my observations, with the inhibitors now off, that should be more than enough time to put her well on the mend.”
Both Kurt and Logan heaved enormous sighs of relief.

“Well, at least that’s good to hear,” said Dr. Altheim. “Now let’s just hope she never has to use that healing factor that way again.”

“Never again on my account, Elf,” Logan said to Kurt. “I won’t let it happen.”

Kurt finally looked Logan in the eye. “I wouldn’t be so sure, mein Freund. Not if you put it that way. I may not understand the way she shows it, but she does care about you.”

And Logan remembered the conference Zeitgeist called with him, Jean, and Archangel before she had taken off on her last assignment. She’d take on far worse than his anger for him, Kurt, and the rest. In fact, she counted on it. But he just wished she could be a little more forthcoming about who and what all that involved.

“And, Charles,” continued Dr. Altheim, “it seems you have the right idea. I’m going to prescribe a good night’s rest for all of you. You’ve all had far too eventful a night.”

Her recommendation was eagerly accepted by all but Kurt. After all said their good nights, Logan turned to him. “You especially, Elf. I can’t blame you for taking this hard and for wanting to watch over her, but she will still be here in the morning.”

“And Jean will look in on her until then,” added Charles.
But before Kurt could leave, he looked back on Kassandra. It would be hard to rest when the image of her fighting with Logan was still so fresh on his mind. And what did Logan mean about her “kind of hurt”? But it seemed to be water under the bridge at the moment. For some reason, Kassandra looked quite placid now. What was she dreaming? He tabled his fears and kissed her smooth brown cheek. A small smile graced her sleeping face, and she breathed a contented sigh.

“Dort wollen wir niedersinken unter dem Palmenbaum, und Lieb und Ruhe trinken, und träume seligen Traum.” Kurt wondered about that snippet of Heinrich Heine poetry that found itself in his head. No matter. He had a better idea of why this sort of thing had been happening lately. And it was rather appropriate. Whatever she was dreaming about, he could try to dream about the same thing. There would be no more nightmares, at least not tonight.

 

[angelique]

Chapter 3

“Guten Morgen, Kassi. Es ist halb elf, und du brauchst Frühstück, nicht wahr?” said Kurt as he swept into the infirmary balancing a dangerously loaded tray on one tridactyl hand. “I forgot what you like best, and having seen how you can eat last night, I just thought I’d bring you some of everything.”

A slightly rumpled, sleepy-looking Kassandra perked up and smiled. “Danke, Kurt. Aber….” She looked quizzically at the tray set before her, then up at Kurt, with an eyebrow raised. A sliced orange. She could handle that. Scrambled eggs. Okay, maybe. Waffles smothered American-style in butter and maple syrup.

“Was?”
Kassandra inclined her head slightly to the right. Her arm, was still coated shoulder to knuckles in fiberglass and in traction. “I’m not left handed.”

Kurt smiled as he poured out a cup of coffee. “Well, this is not how I originally had in mind serving you breakfast in bed-”

“Kurt!”
He ducked to avoid being hit by a flying orange segment. “…aber das ist gut so, Liebchen!”

“I don’t think I’ll be removing that cast, come to think of it,” said Beast, as he stared nonplussed at the orange wedge that landed at his feet. “First, warping in here and frightening the living digestive byproducts out of Annie, then wanton destruction of power inhibitors, and now food fighting in the infirmary. In fact, I just may need to immobilize your other arm.”

“Sorry, Hank,” said Kassandra, as she took a cautious sip of her coffee.
“So how is her arm?” asked Kurt.

“Ja. Meaning no disrespect, but it would feel a lot better if it weren’t for that verdammtes itching.”

“Well,” said Beast, “based on these latest X-Rays, your troubles there will soon be relieved. When you finish actually eating your breakfast, we’ll see about replacing that cast with some splints, and I’ve taken the liberty of setting up an appointment for you with an orthopedist in McLean tomorrow.”

“Is it healing quickly?”
“Oh, yes, no problems there,” Beast chuckled. “But you won’t be playing the organ again by Sunday or any day if it doesn’t heal correctly.”


And so the rest of the morning was spent. Kurt helped Kassandra finish her breakfast. Dr. McCoy took her arm out of traction and sawed off her cast. And finally Kassandra emerged from the infirmary, cleaned up, dressed, and ready to leave, with her arm slung and swathed in splints and bandages, and her coat draped over her shoulders. Annie had apparently even made a valiant, and rather futile, attempt at getting Kassandra’s hair under control. Nightcrawler offered to fly Kassi back at least as far as Washington DC. Kassandra was quite grateful. While she was normally a good pilot, particularly with her extratemporal reflexes, she never let on how nervous a passenger she could be. Kurt was an excellent pilot and even better company. The only way she could be happier was if she was in any shape to copilot.

Logan followed them to the hangar. “You know I was never any good at following doctor’s orders, Little Elf, but don’t follow my lead. I second everything Hank says. Stay out of fights, be careful when you time trip, and see that doctor friend of his. And Elf, take care of her. If anything bad happens-”

“Logan,” said Kassandra, with just the slightest hint of warning in her voice. Nothing would go wrong. But she didn’t want Wolverine entertaining the notion of indulging his violent overprotectiveness again by popping his claws at Nightcrawler. “I’m only going to Virginia, and you’ll see me Sunday. Relax.”

“Right, kid. Take care.” He nearly enveloped her in a big, rib cracking hug, then, remembering her pinioned arm, reconsidered and patted her shoulder. Carefully.

So Nightcrawler and Zeitgeist boarded the X-Jet and strapped in. Or rather, Kurt helped Kassandra strap in before he took his seat. And once they were airborne, Kurt said, “So, I guess this means you’ll miss Alex and Lorna’s wedding, nicht wahr?”

“Ja,” Kassandra replied. She paused. She wasn’t sure she should tell him exactly how she felt about missing out on that, the long awaited union of Havok and Polaris. But this was related to another matter she needed to discuss. “Kurt, how would you feel if you found out I was not entirely forthcoming with you- about your past, and about your near future, for instance. Or about mine?”

Kurt stiffened. “Have you been lying?” He had, after all, entrusted her with the task of helping him recover and make sense of his memories.
“Nein, ich hab nicht Dich belogen. I wouldn’t dare. Just keeping some secrets.”

“Well, you told me there are some things that I’m better off not remembering. I must admit I’m still not sure I even want to remember all that was erased. And I think you said enough when you said you’d seen things most people try to block from their memories. I’m not sure it’s deliberate dishonesty. Just a problem posed by your unique relationship to time, and the nature of your occupation.”

Kassandra remained silent while Kurt brought the plane in for landing, then spoke. “I hope you remember this, Kurt. Because details of all the terrible things I’ve done will become public knowledge soon. And you will find out some terrible things about your own history.”

“Like what?”
“If I told you now, it would completely ruin this moment. You’d either not believe me, or you’d be traumatized. Just brace yourself, and keep to your prayers.” Kassandra unbuckled her safety belt as Kurt walked over to help her up.

“Werde ich, mein’ Zeitgeist,” said Kurt. “And I wouldn’t want you to forget this.” He pulled a small silver pendant out and as carefully as he could with his tridactyl hands, and thankful that Kassandra had her hair somehow pulled up in a large pony tail, fastened it around Kassandra’s neck. His St. Michael medal.

Kassandra could not resist the opportunity. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him tenderly before she turned to deboard the plane. “Danke schön, Kurt. Now be sure to behave yourself at Alex’s bachelor party.”

“Liebchen, when have you known me to not behave?”
“Heute, beim Frühstück,” said Kassandra, returning Kurt’s mischievous grin.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Guten Tag, Herr Direktor!”
“Zeitgeist. Have a seat.”

“Danke.” Kassandra sat, then set her briefcase on her lap, opened it, and pulled out a couple of papers. And upset a whole lot more all over the floor.

“Here, allow me,” said the director, as he helped clean up. “So what’s all this?”

“Every last little thing I could gather on the Church of Humanity, including a few items regarding the raid at the Cathedral, and, oh yes, my letter of resignation.”

The director was nearly floored. “Are you sure you want to do this? Since your name and your involvement in Operation Conclave were leaked, the press has run everything they could today, including those ridiculous rumors that you were behind the raid on the Cathedral. If you resign now, it will look as if you were indeed responsible.”

“And if I don’t, the CIA will appear responsible, at the very least for covering for me.” Kassandra closed her briefcase and rose. “I suggest you look all this over thoroughly, and begin investigation immediately. Call me if you have any questions.”

“Well,” said the director, as he glanced through the papers, most of which was a report she had yet to submit. “I think I already have a question. What exactly were you doing with this assignment?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Lucy?” Kassandra had just checked into the Washington Suites, under an alias, of course, and phoned the only person in her family she knew would be awake at that hour. Lucy was a zoologist at Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park. The brown hyenas there had been acting irregularly lately, and so, at the moment, Lucy needed to be up all hours of the night studying their behavior.

“Kassi!” Her sister practically shouted, as loudly as she dared, anyway, over the line. “Wie gehts? Mama told me about your arm. Is it any better?”

“Ja. Mein Arm ist in Ordnung. Aber es geht mir nicht so gut, Lucy. Has Mama or anyone else heard anything on the news about me, lately.”

“Nothing you haven’t written, and nothing about you. Warum?” Lucy was always a bit curious as to why her little sister would study psychology and hone her brilliant musical skills, only to become a reporter.

“Gut. I need you to tell Mama, Michael, and Vincent before they hear it from anyone or anywhere else. It’s already in the news here, and will soon be all over Namibia. You remember the ‘story’ I wrote on the blood diamond operation? You didn’t think I took that job myself just because we’re familiar with the business, nicht wahr? And why do you think it had such an effect internationally?”

“Kassi?” said Lucy, warily. She was not sure she liked how this conversation was going.

“Journalism was just a cover, Lucy. I was with the CIA all this time. And you’ll soon find out I’m under investigation for some horrible things. I’ve lied, stolen, leaked information, and killed people. All for the greater good, of course, and you know how much better that makes me feel,” Kassandra said bitterly.

“What are you going to do?” Killed people? Killed people?! Lucy knew Kassandra had a bit of a temper, and, though small, was quite a scrapper, but….

“I’m going to face justice, Lucy. Unfortunately, that will mean I won’t be able to come home, at least for a very, very long time. Lucy, tell the others, bitte. I can’t bear for them to hear it from anyone else.”

“Werde ich, Kassi,” said Lucy, “und wir werden für dich beten.”
“Danke, Lucy. I hate to cut this short, but I have an important call coming in. Tchüß.

“Hallo,” said Kassandra.
“Zeitgeist, this is special prosecutor Emily Fitzsimmons. I’d like to get your testimony tomorrow. Could I fax you the subpoena now?”

So much for government bureaucracy moving slowly. “Sure. And what time do you need me there?” said Kassandra.

“9 am.”
Verdammt. Kassandra would have to reschedule her doctor’s appointment. And call her attorney right away.

 

[angelique]

Chapter 4

“As this regards work I’ve done in covert operations, and as I have critical information about others under investigation, I am willing to testify on the condition that I be given full immunity,” said Kassandra, to the prosecutor.

“We will take that into consideration,” said Fitzsimmons. “However, you are the one under investigation, and since we did issue a subpoena, you must testify or be held in contempt.”

“But of course,” sighed Kassandra, putting her unmanageably tousled head in her good hand. This was the best she could hope for. And she hoped she wouldn’t have to plead the fifth.

“Would you consent to a polygraph examination?”
“Yes, but if I were to commit perjury, that would not prove anything, other than perhaps my willingness to appear cooperative.” Kassandra looked directly at Fitzsimmons now. “You know I’ve been trained to trick even the best lie detectors. Might as well save the government’s time and the taxpayers’ money.”

“Point taken. On with the next question. We have records from St. James Hospital in Butte, Montana, that you flew two men in from the Church of Humanity who needed blood transfusions and limbs reattached. You seemed desperate to keep these men alive. Were you?”

“Yes.”
“But then we intercepted a call you made to Cyclops, ordering, presumably, the X-Men to raid the Cathedral, and as you put it, ‘wipe them out.’ Ladies and gentlemen,” Fitzsimmons addressed the grand jury, “allow me to play back the recording.”

Kassandra sat strangely emotionless as the recording played.
“So do you deny ordering the raid?”
“No.”

“And you knew that the deaths of the cult members would be a likely result?”

“Yes. Of course, they would have died the same way, regardless. And taken far more people down with them.”

“And what of your report that you were responsible for the two men’s injuries, and that you killed eleven, yourself, before ordering the raid? Is that also true?”

“Yes. It was in self-defense, to ensure no more of my operatives would die, to stem the overall loss of innocent life, and salvage my mission.”

“Ah, yes, your mission. Your station chief and Director Karst agree that you were actually very effective in ensuring the safety of the Pope and no less than 40 cardinals all over the world, even at risk to your life, and at the cost of others.”

Kassandra winced at that remark.
“But,” Fitzsimmons continued, “while you were ordered to leave Europe once you made them aware that the mission was compromised, neither of them recall sending you to Montana. You had no orders, and no warrant, to set foot in this group’s compound, and therefore, what you did there can hardly be considered self defense.”

“My mission was to expose and neutralize the threat posed by the cult of Humanity. Based on my intelligence, I could not do that without going there.”

“According to whom?”
“As I said, just the intelligence I had.”
“Not even Charles Xavier?”
“No. He did not know about this.”

“Strange, because all your records indicate that you have ties with him, and with the X-Men. What’s more, we have evidence that both you and Xavier were involved in blackmailing the governor of New York and FBI Special Agent Ishikawa.”

“The raid on the Xavier Institute was illegal. As were the means Ishikawa used to secure Alpha Flight’s cooperation. What’s more the governor was receiving campaign funding from the Church of Humanity, also illegally.”

“And Xavier agreed to not disclose that to the press to keep his students. But who disclosed that information to him?”

“His attorney.”
“-who is also your attorney. Did you leak that information to him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you realize you leaked information about a government informant?”

“You mean the double-dealing traitor who never provided any useful information, led an illegal raid to kidnap, I mean ‘forcibly remove’ innocent schoolchildren, and indeed tried to sabotage my mission, and is still going about business as usual despite having been ratted out. Yes, I did. But that doesn’t mean Xavier had anything to do with raiding the Cathedral.”

“No,” Fitzsimmons conceded, “you’re right. You hadn’t been dealing directly with Xavier. But this does raise some other concerns, namely, your willingness to work with mutants.”

“So I’m not prejudiced. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Miss Altheim, the very presence of mutants poses a threat to our national security. And do you deny that some of the operatives you’ve recruited had criminal backgrounds?”

“No. But I’ve also never recruited operatives as unreliable as Agent Ishikawa. Or Raven Darkhölme, for that matter.”

The mention of the notorious mutant terrorist and double agent sent a murmur of consternation through the grand jury.

“Anyone else the government chooses to employ does not concern this investigation.”

“Oh, I think it might,” retorted Kassandra. “Aren’t I being investigated also for slitting a certain former Interpol and X-Corps officer’s throat?”

“Do you deny attacking Sean Cassidy?”
“Yes. In fact I’m glad he survived. But I was already in Montana when Raven Darkhölme herself attacked him.”

“Still, that does not mean anything. You could have ordered the attack on him just as easily as you ordered the raid on the Cathedral.”

“Except this time I didn’t. All it took was that one threat to ensure his silence about my whereabouts. I had neither the desire nor the intention to see it carried out. Nor did I have anything to do with Frau Darkhölme, and her record in at least Germany, France, Switzerland, Namibia, and the United States bears out each of the many reasons why I choose not to. And you won’t find any evidence proving that any plan you claim I had to hurt Mr. Cassidy got any further than sending that one email.”

“So it’s entirely a coincidence then that Mystique acted out exactly what you threatened to do, without any correspondence from you?”

“No. Of course she wants to make it look like I was behind it!”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 5

Back in Salem Center, Alex’s bachelor party rapidly degenerated into a disaster. The guys hired a shape-shifting stripper. And they thought it would be funny to request she look like Annie, the nurse that, at the very least, earned Alex’s fond admiration since the bombing that first landed him in her care. Naturally, the joke was lost on Alex.

Then Logan opened his inebriated mouth, and suggested the stripper perform a nun act for Kurt. Kurt soon joined the guest of dubious honor in bemusement. After a few pointed words, he soon left to examine his own disturbed conscience. Would it have made a difference if Alex knew all along that the stripper really wasn’t Annie? Apparently not. Should it have?

Kurt thought about Schwester Maria Boniface, who oversaw much of his first religious instruction, never caring, perhaps owing in part to her blindness, about what this boy from the circus looked like. And then about… Kassandra?! And, verdammt, why should it even matter whose appearance this woman could adopt? Why should anyone try to defend her honor only when she looks like someone important to them? Why shouldn’t she be treated with the same respect, just as she was? Kurt decided that it shouldn’t make a difference, not to an honorable man, anyway.

He had already apologized to Alex. Perhaps he should later explain that he now better understood how he felt. But now he just needed to hear someone else’s voice.


Kassandra herself had quite a roller coaster of a day. After the somewhat grueling testimony, she was lucky to get in a late afternoon appointment with the orthopedist Dr. McCoy recommended. And though her arm was still a bit sore, much to her joy, the doctor said it could come out of its sling and splints. After that, she grabbed a bite to eat, discussed more of her case with her attorney over the phone, then, anxious for a bit of exercise, walked back to her hotel. Being officially unemployed was proving to be just as hard work as the job she’d just resigned.

Once she settled in, she brewed a pot of chamomile tea, found a nice jazz station, and quickly scanned the ads for a new apartment. It was all too likely she’d need to stay in McLean for a while. And finding housing would not be very easy, especially now that Kassandra was again a private citizen. She would wish that the Fair Housing Act would be amended to ban genetic discrimination, but at this point, it didn’t look like it would matter. It looked like more landlords and managers were more flagrantly disregarding that law altogether. In addition to seeing “No mutants allowed” in the ads, she began to see “No mutant libs” and even “No Catholics.” Ah well. Their loss. Kassandra would almost prefer living in a Morlock tunnel to paying rent to those bigots. She circled what few options seemed best, thankful that at least the hotel couldn’t be bothered to ask if she was mutant or human, Catholic or Christian, et cetera. She might have answered the same way she usually answered when people would ask if she was Black or White, which was usually along of the lines of, “Yes. Should it matter?”

She then drew a nice piping hot bubble bath. Just as she was about to set foot in the tub, her phone rang. It was from the Institute.
“Hallo?”
“Kassandra? Ist es für dich grade günstig?”

As good a time as any, Kassandra figured. She always had time for this person, especially when he sounded so dejected. And, yes, she decided she’d very much like to hear his voice as she wound down. “Ja, Kurt. Wie gehts?”

“Nicht so gut. Es tut mir leid, Kassandra. I didn’t behave myself at the bachelor party. We played a rather cruel joke on Alex, and I think you know the rest.”

Kassandra sighed. Of course she knew. Still, she would not say she told him so.

“Und jetzt bist Du enttäuscht von mir oder?”
Kassandra paused for a brief moment. There were only two other things Kurt had done which disappointed her, both of which were, in fact, considerably worse than this. Even then she chose not to write him off. After all, she had to weigh in all the good he had done, and that was considerable to say the least. And he stood by her when she’d had her own moments of stupidity, as well, like that long ago crush she had on Pyro. “Nein, Kurt,” she replied. “Nicht von dir. And after all, you were the first besides Alex to understand that it wasn’t funny, nicht wahr?”

“I hope you haven’t lost respect for the rest of the guys, Kassandra.”
Kassi sighed. “I can’t forget this happened. It’s in the chronological record. I’ll see it if I look at that point in your timelines. Aber Kopf hoch, Kurt. The same goes for all the good stuff, too. Though someone should remind Logan that I once considered joining the Dominicans before he cracks any more nun jokes.”

“You did? I thought I remembered something about that. And feeling quite relieved that you didn’t go through with it.”

“Was?” said Kassandra, teasingly. “You have something against that order?”

Kurt laughed. “Nein. I just somehow suspect that you’re not suited for that vocation.”

“Irgendwie?” laughed Kassandra. Hmm. However did he get that idea?
“And, seriously, Kassi, I rather wish I were in McLean right now.”

“Und ich auch, Kurt. I haven’t exactly had a great day myself. But we both will have big days tomorrow. Jack and I have to gather more evidence that’s been subpoenaed for the investigation, I have to find some more permanent housing, and I’ll have to catch up on my music practice if I’ll be any good on Sunday. And as for you, well, Alex will need all the moral support he can get the next couple days. And someone’s going to have to tell Logan that my arm’s all better.”

“Beßer? And how are you celebrating?”
“Ich bin so müde, Kurt. After the day I’ve had, the only way I’m celebrating is with a pot of tea, a soak in the tub, and as soon as I hang up the phone, I’m drying off and going to bed.”

“Wirklich?”
“…!”
Of course Kassandra realized the potential effect of what she just said. Kurt could practically hear her blushing over the phone. But the longing Kurt felt returned with additional and, under the circumstances, surprisingly innocent poignancy. He actually wasn’t imagining what she looked like in her current state. Well, okay, but only for a moment. But all he really needed and wanted was so much simpler and more profound, that he quickly banished that thought. “Well, I look forward to your return, Liebchen. And to helping you put both of your arms to proper use again.”

“Ich auch,” she admitted, smiling. “And if all goes smoothly, I might be back in town Saturday evening, rather than Sunday morning. Für jetzt, gute nacht. Und, Kurt?”

“Ja?” Kurt thought he could hear Billie Holiday singing “Blue Moon” in the background as he awaited what Kassandra had to say.

“Ich liebe dich noch immer.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a miracle Kassandra managed to get anything whatsoever done on Friday. First, the phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Kassandra only barely managed with screening the calls.

Logan called first, bless his heart. “Hey, kid. Elf just told me your arm’s all better. How’s the rest of ya?”

Then Mama, on the rare occasion when she couldn’t speak a straight sentence in one language, crying in a frantic mix of Afrikaans, German, and her native Zulu, “Kassi, I just spent half a day away from my patients being debriefed by Henry about how you shattered your arm fighting with Logan, and now Lucy tells me you are in more trouble, and that you’ve killed people! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW? Did I give you life for you to just throw it away? So help me, if I find you’ve been abusing your God-given talents like those Evil Mutants….”

Lorna, aka Polaris, aka The Green-haired Bridezilla. “And Juggernaut will move the piano out onto the lawn so you can play…. What do you mean? Of course you can. After what you’ve done, the least you can do… you have to be back in court? … Let them hold you in contempt, Kassandra. Special session or not… Yes I’m sure it’s a landmark case for mutant rights, yada yada, like I EVEN CARE right now. The other musician backed out, and I NEED MUSIC FOR MY WEDDING! … NO, I WON’T USE A RECORDING!!!”

Someone who just made a bad business decision. “$1,200 a month rent, $1,000 security deposit, and $700 more for pets or mutants.”

The orthopedist. Kassandra’s brothers. Mama again. Dr. McCoy. Mother of Bridezilla. Unknown Caller and Out of Area went unanswered. Somehow she managed to get through to her banks, her phone companies, the FBI, all the people from whom she needed additional records to bring to court. And an apartment manager and a couple of proprietors returned her calls and said nothing in particular about race, politics, or religion.

Next she had to go through all of this additional paperwork with her attorney and send it to Fitzsimmons. Finally there was the search for the apartment. Unlike Kurt, as Kassandra didn’t look particularly unusual except when using her powers, she did not receive quite as much overt discrimination- on the basis of her mutation, anyway. And so she usually could get by on other people’s assumptions that she was not a mutant. But she knew ethnic and religious discrimination all too well, and what she experienced really was no different. In some ways, it just compounded things.

The first she visited was a complex of several buildings. It appeared quite nice and clean, with a lot of amenities. And the manager seemed very proud of the fact that his complex housed mutants as well as non-mutants. “Now if you have any problem having mutants as neighbors, there are a whole lot of other places you can stay.

“Over here in these buildings we have our apartments for mutants and their families.”

Kassandra looked down at the brochure’s map of the complex. There was not just one nice large swimming pool, but two. Not one fully equipped gym. Not one Laundromat. In fact, there was at least two of everything here, it seemed. “So you still have mutants living separately?” Kassandra asked.

“Well yeah. Keeps the rest of us safe, y’know, like in the event of a sentinel attack.”

“Uh-huh,” said Kassandra, clearly unimpressed by the flimsy excuse.
“And, well,” the manager said with a nervous laugh, “you know how those pyrokinetic kids can be, playing with fire and all that. Nice to have them as neighbors, but would you really want them in the same building?”

“I don’t suppose you house the smokers separately here, too,” said Kassandra dryly, “or ban residents from visiting their neighbors on the other side of the complex, right, you know, in case of a sentinel attack?”

The next complex was by no means like the first. Not exactly a slum, but it was apparent that the owners couldn’t afford to be bothered about the genetics or religious beliefs of those whose rent checks and maintenance fees kept the place from becoming one. That aside, the landlady seemed friendly enough. But there was still something not quite right about this.

Kassandra requested a moment to think things over.
“Take all the time you need,” she said. She then went over to the community bulletin board and started removing flyers, inwardly lamenting the fact that one of the tenants saw fit to promote right-to-life events. She wondered if that lady would feel the same if she ever was stuck pregnant with, say, a deformed or mutant baby.

“Note to self..,” said the prospective tenant.
The landlady about jumped out of her skin. Where she had seen a well-educated, soft-spoken African girl, there was now this… horror, putting down unsigned papers.

“…call Mama and thank her for letting this mutant baby be born.” And with that, another lease and a security deposit disappeared.

Finally on to the last one. It wasn’t an apartment building or complex at all, but a family home that had a separate apartment in the basement. The owners, a kindly retired couple, decided it was for let after they’d fallen upon hard times. And when a car crash left their grandchildren orphaned and in their care, things were getting desperate. The apartment wasn’t much. A studio, really. Ororo might not be able to stand it in there, but it was comfortable enough for Kassandra. The couple also had a piano in their living room that she was welcome to come up and play. And then came the kicker.

“I hope,” said Mr. Slawson, “that you like the kids, and that you won’t take issue with the fact that one has special needs.”

“Why should I have any problem with that?”
“Well,” said Mrs. Slawson, carefully, “It’s just that our previous tenant left within a week after we got the kids, and we’ve been having such trouble finding another on account of Ben’s… condition.”

“Can I start moving in today?”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 6

“… und die Kinder sind so süß, Kurt. Naomi’s a starry-eyed little daydreamer who I know will love Kätchen’s stories. And she didn’t want me to stop practicing piano because she had too much fun, playing ballerina. Of course, practicing was interesting with Baby Janie insisting on trying to sing along. Oh, and Janie thinks my hair tastes good.”

“Wirklich?” said Kurt. “And all this time I only thought it smelled nice. Maybe I’m missing something. But how about the other child- the one with the ‘condition’?”

“Ben’s the oldest, and it’s mostly because of him that I’m there. He has a fairly healthy fascination with superheroes, so I went ahead and told him I’m a mutant.”

“I take it he reacted well to that.”
“Ja doch! He began insisting that I just had to stay. And the grandparents then were interested, not fearful. They reacted no differently than when I told them I played piano. So I gave them a small display of my ability. I told them to go to the kitchen, where they found the dishes washed, dried, and put away.”

“So, ist Ben ein mutant? That would explain why they’ve had trouble finding a tenant, nicht wahr?”

“Nein, Kurt. Er hat nur Tourette’s. But I guess it’s logical in some twisted way that people who hate mutants would come to regard a kid who only happens to have tics the same way.”

“Das arme Kind. But at least it’s great to know you’re staying with good people. How’s the legal battle?”

“So weit, so gut. Fitzsimmons is having trouble getting a hold of a couple of witnesses- Raven Darkhölme und ein Nils Steiger. And she neither can nor will prove any connection to the others who’ve used my code name.”
“By the way, I wondered how you got that code name. I seem to recall it was actually a nickname first. And a rather appropriate one.”

“It was a nickname, Liebster. One you gave me. Anyway, it actually helped that others used the same code name. Kept people confused about my real identity, activities, and whereabouts. And now it looks very likely that I will avoid all the totally bogus charges. That will strengthen my credibility when I go to trial on the real ones, and after today’s testimony, my success there appears more likely. Also, it’s bought me a little more time before that happens.”

Kurt worried about just what Kassandra considered success, but he was happy to hear about this little additional time. “What do you hope to do with this extra time, Liebling?”

“Prepare to face the indictments when they come in, keep trying to smooth things over with my family, discuss with Charles how to deal with Alex and Lorna-”

“By the way, I’m glad you weren’t here for the wedding, Kassandra.”

“And I’m glad Alex had the sense to call it off, even if he could have picked a better time to do that. It saved me the trouble of having to call in at ‘speak now, or forever hold your peace.’ Aber wir schweifen ab. Most importantly at this moment, I have time for watching The Sea Hawk with you. That’s what you were planning, nicht wahr?”

Kurt chuckled. It was great to know Kassandra had her priorities straight. “Ich kann es kaum erwarten.”

“Und du brauchst es nicht, Liebster. I’m getting off the train now, und-”
BEEP! The call was dropped. Followed by a knock at the door.

“-und hier bin ich!” Kassandra chimed, as Kurt opened the door for her. She threw her arms around his neck. Kurt scooped her up and swung her around a couple times.

“That’s exactly what I was talking about, putting both of your arms to proper use again,” he said, finally putting her back down.

“Oh, I thought you wanted another match of Florentine,” said Kassandra.

“Wielleicht später,” Kurt replied, steering Kassandra toward the rec room. “Im Moment ist alles was ich will ein guter Film, eine Flasche Zinfandel, und dich.” He put the movie in, then sat beside her. “Aber, besonders dich,” he added. Kassandra had just peeled off her hooded sweat jacket, revealing a heather-colored camisole top that only someone with her slight, athletic figure could wear with perfect modesty. Still the sight of her exposed shoulders- strong enough to bear the weight of the world, yet somehow soft enough that Kurt felt it horribly wrong that they should, invited his own strong and soft touch like nothing he had heretofore imagined. Kurt’s tail, which had made itself at home twined around her knee, tightened slightly.

Kassandra sighed as Kurt brushed her wild, dark curls out of the way and kneaded her shoulders and the back of her neck. “Kurt, I think this movie is strangely appropriate, given my current circumstances. You know what the difference is between a privateer and a pirate, ja doch.”

“One acts with the government’s support, and the other doesn’t.”

“Or, as the case often is, the difference is more like the fact that it’s politically expedient for governments to support one’s activities and not the same activities of the other. Espionage is a lot like that. Intelligence has always been the most valuable plunder and the most powerful weapon anyway. But any spy who incurs public disfavor is on their own.”

“Ebensogut, moderne Freibeuterin oder Piratin,” said Kurt, “Du bist immer noch die selbe alte Zeitgeist, nicht wahr?”

“Kurt, im Ernst-”

“I am serious.” He then tipped up her chin, running his other hand down to the small of her back, and engaged her red-wine mouth in a long, smoldering kiss.

And Kassandra couldn’t help thinking that all the musket and cannon fire in the sea battle that unfolded on the screen- Donnerwetter! -even Jubilee and Gambit combined at their most powerful could not produce pyrotechnics to match this.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“There’s only one reason why any two people here would want the rec room to themselves, Jean-Paul,” said Annie. “Good Catholics or not, it’s a safe bet that they aren’t really watching that movie.”

“Still, I left a pile of economics papers in there, and I really should finish grading them,” said Northstar.

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Annie turned away and headed to the dining room. “You want me to get you anything?”

“Non, merci.” Jean-Paul Beaubier cautiously approached the rec room. The door was left ajar, and through that, he could hear laughter punctuated by an alarming variety of noise. While there were some people in Quebec who knew German, Jean-Paul wasn’t one of them. Not that it mattered. What he heard at least sounded tres indiscrete. And regardless of gender or sexual orientation, he maintained a respectable disinterest in catching anyone en flagrant delit. But he really wanted to get some work done. And maybe tell those two to keep it down or take their sottises someplace more appropriate. Like Kurt’s room. Or maybe, based on the noise, anyway, the Danger Room.

“Und hier kommt mein Lieblingsteil.”
“Das is auch meiner. Bist du bereit?”
“Ja doch!”
THWACK! THWACK!
“ACH! Mmmmph… Kurt! Herr Wolfingham und seine Handlangere haben nie so gekämpft!”
THWACK!
“Sie haben auch nie gegen eine so schöne Gegnerin gekämpft.”

Jean-Paul braced himself, entered, et calvasse! There they were, Kassandra standing on the sofa, which was threatening to tip on account of Kurt, perched precariously on the back. Both up to nothing worse than jumping all over the furniture in an apparently unsuccessful bid to reenact the final battle with foam sabres, three of which Kurt wielded.

“Jean-Paul,” said Kassandra. “Your papers are over there. And tell Annie to get her mind out of the gutter.”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 7

“Well,” said Kassandra, as she and Kurt were on their way out to Mass the next morning, “I’m glad we got some kind of reprieve between Alex and Lorna’s non-wedding and…”

“Und was, Liebling?”
Kassandra had suddenly slipped out of time. “Get Northstar, Bobby, and Hank or at the very least Annie, as well as the police and fire departments over to St. Anne’s. MACH SCHNELL!” She then disappeared.

And arrived a second too late. Three windows were already shot out, and Molotov cocktails thrown through them. She could not prevent that now. But Father Dinh, Deacon Rezendez, the lector, the altar servers, and the choir director, along with a few others, had already filtered in to prepare for Mass. At this precise moment, with time stopped, Kassandra could be everywhere she was needed.

Gott steh mir bei! Kassandra may not have been subject to time, but while she could drag everyone out before they could take one more whiff of smoke, she still had to breathe.

Northstar flew to the front lawn of St. Anne’s. Nightcrawler teleported in the merest fraction of a second later, bringing along Iceman and Annie. Smoke billowed out from the doors and shattered windows of the church. Annie immediately took charge of the confused huddle that gathered in front of the church. Nothing worse than a couple first-degree burns and a little smoke inhalation. “Is everyone out?”

“Ja! Now, Iceman! Do your thing!” barked an unrecognizably hoarse voice. Kurt turned to see Zeitgeist, unusually haggard, face smudged with soot and tears, setting an altar server down on the grass, and a look in her bloodshot eyes of which he thought only Wolverine was capable. But just before he could recognize with certainty her expression, she disappeared.

“Northstar, try to follow her, and notify me when you’ve caught up.”
The fastest man of all time never needed to catch up with anyone. But Jean-Paul knew this was no time to address petty slights.

One piece of shattered glass, a drop of spilled, burning fuel, that was all Kassandra needed to see, to access the timelines of the ones who threw those makeshift incendiaries. And she would get those Schweinehunde. She could even enjoy making them suffer for what they’ve done, even the very way the idea sickened her. They were about a mile and half away already. Fine. Solche Feiglinge! Of course they’d try to speed away as quickly as their car would take them, like that would save them. Still, catching up to them instantaneously, running that mile and a half past one car after another, past time itself, should have been easier. Yet she was tired and nauseous and her lungs still burned without mercy, verdammt. When would that healing factor kick in?

And there they were, in a white El Camino. A strange choice of vehicle for people who hate mutants. Sabre now in hand, she resumed a slow flow of time.

“Yeah, we got those-”
THUNK! SSSSSCCCCCHHHHRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNG!!!!!!!!!! THUD!!!

The car suddenly stopped running. Driver and passengers, whiplashed out of congratulating each other for their stupidity, noticed that the hood and pretty much everything underneath it had been pretty well shredded. And a sword-wielding wraith stood atop the wreckage.

“-those disgraces to humanity?” said the wraith. “I could … take out a few… right here.”

SNICK- CLICK.
“Nightcrawler, she’s got them,” Northstar said into his X-link. “A mile and half due west. Get the gendarmerie-”

BAMF! Nightcrawler teleported on the scene.
“Kurt!” Kassandra gasped. She really did not want him there right now.

A hail of bullets shattered the windshield. Time stopped.

 

[angelique]

Chapter 8

Chelsea was sure those muties should have gone down, especially that psycho blurry thing waving that sword around. She had emptied an entire magazine and had just reloaded. And there was no way she could have missed at that range. But now her dad’s gun was suddenly in the hand of the first freak who should have died. It didn’t look blurry anymore, but still seemed no less dangerous. Chelsea looked over to Tom and Rick. Their faces said the same thing. All were imagining what it must feel like to look for the last time into the eyes of an angry bear or lioness. Of course that thing would kill in defense of its own life and kind. Chelsea also claimed to fight for her own kind. But she never knew what that really meant until now.

“Kassandra-” said the blue devil-looking thing.
“You would have killed him…, me…, all those people in the church..., and you dare compare me… to a dangerous predator?” the lady said through labored breathing. Ooh, the comparison seemed more apt by the second. The lady jumped off the mangled hood, stepped over to the passenger side. “Glock 18… nice weapon… used by law enforcement…” She then glanced over to the blue guy. “…not by ex-feds.”

Some other guy suddenly descended before them. “The police are on the way already, non?”

“Ja,” said the blue guy. “And Kassi looks like she needs medical attention. Again.”

“Get her back to the church then. I’ll keep an eye on these delinquents.”

“Thank you, Jean-Paul,” said the lady. It suddenly occurred to Chelsea like a thunderclap. If these mutants were mere animals, she and the guys would have died, whether by sword or by the gun that was turned upon them. Supposedly, what set humanity apart was the ability to reason, to not be under the constant and exclusive sway of animal instinct. If that was indeed the case, then….


“Nice job getting the fire out, though I don’t know how you did it,” said the fire chief.

“It’s a gift,” said Iceman.
“The criminals were apprehended, and there were no major casualties.” The chief looked over to the one person who seemed to have it worst. A blue man was holding her through a vicious coughing fit while a nurse administered oxygen. “Amazing. I guess miracles do happen.”

“If you call mutant intervention a miracle…” said Bobby.
“I would,” Father Dinh interrupted. “I mean, how did you come by your mutant gifts and the conscience to use them well? Now, Chief, is it safe to go in?”

“I wouldn’t recommend holding Mass in there today, Father,” said the fire chief, “though you’ll probably want to get some things out, right?”

“Yes. And since the weather’s pleasant enough, and the news cameras are gone, we might as well have Mass out here. Kassandra, are you up to providing some music?”

She nodded, pulling the oxygen tube from her nose. “I’m feeling better now, Father. Danke, Annie, Kurt.”

“Good. We’ll move the piano out here, and your friends are welcome to celebrate with us if they like.”

Jean-Paul was about to say no thank you, as he hadn’t felt welcome in a church since he couldn’t remember when. Kassandra suddenly grabbed his hand. “You know, you have at least as much right to be here as anyone else,” she whispered.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ich muß zugeben, Kassandra,” Kurt said in a low voice, as he and Kassandra walked together after Mass. “I worried a bit about the safety of having Mass outdoors, especially after this.”

“I must admit I was more worried when the TV stations showed up. At any rate we were as safe as Jean-Paul being out of his closet. Or you going out without your image inducer.”

“That brings up another point. There’s a reason why I usually prefer attending Mass at the home for the blind. There, I can just be another member of the congregation. Here, even if the parishioners did welcome me, too many still looked at me strangely.”

“Ich verstehe,” Kassandra admitted. “But I don’t think this is just the case with mutations. Even the most truly open-minded people may need time to get used to the various things that make people different and see people for who they really are. I know I do.”

“Du?!” said Kurt, astounded. One of his few surviving memories of Kassandra from before his encounter with the Church of Humanity was of how utterly unfazed she was by his appearance when they first met. “I thought your ability to peek into people’s pasts would actually make you better at that!”

“Ja, und nein. I can see people’s actions, events in their lives, and sometimes strong thoughts. But I can also see how their actions tie into and relate to other things that happen, and I can lose sight of a person’s individuality if I don’t maintain strict control. Those kids- I didn’t just see troubled and insecure young individuals. I saw everything their behavior represented..,” Kassandra choked back tears. “…and what it would likely escalate to if we didn’t stop it. Killing them would have come all too easily to me if I didn’t anticipate even worse consequences.”

“Ja,” said Kurt, a little nervously. “The Gospel reading really hit a nerve with all of us today, but I noticed you seemed particularly affected.”

“That parable of the unforgiving servant- I always had trouble with that one. And it takes constantly reminding myself to remember that vengeance is not mine to take. This is no easy cross to bear, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“But none of us were meant to bear our crosses alone, Kassandra.” Kurt was amazed at just how alike opposites could be. His cross was how people saw him. Kassandra’s was all about how she saw people. He then recalled to her words that had often given him comfort. “Jesus sagtet, ‘Kommt alle zu mir, die ihr euch plagt und schwere Lasten zu tragen habt. Ich werde euch Ruhe verschaffen.’”

“Kurt, I wonder if you’ve been quoting that to Logan.” Kassandra threaded her arm through his and leaned her head against him. “Just before I left for Montana, he said, ‘I don’t get what you and the Elf get out of your religion, but whatever it is, it’ll keep you human. And I don’t think you’ll ever be alone as long as you hang onto that.’”

“Eigentlich, I’ve been quoting that to myself quite often lately.”
“Gut.” Kassandra didn’t tell him about a particular timeline she’d begun to see- virulently, opportunistically, and parasitically entwined around Kurt’s, but she had to say something. “I think we’ll both need to be especially mindful of that over the next week, Liebster.”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 9

Logan joined Kurt and Kassandra for lunch, and was very interested to hear from Kurt about Kassi’s heroics at St. Anne’s. He was also glad to see the Elf was back to doing one of the things he did best- embarrassing the Little Elf.
“Kurt’s exaggerating slightly,” Kassandra protested.
“Slightly,” Kurt smiled. “But the truth is that Bobby, Jean-Paul, Annie, and I would not have been able to do a thing had not Kassi seen this coming.”

“Speaking of that,” said Kassandra, as she got up and cleared her place, “I see myself being late for Alex’s appointment if I stick around here any longer. Could we perhaps meet at the hangar in a couple hours?”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“I can’t really say much about Alex, Onkel Charles, even if he did sign the release form. But I understand the root of the questionable judgment he’s been showing of late. He’s still trying to piece his own life together in his own way. Even if he had broken up with Lorna before the bombing, she represented a connection to his old life. If he was going to go back to life as an X-Man, it only made sense in some way that he get back together with her, as well. Not the best reason to rekindle that flame, especially given Lorna’s state of mind, and how Alex is still dealing with a major, but perfectly understandable, side-effect of Annie’s care.”

“Which is-” said Charles as he helped Kassandra pack.
“Remember the story Mama told, about her experiences treating war wounded? ‘Sometimes the quickest way to a wounded soldier’s heart-”

“- is through his IV.’” Charles smiled, recalling that that story ended with Kassandra and her siblings embarrassing their mother by arguing about how many impulsive marriage proposals she had to turn down at a patient’s bedside. “But speaking of Lorna, I was also hoping she could talk with you about her own emotional instability.”

“It won’t happen, Onkel Charles. At least not at this point. She’s not just angry with me for not coming to the wedding. I sent her on a violent mission in Montana. I might as well tell you that much. And besides that, I think she also blames me in part for my inability to prevent Genosha’s latest disaster.”

“Well, that at least provides some additional insight regarding her behavior.”

“I can only tell you what happened to her, Onkel Charles. You’re by far the best for helping her sort out her feelings about all that. And until we figure out which of these recent events have traumatized her most, I’m afraid we cannot properly help her.”

“Do you think she’d consent to my probing her mind?”
“Absolutely. And this may seem a bit of a gamble, but if you detect any biochemical imbalance…”

“Lorna will need medical help, of course.”
“And, strangely enough, she will likely insist that Annie help out. Which I think may be a good sign.”

“Well,” mused Charles, “it certainly is at the very least an interesting suggestion. But speaking of gambles, I am also concerned about the recent developments in your relationship with Kurt.”

“I know,” said Kassandra. “I warned him about the best and worst case scenarios, and so far, we are still in agreement that this is worth it.”

“Are you?” said Charles, pointedly. “I know you’ve always had the most affectionate regard for him, even as a friend, and so the possibilities that you’d both be hurt as a result of this relationship must make you feel terribly conflicted.”

Kassandra abruptly powered up, silently telling Charles that he hit a raw nerve. “I’m not just a missing link to Kurt’s memories, and there’s no way I can be an ‘Annie’ to him either. We discussed it. We chose to take the chance. And I’m doing all of what little I can do to ensure the best possible outcome.”

Charles took her into his arms as he’d often done on those occasions when he was not just Professor Xavier, but the longtime friend of Kassandra’s parents and honorary Onkel to her and her siblings. Except she was no longer the baby of the large family of Altheims that often invaded his mansion. Nor was she the newly fatherless teenager whom he helped rescue from the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. “It’s all right, Kassandra. You can power down. I don’t need to read your mind to understand.
“And now I do believe you are about ready to leave, right?”

“Except for one thing,” said Logan, as he and Kurt entered the hangar. “I don’t believe the Little Elf’s given me a proper hug.”

“And I wouldn’t dream of leaving without making sure you got one.”
Logan ran his hand up Kassandra’s right arm. “Good as new already, eh, kid?”

“Ja, except when it’s about to rain. So I guess you’ve given me another neat new power.” Kassandra planted a kiss on Logan’s cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

And so Kassandra boarded the X-Plane with Kurt yet again. But this time, Kassandra flew.

“So,” said Kurt, as he strapped in. “Will you be returning soon?”
Kassandra sighed. “Nein, Kurt. I think I’ll be seeing all of you again soon- in court. The prosecution will want to hear from you, Warren, and Logan in particular regarding how cavalier I’ve been about sharing information.”

“You know,” said Kurt, looking a bit uncomfortable, “It’s just as well you’re flying. All this talk about the investigation just makes me want to take you far away from it all. Maybe on some Caribbean vacation.”

“Well, if I could leave the country, I’d prefer an African vacation- going back home to Keetmanshoop and regrouping with the family. Then I’d take you north of Swakopmund. We could explore the ephemeral rivers and the shipwrecks of the Skeleton Coast. Besides, didn’t you only just get back from the Caribbean?”

“Ja. And it was amazing. So much history. I could not see it all and not consider bringing you back to have a look. And just think of how nice it would be visiting Port Royal, Tortuga, or the Pearl Islands. Or if you’d rather, we could just find some uncharted island off the Bahamas, inhabited only by the two of us- mein’ Geliebte und mich. And I would fly us there now if I could.”
Kassandra blushed. “Kurt, du bist unmöglich.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kassandra unpacked the last of her things and tried to make her humble little apartment presentable. She then walked over to a nearby cybercafe to catch up on email. And set up a new account, as she really should no longer have .gov at the end of her address. The next day, she would at the very least have to buy a new computer.

“Spam, spam, spam, spam….” Kassandra sang under her breath as she repeatedly hit delete. Ah, here was something completely different. “Your future employment,” read the subject line. From “unknown address.” She deleted it. A few better emails awaited her reading. She printed those to reread later, then returned to her table.

“After days of not being able to reach you by phone, I now see you’ve deleted the email I just sent you. It’s almost as if you were trying to ignore me. And you know that was bound to stop working. After all, I’d been watching you.”

Kassandra remained standing, staring at the man who was now sitting, uninvited, at her table. He spoke German in a low, smooth voice with an accent she could not place. And while he could cut a fairly dashing figure, Kassandra found him somehow repellent.

An instantaneous glimpse into this person’s timeline revealed nothing. Okay, so the man’s jet black hair and trim goatee were real. But that was not enough truth to go on at the moment.

“Es tut mir leid. Did I invite you to sit with me?”
“Strange. I thought you’d be friendlier to someone who has so much in common with you, especially since I’m only trying to help salvage your career.”

“Ganz bestimmt,” said Kassandra, icily. “And if you’d been watching me, you’d know that the success of my last mission depends now on NOT salvaging my career.”

The man leaned in and whispered in English, “Black Ops.”
Kassandra was unimpressed. “So? It’s not as if I hadn’t worked with them before.”

“So… many different nations, companies, and organizations not sympathetic to our cause are interested in information and weapons from AUTEC. The Naval base on Andros Island has resumed researching military applications of the Hutchison Effect. This information will prove cataclysmic in the wrong hands. We need you to investigate and eliminate any possible leaks. You could keep doing what I know you do best under the best possible cover, you’d have the full immunity you seem to want so badly, and this should not interfere with your current objective. Your mission will succeed, you will be able to continue as what you’ve called a modern privateer, and you’d get a chance to see the Bahamas, wenn wollst du, mit dein’ Gel-l-l… dein’ L-l-l-” here he suddenly started stammering like Billy Zane in that Tales from the Crypt movie. He just couldn’t bring himself to say that word.

Kassandra stepped out of time again. This time, visibly. “Okay, now I think I know enough about you. Completely dishonest except when you need to be manipulative. You think I’m a complete idiot? In Jesus Namen, hau ab!”

The man did not move. “Now I know you tend not to use your Lord’s name lightly, but I will not leave. And I do not take kindly to being called a liar.”

“Ach, fahr zur Hölle!”
“Uh, Miss,” said a nervous manager, “This is a no-mutant establishment. I’ll have to ask you to-”

Kassandra disappeared, leaving a wad of bills on the table.
“-uh… leave?”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 10

From: [email protected]
Re: Ich hoffe das hilft dir

I want to begin by thanking you for telling Lucy about your trouble so she could break the news to the rest of us before we’d hear from anyone else. This gave us some time to brace ourselves and help Mama calm down before our news ran with the stories. Poor Mama still cannot grasp that you have actually killed people in your line of work. Our dear brother Vincent is taking this rather philosophically. He, our family’s greatest pacifist, of all people, reminded us that Ecclesiastes did say there is a time even to kill. He believes that what you were trying to prevent must have been dreadful enough to warrant the measures you took. For everyone’s sake, I hope he’s right, and I hope you succeed in whatever you’re trying to accomplish creating the stir you have. I still remember too well how even a just cause does not and should not necessarily ensure an easy conscience. Like how many people died so we could simply set up a field hospital during the Rwandan genocide.

Anyway, I did some searching and sent you some articles from some papers around the world, hoping that it will help if you know how people outside the States are reacting to this.

Give my regards to Onkel Charles, Jean, Hank, and the rest. Even Logan. I figure, if you, the person who never forgets a thing, can find it in your heart to forgive him for breaking your arm, I suppose I should as well. But tell him I am still tempted to search for ways to break adamantium just in case.

Wir lieben dich, und die Kinder beten täglich für ihre Tante Kassi.

-Michael


Kassandra read the printout of that email, as well as of the attached articles that were sent with it. Right and left wing papers alike from countries as diverse as Canada, Egypt, Thailand, and Switzerland echoed the sentiment expressed in Italy’s left-leaning La Republica, of mistrust for the US government, their inconsistent regard for humanity’s best interests, et cetera. Interestingly enough, the oft overtly political Namibian contained most levelheaded reports, considering that up until only a few decades ago, when a certain diamond heir created quite the scandal and eloped with a woman from the opposite side of apartheid, the Altheim name seemed inextricably and rather prominently linked with colonial oppression. No matter. In only a few days, any objective, levelheaded reporting on her case would fly out the window altogether.

And now for reading the next email. From [email protected]. She figured Kurt would lose no time sending messages like this. A sweet couple of sentences, the gist of which were that he missed her already. And he would console himself by planning a- purely hypothetical, of course- scuba diving adventure for the two of them, exploring ships sunken off perhaps Bimini or Abacos, and it would get their minds off all of their recent troubles.

Kassandra certainly understood. While Kurt was indeed recovering nicely from his run-in with the Church of Humanity, he was still tormented by some very ugly flashbacks. One in particular, involving a waterfall, Kassandra didn’t have the heart to explain when he told her about it. But she knew, more than Kurt, what it meant. And the very idea that a mother could not only abandon a child, but hurl him off a cliff, turned Kassandra’s stomach. A vacation could be good for him. She would have liked one, too. But why the Caribbean? And what was with all this talk about the Bahamas? Kassandra decided she’d had enough and had to call Kurt, now.

“Kurt, Liebster, I have a different idea for an adventure. One that I think we should take now.”

“Was ist das, Liebchen?”
“Fly down here right now, stay for a few days, and I can show you Washington DC like you’ve never seen it before. And we’ll try to arrange with the court so you can deliver your testimony while you’re here.”

Kurt suddenly had an impression of Kitty Pryde on the phone.
“Kassi, after all this,” she said, “what I think we all need is to see England without any work-related distractions. You especially. You’ve obviously forgotten what it’s like to travel for fun.”

“Kassi, I’d like that,” said Kurt, “but it’s late. How about if I fly in first thing tomorrow?”

“Kurt?” Kassandra didn’t know how to tell him that she was terribly worried it wouldn’t happen. “I’ll pray you get here safely and soon. Can we meet at Langley Air Force Base? Forge owes me a couple of favors, anyway.”

“Nun gut. Ich liebe dich, Kassi.”
“Und ich liebe dich auch, Kurt. Gute nacht.”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 11

FORMER SPY A MUTANT!​

Westchester County, New York- One of the mutants that appeared on the scene at the bombing of St. Anne’s Catholic Parish, Salem Center, was identified by eyewitnesses as Kassandra Altheim, the rogue CIA covert operations specialist responsible for the Church of Humanity massacre.

The CIA has denied any knowledge that she was a mutant and has disavowed the raid she led on the Cathedral. “It’s clear now,” said Director Gerald Karst, “that her reasons for overstepping her bounds were personal.”

A spokesperson for the families of those lost at the Cathedral agreed, and said wrongful death lawsuits would not be filed against the government, but against Altheim herself.

Special prosecutor Emily Fitzsimmons has vowed to close the criminal investigation and indict as soon as possible. This revelation, she said, “changes everything….”


Kassandra didn’t need to finish reading the article. While she appeared successful in taking heat off the government, she was still dismayed at the fickleness of public opinion. How quickly she’d gone from outed operative “allegedly” responsible for the “debacle” in Montana to rogue spy and mass murderer, all with the revelation of a genetic quirk.

“So, Zeitgeist,” said Forge. “Enjoying more objective reporting at it’s finest?”

“I’m just amazed at how we’ve managed to get the Washington Post and the Times to agree on something. So how’s everything?”

“I should be asking you. I haven’t been dealing with anything remotely mystical in years, you’ve been justifiably mad at me that whole time, and you call out of the blue asking to get together. Then you turn up and drag me here, hours before we originally planned to meet. So what dire warnings could you have for me now?”

“No warnings yet. Just a couple of questions, and you, being the government’s main guy for Techint and research, should provide me with the insight I need. Quickly,” said Zeitgeist, “what can you tell me about AUTEC’s projects? Anything about applying the Hutchison Effect?”

“What do you know about the Hutchison effect? You never struck me as very strongly inclined toward physics.”

“All I know is that it’s something about using electromagnetic currents to warp time, space, or both. I only know because it’s been bandied about in an attempt to explain everything from the Bermuda Triangle to how Kurt can teleport- or how I can control time. That, and it figured prominently into a couple of my favorite X-Files episodes- except those blamed Area 51 rather than AUTEC.”

“And now you can say you know something else about it. The Navy’s not responsible for the Bermuda Triangle phenomena. The artificial teleportation technology the military currently has wasn’t developed at AUTEC, and it is still too primitive and dangerous- though I know that didn’t keep your ‘friends’ in that cult from stealing and using it.”

“That’s why they resorted to some of those Mengelian experiments- they wanted to be able to teleport their troops without- without rehashing the Philadelphia incident,” said Kassandra.

“And as for temporal manipulation, well,” Forge smiled, “you may be happy to hear that we’re not ready to replace you. Not in this time or reality, anyway. Why do you ask?”

“Some creep claiming to be from Black Ops said the Navy was again researching possible military applications of spatial and temporal warp, and wanted to send me to Andros Island to investigate, and, ah, eliminate, all possible leaks. I figured if that were true,” Kassandra smiled in return, “you’d at the very least know something about it.”

“Know something! At this point, all I know is this is beyond even Black Ops if this gets by me without my notice.”

“I figured as much. It’s like when Pete Wisdom left MI6. Somebody’s going to try to wrap me up in something worse.”

“You’re right. Maybe we should go and check it out.”

“Forge, obviously you haven’t gotten around to reading the paper yet. I really can’t leave the country now, not since being outed as a mutant as well as a spy. SHIELD clearance or not. But here he is. An hour and a half early. Have your people ready to move, quickly."

The X-Plane had only just landed when Forge and Zeitgeist strode out to greet Kurt. A door opened, and a small gangway descended. And nobody came out. Kassandra cautiously stepped up. “Kurt?”

No response.
“Liebster?”
Kurt turned his head and looked her way.

“Gott steh uns bei!” Kassandra gasped in horror. Instead of the gorgeous smiling blue face she wanted to see, she saw sunken cheeks, hollow, contracted eyes, a face drawn in an expression of uncontrollable, unspeakable, and uncomprehending melancholy. Like something had poisoned his very existence, making it a nightmare which he could not understand, and from which he had no hope of waking.

“Kurt, kommst du mit mir, bitte. And, uh, you may want to borrow my coat. It’s… a bit cold out for what you’re wearing.”

He still said nothing, but his eyes widened, he tilted his head slightly, and whatever it was that made him look so foggy and gloomy seemed to clear slightly. To be replaced by a grim, almost fierce determination.

“Z!” Forge yelled, as he caught Kassandra tumbling to the tarmac. Kurt took to the air yet again. “What was going on in there?”

Kassandra picked herself up. “I just received confirmation that I really should stay put and get a hold of Charles. And you’ll need to try to intercept Kurt in Miami. NOW!”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

So. The one Margali called Nightcrawler would not bring the girl, though he would deliver the Steiger boy. Strange. The boy knew how she could escape, and made no attempt to stop her. Still, this could not be considered an abject failure. He had demonstrated considerable will power, even under mind control. He just might have the strength to survive what was in store for him.

On the other hand, the girl, while not a teleporter, was still important to his scheme. Her absence would mean less likelihood that his newest recruits would survive the mission, let alone succeed. And she was a difficult, willful little brat, possibly too smart for her own good. But still, he had a couple of other options for recruiting her.

Meanwhile, Kassandra decided to take a literal time out to find out more about this timeline that had wrapped around Kurt’s like the tendril of a parasitic plant. Apparently, it tangled with his before, at a couple of points very early in Kurt’s life. But only recently did it seem to exercise any influence. And now that influence was suddenly overwhelming.

Kassandra followed that connection, for that’s how she began to see it, back to its source, an excruciatingly long line, that led right up too…

…well, there was no use in running. This man was, after all, only one of the best dimensional teleporters she had yet encountered. She reentered time upon arriving at the courthouse.

And was not surprised to soon feel a repulsive breath down her neck. “I thought I might catch up with you here.”

“And I thought you were smart enough to figure out that I want you to leave me alone,” said Kassandra, loudly and in English.

“Are you always this pleasant to people trying to help you?” said the man with an unctuous smirk.

“And how am I supposed to believe you’re trying to help when you-”

“Ich bin hier,” said the man, “um dich zu warnen. Dein Gel-l-l… dein Freund Kurt, was under the influence of a telepathic directive to ensure your immediate arrival at a secret military outpost due northeast of Harbor Island. His resistance, and his failure to take you with him, however, could mean the death of him and many others.”

“Oh, and if I had come along with him, or if I consented to working with you, that would save them? Likely story.”

“You discern the truth well. And that is a weapon you wield even more skillfully than that sword you wave around. But that is only the least of your powers, nicht wahr?”

Kassandra said nothing.

“Oh, please don’t tell me you haven’t explored the full potential of your abilities to manipulate time.”

“Personally, I think you are too easily impressed by that stuff. The truth is most important. Like what I’ve been able to dig up about you. For instance, if you were who you’ve claimed to be for, oh, a few of our millennia now, you would have fled at the first sign of resistance.”

“Rotsnaze! You are aware that if you refuse to cooperate, you may seal the fate of everyone dear to you. Do you want to be responsible for that?”

“You’re the one bent on world conquest. It’s your responsibility. I, on the other hand, have depositions and indictments to deal with.”

The man reached toward her in a last-ditch effort. “Well, if you really trust a human justice system, that’s your business. But you don’t really even have to leave the country, if you’d just-”

“HÄNDE WEG!!!” Kassandra then felt herself dragged into the eye of a perfect temporal storm.

“Gott steh mir bei,” she gasped, wrenching herself free of that abhorrent grasp as a wave of dry heat smote her.

“Gott ist nicht hier, Fraulein. Nicht in meinem Haus. Wilkommen in der Hölle.”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 12

So this was it? Eternal separation from God, all in a convenient pocket dimension size. Eternal torment enclosed by temporal currents at a juncture between time and space. Eternal death, where the living apparently could come and go as they pleased through small spatial gaps. Kassandra herself had been there before, in fact. Once, mid-teleport in Nightcrawler’s secure grasp, she paused at that instant to have a look. None of that made any sense.

“What is this?!” said one of the people that now gathered round. The large, winged man with the eye patch stooped low and looked Kassandra over, then, noticing the medal she wore around her neck, stood back and took a swing with some monstrous sword-axe hybrid. And Kassandra discovered that, while time flowed differently, it still flowed through this supposedly timeless, lifeless realm. And wherever, whenever there was time, there was power, even if it was harder to control. She dodged, daring even to laugh in delight over her discovery as he attempted swing after futile swing.

“Stop that!” shouted the black-haired man.
“She wears the emblem of an archangel!”

“I am well aware of that, but she is a powerful warrior.” The man would not venture a guess as to how powerful, but seeing that she could manipulate time even in his realm excited him. “And as such, she is to be respected as my distinguished guest, if she is willing to parley.”

“You know,” said Kassandra cautiously, as she resumed temporal synchronization, “I daresay my opinion of you is beginning to change.”

His face twisted into a mirthless mockery of a smile. “I thought you might come around. After all, you and I do have a lot in common. You are not a dishonest person at heart, yet you engage repeatedly in tactical deceptions, and if not outright lies, then withholding or manipulating the truth to accomplish your objectives. I have done likewise as you are now well aware, all for a cause I think you would find noble. I seek your assistance in purging the earth of corruption once and for all.”

“If you were really so concerned about eliminating corruption, you’d start with yourself! You’re not a liar so much as you are delusional. Auf nimmer wiedersehen!” Kassandra disappeared and, threading her way through the lines that, when moving, eddied ferociously within, beyond, and around the edges of… wherever, whenever she was, found her way back to where she’d left off.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

A security guard watched with increasing concern as what looked like a potentially dangerous situation unfolded outside the courthouse. Some guy bothering a girl who had just said in plain English that she wanted to be left alone. Though he wasn’t speaking English, he appeared to understand clearly. And he kept pestering her anyway. The discussion became very heated. Then he grabbed a hold of her. She screamed. And then, all of the sudden, the assailant was gone, leaving the girl coughing in a rapidly dissipating cloud of sulfurous smoke.

“Are you all right, Miss?”

“I’m fine. It’s just… I’m fine.” Her phone rang. “Hallo?”
She sighed and muttered something that, while not in English, did not sound in the least bit pleasant. “Thanks Forge. I’ll let Charles know.”

She then aggressively punched a button on her cell phone. “Hallo? Charles and Lorna are still in session? Tell them Alex, Carter and the rest will need their help, RIGHT AWAY! Yes, Carter, too. Somebody should let Annie know where her son is. And tell Charles to stick with following the telepathic signatures. Forge says radar, line of sight, and compass bearings are acting up again past Miami.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

That was quite a display of power. So he was right that the girl could control and navigate through even the fiercest and most erratic chronological tempest. She would indeed have been valuable in helping the teleporters hold open the space-time rift and speed his forces through the portal. Also, there was her ability to discern and manipulate the truth, as well as her unique position in the genetic holy war he’d claim credit for engineering- after his victory was assured. Granted, she did wipe out quite a number of his unwitting pawns in Montana, but they were only human cannon fodder anyway, and a knight such as her still could be extremely useful to him, if only he could play her right.

She didn’t even have to set foot on his island, though it might have been easier for all involved if she did. His island, a locale so carefully selected. Since long before the surrounding area was known as the Bermuda Triangle or even the Sargasso Sea, since even, as a couple of those pathetic Christian pub rat authors from England put it, before the fall of Númenór, its natural magnetic anomalies weakened the boundaries between dimensions. And, while he hadn’t been watching her for anywhere near as long as he’d observed the others, he was pleased with how the seed of ruthlessness had taken root in her.

But as she was no offspring of his, manipulating her of course would be more difficult. And he may have underestimated just how cold and obstinate she could be. His appeal to her patriotism, her idealism, and her frustrations failed. And she l-l-l… she was, rather, utterly besotted with that Nightcrawler boy, right? Emotional, yes, but apparently not easily swayed by emotion.

“Ginniyeh,” he said to one of his minions, “You will need to play the role of truth-reader, starting now, and possibly until our conquest is complete. Is there any possibility the time-rider would consider changing her mind to save the Nightcrawler’s life?”

“None whatsoever, my lord Azazel.”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 13

Church of Humanity Lawsuits Settled
Former CIA Operative Still Faces Criminal Charges​

Washington DC- In a move that defied the expectations of even her own attorney, mutant ex-spy Kassandra Altheim insisted upon settling with the families of the eleven men she killed prior to ordering a raid on the Church of Humanity’s compound outside of Butte, Montana, and two more who died shortly thereafter.

“This by no means qualifies as an admission of guilt,” said attorney Jack White. “It was Miss Altheim’s hope that settling out of court would simply save the families some additional heartache.”

A spokesman for the victims’ families had this to say: “We might believe that this gesture was motivated by remorse. But it could also be an attempt to buy justice. There can be no justice and no reasonable expectation of closure for these families and those of all the others lost in the raid until this woman is at the very least put away for good.”



Closure? What closure? There was only moving from one stage of grief to the next. Even accepting the reality was a stage of grief, not the end of it. Beating the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants into pulp- some of them twice- brought her no closure after they murdered her father. When Magneto’s evil inclination took an all-too-brief vacation during Kassandra’s last year at the Institute, she saw how the crimes he’d committed tormented his restored conscience. She did not have closure then. If Magneto, Pyro, Mystique, and Sabretooth were all locked up for life or even executed, she would not have closure. Even if she had the twisted satisfaction of killing them herself. No. Justice might be done from time to time. Acceptance, yes. Hopefully even reconciliation and healing. But closure? Never in this reality. Expecting it would always be unreasonable. It was only a pipe dream entertained by people who either never suffered a tragic loss, or never cared enough to notice if they had. An empty word never used by people who really understand.

A lump formed in Kassandra’s throat, and fat, hot tears splashed onto the afternoon newspaper that now shook in her hands.

“Kassandra?” A friendly hand rested itself upon her shoulder. “What’s the matter? You look like you’ve been through-”

“Don’t say it, Jack. But you’re right. I’m not feeling very well at the moment.”

Not feeling well? Jack was only vaguely familiar with what Kassandra’s abilities were- just enough to know that “not feeling well” either meant she would feel fine in a second, or big trouble was on the way. “Well, I could arrange to postpone the hearing if you think it will help.”

“Nein, danke. We need to get this over with.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Your honor,” said Fitzsimmons, “the people charge the defendant, Kassandra Altheim, with eleven counts of murder in the first degree, twenty one counts of murder in the second degree, two counts of first degree manslaughter, four counts of treason, and one count of burglary.”

“And how does the defendant plead?”
“Not guilty on all charges, Your Honor,” said Jack.

“Mr. White, is your client all right?” The Honorable Thelma Montgomery had tried young killers before, and was all too familiar with the scared, vulnerable kid act they could pull in court to get sympathy. What shocked her was how this accused traitor and mass murderer looked like she could almost get away with that. And she didn’t try. But she did look like she was going to be sick.

“Let’s get on with it,” the girl said.
“Very well. What do the people recommend?”

“As Miss Altheim has friends and family in countries not likely to extradite, and given the magnitude of the charges and the fact that she is a mutant,” said Fitzsimmons, “the people recommend that she be remanded to federal custody pending trial.”

Judge Montgomery noticed the girl exchanging whispers with her attorney. “Mr. White, does the defense have anything to say?”

“We do, Your Honor,” said Jack. “We have evidence in emails, phone records, surveillance, and eyewitness accounts that Miss Altheim had several times refused opportunities to flee to the Bahamas, or even to leave the country at all. She also had only just recently moved to her current address in McLean. And finally, she had told her sister that she intended to face justice. If she posed any flight risk at all, she would have been gone by now. Also, she does not have a criminal record outside of these allegations. There is no evidence that, regardless of her mutation, she poses any threat to the community.”

Jack was interrupted by a flurry of frantic gestures and whispers from the girl, who was looking worse by the moment.

“Well, I think I’ve heard enough for now,” said Judge Montgomery. “I’ll take five minutes to consider. And Miss Altheim, I recommend you take that time to get some fresh air or a drink of water. I don’t put up with people playing sick in my courtroom. I’m certainly not going to tolerate the real thing.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Kassandra, as she got up, and bolted for the restroom.

And got there at just barely the right moment.

Sometimes, subconscious awareness of an imminent tragedy was all it took to pull her involuntarily out of time. And this was more than subconscious. She knew what was wrong the same way someone without the healing factor might notice a cerebral spinal headache. And it was almost as gut-wrenchingly, excruciatingly physical. She pulled off the power inhibitors the court had started making her wear.

And just like it was with the Adversary or the Marauders, Kassandra was immediately zeroed in on what was wrong. And she could not look away. But if there was any truth in what that repulsive man said, she was not powerless to prevent it, even from a restroom in Washington DC.

Now what was it he intended for her to do? Create a localized temporal warp field large enough to encompass the spatial rift the teleporters’ combined powers were creating? She hadn’t attempted anything of that magnitude since her own ill-fated encounter with the Adversary, but, theoretically speaking anyway, while it would cost her, she could do it. And from the convenience of where she was, at least as far as space was concerned, she could see events and manipulate time even on an uncharted and unfortunately named Atlantic island, where the dimensional boundaries seemed weakest. Slow time down within the confines of her field to give the army assembled on the other side of the rift the advantage of extratemporal speed? Not a chance, particularly with Logan, Jubilee, Iceman, Havok, Husk, and young Carter Ghazikhanian there. But she could try something similar.
She certainly couldn’t do nothing. Already, the strain of combining their powers to hold open the spatial rift was taking a toll on the teleporters assembled on that island. Indeed, Mein Gott!- some appeared to be melting together. Just as if- how did Beast put it?- electrons were forced to orbit through the space within other atoms, to produce not a molecular bond nor nuclear fusion, but quite simply atoms sharing the same space at the same time. But of course, that was all academic in light of the grisly reality. The man apparently was being half-truthful. They were already dying. Her inaction could kill all of them. As, on the other hand, any mistake on her part could kill them and many, many others.

So she got to work. And it was actually harder for her to create localized fields and manipulate the flow of time than it was to stop it altogether. Though stopping time was hard physically, temporal manipulation took more control and concentrated effort. But within the dimensional rift, time would flow indeed at a different rate than on the rest of that island. She’d speed it up. And for just one critical heartbeat at the right moment, for any longer could endanger all but maybe Logan, she would stop time around the lines of everyone on the island, outside the rift, giving them every advantage she could, right… here it is…NOW!


The mutant who had for so long called himself Azazel that he and many others began to believe that was who he really was, claimed he knew the dimensional currents in his little pocket universe like he knew his own tail. But nothing he knew could account for why his army took so long to arm and assemble, and why it seemed his side of the portal was so slow in opening to let through anything other than a couple of bowshots. Except for maybe… he opened a dimensional window to look in on the time-rider. And saw her, or rather, what appeared to be two blurry images of her superimposed on each other, in that restroom, and yet somehow not exactly there. And looking simultaneously sickened and giddily intoxicated with anxiety and righteous fury. The rotten little sneak. She somehow knew exactly what he wanted of her, and was doing the exact opposite. He would just have to push the few of his children that had any strength left to hold the gateway open a bit longer. And then his mental control over them slipped. His strongest telepathic blast accomplished nothing. In came the X-Men.

And the dimensional portal was destroyed.

A clerk walked into the restroom. “Miss Altheim, the recess is up- oh my God!”

“Ich konnte sie… nicht alle retten…”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 14

“This just in,” said the anchorwoman. “An earthquake registering at 6.8 struck early this afternoon, causing structural damage throughout the north Caribbean and down the coastal areas of the southeastern United States. The US Geological Survey has placed its epicenter at 500 miles east of the Kennedy Space Center. While it says the chance of a tsunami is unlikely, the government of the United States joined those of the Bahamas, the United Kingdom, Haiti, and the Dominican Republic in urging people in the affected areas to stay away from the beaches.
“So far, there are only reports of minor casualties, but….

“Minor casualties? MINOR casualties?!”
“You should be resting, not watching this. Oh,” said Mrs. Slawson, as she noticed the news crawl running at the bottom of the television screen, “it looks like your little spell made the news, too. Exhaustion? I thought your healing factor could prevent that.”

“Even I can overextend myself.”
“Well, the doctors certainly agree. Now Naomi insisted on making you some chicken soup. Dear me!” said Mrs. Slawson, putting a squirmy Janie down as the television again grabbed her attention.

“Tonight,” said a serious-looking man in glasses, “Had rogue spy Kassandra Altheim really reached her limit, or was her sudden courthouse collapse merely a ploy for the judge’s sympathy?”

“Looks like neither Hannity nor Colmes are going to be particularly sympathetic to you tonight.”

“I didn’t think they would,” said Kassandra.
Janie held a pudgy finger up to the television. “Bwah bwah bwah bah!” she said with utmost conviction.

“That’s right.” Kassandra smiled. “The liberals advocate rights for all humanity, but they define humanity a bit too narrowly. Those calling themselves conservative may also have some good ideas, but they’re too afraid of change to do anything. I figure I haven’t done my job right if I don’t catch it from both sides.”

“Thpthpthpthpthpt!” said Janie.
“That’s right, dear,” said Mrs. Slawson. “Not a fun position to be in, Kassandra. I remember when my Joe came back from Vietnam, he was treated by one side as a worthless failure and the other as if he were personally responsible for My Lai, when all he thought he was there to do was strike a blow or two for freedom.”

“Did he talk much about..?”
“He told me as much as he could. Really, I don’t think the whole subject is good for his blood pressure, especially how the media covered the retaking of Hué.”

“I can certainly understand that,” said Kassandra.
A pair of little feet pattered down to her door, where a small tap sounded. “Gamma, Ta-see! Gampa say soup weady!”

Mrs. Slawson opened the door to reveal two-and-a-half year old Naomi, clad in a tie-dye tee shirt, bib overalls, and a pink tutu, her fine honey-blonde hair sticking out from behind a purple plastic tiara. “Chi-chen soup ma’e you bettah, Ta-see?”

“Ben and Naomi always have their special chicken soup when they’re not feeling well,” said Mr. Slawson, as he brought down a tray with a steaming bowl set on top.”

“Ah-na-na-na-na!” Janie squealed.
“An’ Danie yikes it too!” said Naomi, insistent that nobody forget her baby sister.

“Goo,” said the baby, content that she made her intentions to be fed known.

“Well, plenty of that for all will certainly help,” said Kassandra. “And after we get some rest and Ben finishes his homework, I think I’ll be ready to tell you more stories, maybe this time about the mysterious Blue Knight of Schwarzwald.”

“Yay! Boo Knight!”
And Kassandra only nurtured this one hope as she finished eating. That somehow, despite all the odds, her blue knight and the team sent to retrieve him would all come out of this okay. But she was too tired to look and make sure. Still, if anything really bad were happening at the moment, she was pretty sure she’d know.

She was awakened a few hours later by her phone ringing. “Hallo? Kurt?! Kurt, was ist los?” she practically shrieked. “Ist alles in Ordnung? Ich habe mich so gesorgt. Ich konnte nicht-”

“Kassandra…” said Nightcrawler. “Kassi, du weinst doch nicht etwa, oder?”

As if in reply, Kassandra sniffled and wiped away the tears of relief that gushed from her eyes. “Und Logan, und…”

“All the rest are fine. And I’m taking a couple of other survivors back to New York as we speak.”

“Wie viele?”
“Only two.”
Kassandra sighed. She would have liked to do far better. Still, this was better than she expected.

“And,” Kurt continued, “I think you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve got with me one of your star witnesses, Nils Steiger.”

“Sehr gut, Kurt. Though I won’t need his testimony any more. I wasn’t charged for attacking Sean Cassidy or killing Leyu Yoshida- the crimes he witnessed. And of course the repulsive question came up of if it counts as homicide when a mutant is killed. But he’ll still be a valuable witness in the case against…”

“You can go ahead and say it. Against my mother. She stopped dropping hints and finally came out and told me. And I also met my biological father.”

“Kurt…”
“If I ever regretted that I wouldn’t be able to take you home to meet my parents, I don’t any more.”

“Gut,” said Kassandra, “because I’ve already had the dubious honor of meeting den alten Teufel, and you may be thankful that I’m not calling him that literally. No offense, while he is dishonest, manipulative, and not above sacrificing any life besides his own for his agenda…”

“Don’t forget lecherous. This guy apparently got around. He didn’t lay a finger on you, nicht wahr?”

“He only tried to recruit me to control the temporal currents in and around the dimensional rift. He may be evil, but not stupid enough to try anything else with me.”

“Hey, uh, you ripping on the old man? ‘Cause if so, I might like to add a few things!”

“Wer ist das?” Kassandra asked.
“Nils. Apparently he is my half-brother. As well as this other guy from New Zealand. And several others who didn’t…”

“I know. I tried to protect all of you… and couldn’t.”
“Kassandra.” Kurt made a valiant effort to keep himself pulled together. He’d been shocked to the core at witnessing the deaths of many he only just found out were his siblings, then giddy with excitement about meeting two surviving brothers. And apparently Kassandra once again did something drastic for his benefit- and felt she’d somehow failed. “What exactly did you do?”

“A little remote work with temporal warp fields, that’s all. I couldn’t do much. I just didn’t want that army to have enough time to get through the portal.”

“So, I guess you saw the worst of what happened, then.”
“Unless what happened to you while I was recovering was any worse, Gott bewahre.”

“Well, it looks like all my worst suspicions about my parents were confirmed.”

“Nein, Kurt. Not the very worst ones. Okay, so Mystique ist dein’ Mutter. But the old man isn’t who he thinks he is. And even if he were, I don’t see how it would make a difference regarding you. Do you have any memory of when I first enrolled at the Institute- about a year after you joined?”

“Eigentlich..,” Kurt thought for a bit, as he was still sorting through his flashbacks. “’ Ein Vater der Waisen, ein Anwalt der Witwen ist Gott in seiner heiligen Wohnung.’ I seem to remember you- you cried when I quoted that to you. Was that… at your father’s funeral?”

“Ja. And you quoted one more to me. One of your favorite verses.”
The familiar and comforting words of Romans 8:15. “’Denn ihr habt nicht einen Geist empfangen, der euch zu Sklaven macht, so dass ihr euch immer noch fürchten müsstet, sondern…” It was Kurt’s turn to choke up.

Kassandra finished for him. “’…ihr habt den Geist empfangen, der euch zu Söhnen macht, den Geist, in dem wir rufen: Abba, Vater!’ Und Kurt? In your plane right now I think we have three living examples of how life is by no means like an Omen movie.”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 15

The next day at the courthouse, jury selection wrapped up. And already the jurors were well aware that this was not going to be another hassle to weasel out of, nor another vacation paid for by the government. The defendant was being charged with all kinds of heinous crimes. Yet she didn’t look or even act as if she was capable of hurting even a gnat. Her attorney, on the other hand looked far more worthy of the shackles she wore than she did. He had just angrily requested to approach the bench. The trial hadn’t even really started, and already things were getting interesting. A few of the jurors leaned in hoping to catch a little of the apparently heated exchange he had at the sidebar with the prosecutor and the judge.
“It’s one thing if the grand jury that’s in session happens to have no mutants on it, but to deliberately select only non-mutants for this jury violates my client’s right to a trial by her peers.”
“Your Honor,” said the prosecutor. “The defendant had for years been passing herself off as human and even to this day identifies herself as human. An all-human jury should suffice. Besides, we don’t want to risk, say, a telepath on the jury manipulating the proceedings.”
Judge Montgomery was not comfortable with the regulations placed upon mutants, but she was first and foremost an interpreter and enforcer of the law. “Mr. White, while I appreciate your point, as we had explained to the selection pool, it is your client who is on trial, not mutant regulations, nor,” she looked hard at the prosecutor, “mutants or mutation in general. Swear in the jury.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“And our reporter is coming to you live from the Washington DC federal courthouse, where the trial of mutant spy Kassandra Altheim just got under weigh this morning. How are things going out there?” said the anchorman.
“Things are already getting quite heated out here,” said the newswoman, indicating the crowd of anti-mutant protestors and attention starved goofballs trying to get their faces on television.

“And the cross-examinations promise to be even more so. Witnesses are being brought in from as far away as England, France, Italy and Altheim’s native Namibia to take the stand. And even witnesses from the United States include people such as CIA Director Gerald Karst, Warren Worthington III, and various members of the notorious band of mutants, the X-Men.”

“Will Charles Xavier be there? I understand he was a longtime friend of the Altheim family.”

“No. As telepaths, he and Dr. Jean Grey will actually not be allowed there at all. Some other witnesses, due to the nature of their mutations, will also not be allowed in the courtroom. Rather, they will have to deliver their testimony via closed-circuit feed. Others might- and this is purely speculative- but they might be allowed in on the condition that they wear inhibitors while delivering their testimony or leave immediately when they’re finished. The only one who will be allowed to stay in the courtroom for the duration of all the proceedings will be Altheim herself, also on the condition that she wears inhibitors and restraints.”

“So I bet the mutant rights activists will be up in arms over this treatment,” said the anchorman.

“Oh, they are,” said the reporter. “But if you look at it one way, it’s really no different than forbidding weapons in the courtroom.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------

“The defense would like to call Warren Worthington III to the stand.”
Archangel was sworn in, then took his seat by the judge’s bench. Kassandra had not seen as much as she would have liked of him lately, but was glad to see that he was looking remarkably well, especially considering all he’d been through. And she was even more pleased to see that nobody insisted on binding his wings.
“So, Mr. Worthington,” said Jack, “I’ve heard you’ve had a rather checkered history with my client. Would you agree with that description?”
“Yes,” said Warren. “Yes, I would.”
“And why?”
“In the time I’ve known her, I’ve known her as an ally, an enemy, and finally as a friend.”
“How would you describe her in each of those capacities, Mr. Worthington?”
“As an enemy, make no mistake. She can be dangerous. As an ally, she can be difficult and unpredictable, and may not take orders or suggestions well. But as a friend, she is very loyal.”
“Would you say she extends that same loyalty to her country?”
“Absolutely. I can’t tell you how many assignments she’d taken at risk to her own life out of her sense of patriotic duty.”
“But based on what you do know, do you think she is the sort that would intentionally betray or kill anyone.”
“No.” Warren thought for a bit. “No. Not intentionally.”
“Thank you, Mr. Worthington.” Jack took his seat.
Fitzsimmons rose and approached the stand. “Mr. Worthington, could you state for the benefit of the jurors who may not already know what your occupation is?”
“I am chairman emeritus of Worthington Industries.”
“And how did such an illustrious person as yourself come to regard Miss Altheim as an enemy in the first place? Was it anything she did?”
“No, it was not.”
“What happened, then?”
Warren hesitated, one wing giving a nervous flutter.
“Jack, you’ve got to stop this!” Kassandra whispered frantically.
Fitzsimmons pressed on. “Did it have anything to do with your affiliation with the mutant known as Apocalypse?”
“Kassandra, it might help if the jury knew you went up against that guy,” Jack whispered back.
“Still,” Kassandra replied, “She’s going to ask questions Warren can’t legally answer.”
“Objection!” said Jack, aloud. “How is this relevant to the case?”
“Your Honor,” said Fitzsimmons, “this bears upon the witness’ credibility as well as his relationship to the defendant.”
“Permission to approach, Your Honor?”
“Granted,” said Judge Montgomery.
“Your Honor,” said Jack, “this line of questioning could compel Mr. Worthington to reveal information that, while potentially helpful to my client, the CIA itself has determined is irrelevant to this case, and has kept classified.”
“Your Honor,” said Fitzsimmons, “Information on Mr. Worthington’s involvement with the Horsemen of the Apocalypse was easily available courtesy of Mr. White’s own colleague Jennifer Walters.”
“But no information on my client, Your Honor,” Jack retorted.
“Overruled,” said Judge Montgomery. “Ms. Fitzsimmons, you may present to the jury your evidence about Mr. Worthington’s affiliation with Apocalypse, but I suggest that, I suppose in the interest of national security, you change your line of questioning. And rephrase the question.”
“Looks like I won’t be calling on Logan to testify,” Jack muttered as he returned to his seat.
Fitzsimmons presented the documents in question to the bailiff, then resumed pacing before the witness stand, trying not to look like she’d just shot herself in the foot. “Very well. Mr. Worthington, can you say if Apocalypse had anything to do with the one-time animosity between you and the defendant, without going into classified specifics?”
“Yes,” said Warren. “It did.”
“And now,” said Fitzsimmons, “could you elaborate on how you came to regard the defendant as an ally? Did that have anything to do with the ties you share with Charles Xavier?”
“Actually, no.”
“Why, then, did you go from being casual acquaintances with mutual friends to actually working together?”
“After the depth of my uncle’s involvement in diamond smuggling came to their attention, the CIA recruited Kassandra to expose that syndicate’s connections in Angola, South Africa, and Namibia. I had to keep her and her station chiefs updated regarding developments on my end.”
“And as a diamond heiress, the defendant had a personal, vested interest in ending this illegal competition, right?”
“What about it?” said Warren, a little annoyed. “Most agents take assignments for personal gain. And do you know what she and her family have been doing with their money?”
“Mr. Worthington,” snapped Judge Montgomery, “answer the question.”
“Yes, she did,” said Warren.
“And you were officially a contact for the CIA during that operation. Did this relationship with the agency continue up to and during Operation Conclave?”
“Officially, no.”
“And yet, we have on record that she continued corresponding with you about an operation that was supposed to be top secret.” Fitzsimmons presented some more papers to the bailiff, who handed a couple to Warren before distributing them to the jury. “Did the defendant send you these emails?”
“Yes she did.”
“And did she call an unauthorized conference with you, the mutant formerly known as Weapon X, and Dr. Jean Grey?”
“Yes.”
“Did she discuss her intentions to go to the Cathedral, without a warrant or any federal authorization?”
“Yes, she did, as well as her reasons-”
“Thank you, Mr. Worthington.”
“Now just a minute-” Warren about jumped from his seat, wings whirring in indignation.
“That will be all Mr. Worthington,” said Fitzsimmons, sharply. “Thank you.”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 16

The prosecution then called CIA Director Gerald Karst to the stand.
“Mr. Karst,” said Fitzsimmons, “what did the defendant report to you about her involvement in Operation Conclave?”

“It’s all in the written report she submitted with her resignation- more paperwork for the jury to read through, I suppose, but there was one other thing. She admitted to me that she deliberately leaked her involvement in the raid to the press.”

“And how long has the defendant served under your direction?”
“Since she first joined the CIA.”

“And in all this time under what kinds of cover did she work- that you are at liberty to disclose to the jury, of course?”

“Zeitgeist remained working with the FBI, only under a different department and under the name Elizabeth Errol-Koenig. She’d also worked under her own identity as a diamond dealer and a member of the Hellfire Club. Bear in mind, she could work under two or more covers simultaneously, and so in addition she worked on those assignments respectively as freelance journalist Angelique Sauvegarde, and as rogue CIA officer Celestine Ritter.”

“Tell me about Celestine Ritter, what you can anyway. For what purpose did the defendant work under that alias?”

“That was so she could investigate the Hellfire Club both in New York and in London. That way, if she stepped on any toes within British Intelligence, we could sacrifice Miss Ritter without losing Zeitgeist. Fortunately-”

“Half a moment,” said Fitzsimmons. “Now, whose idea was it for her to adopt the cover of rogue officer?”

“Hers,” said Karst. “And, actually, her mission succeeded in no small part because of that.”

“Regardless,” said Fitzsimmons, “what do you think now about that willingness she showed to play the part of a rogue spy? Do you think it’s possible that reflected a growing desire to disregard the law, the chain of command, and take matters into her own hands?”

Karst looked unsure. “It’s possible, I suppose.”
“And what can you tell me of her assignment in Ronsaphan?”

“Quite simply, her cover there was as a mercenary and an assassin looking to improve her weapons proficiency and find more work. Her assignment was to track illegal weapons shipments and terrorist trainees that came through Thailand.”

“I understand that did not go quite as smoothly. Now I understand that the details of who did what wrong there are being kept secret both by the CIA and MI6. But the end result was..?”

“According to Zeitgeist’s report, the mission was compromised. The whole smuggling and terrorist training operation there was wiped out, but it came at a terrible human cost. She and only one other survived. Everyone else, even village bystanders, was slaughtered.”

“How many died by her hand?”
“It was impossible to determine.”

“But is it safe to assume that when this mutant menace gets herself in trouble, people die by the dozens, or in this case, perhaps even hundreds, right?”

“OBJECTION!” shouted Jack.
“No further questions,” said Fitzsimmons. She returned to her seat, feeling quite confident as Jack, looking as if he’d been suddenly forced to completely scrap and improvise the cross-examination, approached the stand.

“Director Karst,” said Jack, “when my esteemed counterpart questioned you about my client’s work as Celestine Ritter, you were about to say something about the purpose of creating that persona, but were cut off. What was it you were going to say?”

“I was just going to add,” said the Director, “that Scotland Yard and MI6 shared our concerns about Black Air and their apparent connections with the Hellfire Club. Through Celestine, consequently, we were able to cooperate more fully and directly with British Intelligence. But officially, Celestine did play fast and loose with our agreement to not spy upon British subjects, and once her assignment was done, she had to disappear.”

“You also said you supposed it’s possible that her willingness to take that role reflected a growing desire to flout the law and chain of command, and take matters into her own hands. Did you ever consider the idea that this actually reflected some different characteristic?” Jack asked.

“Yes, I most certainly did, at the time, even if I’m not so sure any more.”

“What was that?”
“A tendency to put herself on the line for our best interests.”

“And after Operation Conclave, how did you feel about her resignation?”

“I personally hoped she’d stay on at least until the investigation was closed,” said Karst. “She had proven herself a very capable operative, able to get unusual amounts of information, for instance, from contacts, while avoiding potentially compromising situations far more effectively than most. I was worried that her resignation would amount to a premature admission of guilt. But, of course as it turned out, she had to go.”

“Did she say why?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” said Karst. “She did not want the agency to appear to be covering for her.”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 17

And so the day dragged on. One witness after another was called up. Witnesses from the hospital, describing the wounds her boys suffered. Forensic scientists testifying about swords and ballistics. Newspaper editors. Cult experts. It seemed Miranda would never be called to the stand, but at last her turn came. What was her name? Miranda Eastman. From Napa, California. She answered flatly, like a woman who’d cried out all her tears and was utterly drained of any emotional vitality. Was she related to Justin and Jason Eastman, who had died at St. James Hospital in Butte, Montana? Yes. Yes, she is- was- their mother. As well as the aunt of Arnold Eastman.

What had become of her nephew? He’d left for Rome. The family then heard nothing from him until word got back that he was being questioned regarding his involvement in a supposed terrorist network. Then shortly after that, he went missing, and is now presumed dead.

And how about her sons? A similar story. They joined the Church of Humanity. Once she made it clear that, while she supported their decisions, no matter how religiously unorthodox, she would not follow the same path, she heard nothing more from them. Until she got a call from the hospital. At this point, an unexpected reserve of emotion started bubbling up to the surface.

“May I ask what they were being treated for?” said Fitzsimmons.
Miranda swallowed hard and tried to compose herself. “Justin lost both arms. Jason lost an arm and was shot through the leg and stomach. So I flew up to Butte as quickly as I could, and by the time I got there, they… were… gone.”

A muffled sob came from the direction of the defendant’s table. Miranda glanced over to see the defendant’s family, evidently not mutants as they were allowed to sit in the courtroom, huddled behind the surprisingly diminutive form of the accused. All appeared just barely keeping it together as Miranda was asked to recount how she suffered losing her boys, and not even being allowed to bury them.

The defendant- well even a vicious dog could appear contrite when caught. In fact, Miranda wondered why they were even bothering with a trial. It wasn’t like she was human. And she was only American on a technicality. Immigration never bothered to ask if she was a mutant. So it seemed human rights and the rights due a citizen didn’t really apply. The creature needed to be put down.

That it would mean one more human mother left behind to grieve, well… suddenly Miranda wasn’t so sure. Some people, even those who shared her anti-mutant sentiment, called her sons religious fanatics after they joined that cult and then stopped having anything to do with her. She was still their mother, and would mourn accordingly. So this other woman birthed and raised a mutant. She was certain to soon lose a daughter. They didn’t seem all that different any more.

Fitzsimmons had asked her last question, leaving Miranda to brace herself for the cross-examination. The defense attorney paced before the witness stand before he spoke.

“Mrs. Eastman, I can only imagine the enormity of your grief. After all, you didn’t lose your sons just once, but twice- the first time being when they joined the Church of Humanity. That must have been particularly painful, considering, and I’m assuming here, that you didn’t raise them to hate mutants or Catholics… or did you?”

“I never raised my boys to hate anyone!” Miranda sobbed, suddenly infuriated. “I encouraged them to think for themselves, create their own path in life, and live by their own morals, but never to hate!”

“I understand. Sometimes the apple does indeed fall farther from the tree than we expect. But just so we’re perfectly clear, you yourself don’t harbor any prejudice against mutants or Catholics, do you?”

“No, no of course not.”
“May I,” said Jack, “remind you that you are under oath?”

“Well, okay. That scandal just shot what little credibility the Church ever had with me completely. And then they had the nerve to insist that human rights must apply to mutants, like to feti, the socially unfit, all that garbage while ignoring the plight of living, productive, human children, and completely disregarding the rights of majority who don’t even think mutants are human. Yeah, I have a problem with that. And no, I don’t think mutants are fully human like you or me. Or, actually,” Miranda said, lowering her voice as she noticed the increasingly prickly demeanor of the defendant’s mother, “come, to think of it, I’m not so sure. But at any rate, I’m not prejudiced.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Eastman. No further questions.” Jack returned to his seat, muttering under his breath, “that woman assumes far too much.”