X-MEN ETERNITY

Uncanny X-Men #5: “Memory and Shadow”
Rated PG-13 for violence and language

by R. John Burke

X-Men Eternity Message Board: http://solofan.proboards76.com/index.cgi

DISCLAIMER: The X-Men are a copyright of Marvel Comics. I don't own them, but this is only non-profit fan fiction. No money is involved and no infringement is intended.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: X-Men Eternity started with the events at the end of "House of M" and went in a different direction. Nothing that happened after that is cannon for our purposes, and in fact a few things have changed. Most importantly, the majority of the X-Men have been scattered through space and time.

"Uncanny X-Men" is the series dealing with those left behind.

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

“Are we there yet?”

Emma Frost said nothing, just nodded toward a sign along the highway which read “US Route 95: Boston, Cape Cod-- 25 Miles.” It was, she thought, the most polite reply she could have possibly made to a query she'd heard at least a dozen times. If it had been anyone else beside her in the car, she would have made a sarcastic reply. Of all the possible ways to prove her exceptional intellect, Emma liked being catty best of all.

But it was Jubilation Lee beside her, and Emma was all too conscious that she was in Jubilee's debt. The young X-Man had come to her when she was disgraced and humiliated, unceremoniously evicted from the team and from her relationship with Scott Summers-- Cyclops. (* last issue) Alone among her colleagues, Jubilee had wanted to believe in Emma and had dropped everything to accompany her on this trip. That was... strangely touching, or maybe just strange, coming from an ex-student she'd never been particularly close to, so Emma kept a civil tongue in her head for the moment.

She was unaccustomed to being civil, and even less accustomed to being in people's debt. She didn't enjoy the feeling. Emma resolved to do something spectacularly impressive for Jubilee at first convenience, to wipe that debt off the record.

“I'm worried about Wolvie,” Jubilee said. “It's been so long since he checked in... what if he's hurt? The dumb Canucklehead is lost without me...”

“You didn't have to come,” Emma said.

“I know. But to tell you the truth, I'm kinda curious... I mean, where are we going? Not back to Snow Valley?”

Emma arched an eyebrow. “Afraid to visit the old stomping grounds, dear? I quite understand. I used to have a recurring dream where I was back at *my* old high school. I was naked... and, well, stunning, of course, so really it all turned out rather well.”

Jubilee wrinkled her nose. “Thanks for sharing. I am totally gonna hurl.”

“I wish you wouldn't. This is a rental.”

“It's just that... well, the last time we were at the Academy, you were kinda into killing people.”

Emma looked across at her and smirked. “Come, Jubilation, do I criticize *your* hobbies?”

The girl made a face. “That's so not funny.”

Emma stared at the road for a long moment before continuing: “Get used to it. I'm afraid very little we're about to see will be *nice*. We're here to dig up the bodies from under the floorboards.”

“Meaning Adrienne, or that cop?”

Emma winced at mention of the circumstances surrounding her sister's death. Horrible as all that had been, this had potential to be infinitely worse. She said quietly: “Those aren't the bodies I meant...”

“You've got a collection?”

“Hundreds, darling. Need I remind you? Ex-villainess.”

“I think you mean X-Villainess,” said Jubes. “Do you have any idea what kind of totally freaky vibe I'm getting right now? This is like Leo-in-Titanic level bad mojo, times a billion.”

“I'm sure I could sort out that cultural reference if I had the time.” Emma sipped from a cup of coffee. “Believe me, if there was another way, we'd be taking it.”

Jubilee sighed. “You know there's gonna be ghosts, right?”

“Is this devil-may-care Jubilation Lee I hear, lecturing me on the nature of the afterlife? Theology ill suits you, dear.”

“Not the kind of ghosts I meant.”

Some fool tried to pass Emma by going 80. She glared, then tapped the fellow's mind. He might arrive at his destination before she did, but *she* wouldn't be under the delusion that she was Christopher Columbus when she got there.

“Did you just drain that dude's brain?” Jubilee asked, suspicious.

“Whatever gives you that idea, dear?”

“You only smile like that when there's evil in progress.”

Emma glanced sideways at her. “Jubilation, I think perhaps we've known each other a bit *too* long.”

“Prob'ly. Emma, you gotta do one thing for me.”

She sighed. “I know. You want to know my motives are pure. I admit, I have been... out of sorts. We are about to unearth a secret I would have preferred remain buried. It will be unpleasant. It may be dangerous. But it will not be unethical, you have my word. Trust me, Jubilee.”

The girl grimaced at her. “'Kay. Actually, I was just gonna ask if we could hit a rest stop. I really need to pee.”

“I will never take you anywhere again.”

“*You* paid for the 32-ounce soda.”

Jubilee was *almost* smiling. To Emma's surprise, so was she. She'd spent the last several months surrounded by people who, to one degree or another, despised her. Only Scott had been the exception, and even he could be... difficult. In Jubilee, she had a partner who was nearly as self-absorbed as she herself, and thus had little time to judge Emma. If it was not precisely bonding, it would do until something better came along.

****

“You let Jubilee do *what?*”

Scott Summers frowned. Standing before him in the den was Phoebe Cuckoo, part of the Five-in-One group mind. Using her connection to her sister Celeste in Reality 758, the blonde girl was able to relay messages between him and Kurt Wagner-- Nightcrawler-- one of the X-Men now trapped in that era's Second World War. (*X-Force series) In the process, she copied all of Kurt's mannerisms and even matched his German accent. For all purposes, she might have *been* Nightcrawler, although without the blue fuzz. Scott sort of missed the fuzz.

“I didn't *let* her do anything,” he replied. “Jubilee's not my daughter or my ward. She's an X-Man.”

“Logan's going to kill you,” Kurt said.

“She chose to go with Emma and I respected her decision.”

Phoebe regarded him with glowing eyes that were very like Kurt's soulful stare. “I get the feeling there is more to this, mein freund. Where has Emma gone, precisely?”

“I don't know.” Scott sat on the edge of his desk and sighed. “She left without speaking to me.”

“Because...?”

He made a face-- remembering too late that Celeste, on the other side of the contact, would relay the expression perfectly. “I don't really need a confessor, Kurt.”

“I was not offering. But if the girl does not return, Logan *will* kill you. And to tell you the truth, I may wish to assist him.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Scott said. He cleaned his ruby quartz glasses and then substituted them for the visor. “Keep me informed, Kurt. I have to go.”

“Scott, if I may, you're acting very strange about all this. Are you sure there's nothing you...?”

“I have an appointment,” Scott said, and walked out.

****

When he'd slammed the door behind him, Phoebe Cuckoo released her connection to Celeste, but remained in the Five-in-One group mind, in the empty space between time where they habitually met. She waited while, slowly, her other sisters Mindee, Sophie, and Esme faded in, the five identical girls now facing each other in a small circle.

“Can this wait?” she asked the others. “I have a class.”

Sophie, the group mind's leader, stepped forward. “It's urgent. Tell them what you told us, Mindee.”

Mindee, who was in the distant past of Reality 225 (*eXcalibur series), made a face. “The Slayer's made his move against Miss Grey. If he corners her, or worse...”

“Then I pity him,” Esme smirked.

“But he's strong now,” Celeste said.

“He's drawn more power than we anticipated,” said Phoebe.

“I... I can't do this,” Mindee admitted. “I'm failing here. I need help.”

Sophie frowned. “Are you certain there's no alternative?”

“She already confronted him once (*eXcalibur #3),” Esme said. “You can't expect more from her. It's cruel.”

“She won.”

Mindee said, “Only because I tricked him into thinking we'd kill the X-Men. He won't believe it again.”

“Are we certain it's a trick?” Phoebe asked.

“Maybe we should revisit...” Celeste said.

“No killing.” Sophie reiterated her standard line.

“That's all very well for you. You've already failed us once. (* X-Factor #4).” Esme cocked her head at the sister she'd once killed. “You had a chance at him, and not only did you botch it, you may have cost us Worthington, our ace-in-the-hole.”

“On your suggestion!” Sophie said. “You wanted me to fail!”

“Prove it.”

“Esme, stop!” said Celeste.

“Both of you,” Mindee added.

“I've had enough,” Sophie said. “She fights us every step of the way. She challenges me at every turn. She's not one of us. The Professor made a mistake in--”

Esme smiled. “You said not to mention the Professor, don't you remember?”

“I want her expelled!”

The other three sisters, those who had survived as the Three-in-One until the rebirth of their siblings, stared at each other and fidgeted uncomfortably.

“We think that's premature,” they said together.

“She's dangerous,” Sophie pressed.

“You're the one who's acting irrationally, Sophie darling, not me.” Esme gave a beatific smile. Phoebe wished she didn't look so pleased with herself. If they had a falling-out now...

“We have to cut her off, as we discussed. We'll regret it if we don't.”

The three other sisters continued to squirm. By unspoken consensus, it was Phoebe who stepped forward:

“We're... afraid.”

Sophie glared at her. “What?”

“It hurt so much,” Celeste said, “when you died.”

“You don't know,” said Mindee. “We lost everything with you.”

“We can't again,” said Phoebe. “We're sorry. We need you both.”

Sophie turned her gaze across the circle at Esme, who shrugged and tried to keep her self-satisfaction from becoming too over-the-top.

“The people have spoken,” she said.

“It doesn't mean you're right,” Mindee said.

“It just means I win.”

“For now,” said Celeste.

Phoebe frowned at both her feuding sisters in turn. She didn't normally take a leadership role, but Sophie was stewing and more than a little shocked. *Somebody* had to do it.

“Hold on, Mindee. We'll help as soon as we can.” To the combatants, she added: “Please settle this. Don't make us choose.”

The connection faded. Phoebe thought she felt their hopes fading with it, and decided she was just being over-dramatic. Esme had been wrong about one thing: Warren Worthington was nothing. Bobby Drake was still the center. Whatever else failed... even their ace-in-the-hole, even Jean Grey herself... in the end, it would all depend on Drake. Phoebe only hoped she would be ready to deal with him, one way or another.

****

Nightfall. The downtown streetlights just beginning to glow. Clarice Ferguson stood outside the halo of light they provided, still scared to let people in this timeline see her lavender skin and pointed ears. Whatever Jubes thought, Clarice suspected they would lock her up first and ask questions later.

Clarice sighed. Jubes. For her first couple of weeks in this dimension, she'd been irritated as hell by the exuberant little motormouth. But shared training and shared danger had bred respect and then friendship, and now Clarice felt rather lost without her. If nothing else, Jubilee had always gone out of her way to make sure the mutant called Blink was included in what went on at the mansion. Now... there was too much happening, too fast. She was the outsider. She didn't have a purpose here.

Clarice stepped out of the shadows, wondering if 'window-shopping' was really all Jubes cracked it up to be, and whether it might not kill an evening, when suddenly...

“Tag, girl,” said a low voice. Pain blossomed across her back and she was knocked to the ground. “You're IT.”

Clarice tucked into a ball, rolled, and came up on her feet with a javelin held ready. The shadows were empty. She cursed.

“Mr. Creed...? Is that you?”

No response. Clarice took a step.

“I know your voice. I also know your style. I'm not interested in playing games tonight. If you want to talk, let's--”

SLASH! She dodged just before a claw would have cut her jugular, tossing the javelin one-handed. Victor Creed-- the mutant assassin Sabretooth-- jumped over it, fangs bared, eyes glowing in the dark. Blink tried to run, but he clawed her leg on the way past. She fell, and a moment later he was on top of her, one set of natural claws and one of synthetic pressed to her throat.

“You see these, girl?” he growled, flexing the metal claws. “That's your handiwork. You took th' whole arm (* Uncanny #1). My healin' factor ain't workin. Now I'm a freak like the runt. You're gonna pay for that.”

Clarice stared up at the monster, so reminiscent of a man who'd been practically her father in another dimension. “I had my orders. You know how it goes. Just doing the job.”

“Aww... 'zat all the love you got for Daddy?” He ran one claw across her cheek, drawing blood. “You really had me goin', with that story a' yours. Poor little orphan girl, no place to go. Beauty an' the Beast. I'm cryin', here.”

She made a face. “It's the truth. I don't care if you believe it. But if you didn't, I'd be dead by now.”

Creed snarled. “You sayin' I'm getting' soft? You think you made me hesitate?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you're right.” He grinned. “Done a lot a' thinkin' since we met, girl. I can't have people goin' 'round tellin' tales about what a nice guy I coulda been. I got a rep to protect. Way I figure it, there's only one solution.”

Clarice sighed. “You're going to kill me.”

Creed nodded, grinning like a Cheshire. “Like you said, just business. You don't squirm too much, I'll make it quick.”

“Thanks,” she said, stone-faced. “You might take a moment to remember, though, Mr. Creed, that I'm touching you. Pretty much every part of you. And I can teleport anything I can touch. You thought the missing arm was fun? *Believe* me, there are worse things you can lose.”

He laughed, a sound like a lion's roar. “I *do* like you, kid. But if you make me angry, this can get awful bad.”

“I'll chance it.”

“Your funeral.”

He drew back his claws. Clarice stared him down, hoping she wouldn't have to make good on her threat. She knew she'd hurt worse if she killed him than if he killed her-- which didn't mean she wouldn't do it. The claw began its downward arc...

“Creed! What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Clarice looked up. Two more figures approaching. The streetlamp hit the first, revealing yellow eyes on blue skin. Mystique. The odds just kept getting better. She BLINKED out from under Creed, reappearing a few meters away in a ready stance, with javelins drawn.

“Put away your toys, Miss Ferguson,” Mystique said. “You know mine are better.”

Clarice's nose wrinkled. She didn't like admitting defeat, but Mystique had beaten her rather easily in their last go-'round (issues #2-3). A quick withdrawal might be best...

She wasn't alone in objecting to the shapeshifter's presence. Creed was soon on his feet, snarling: “Checkin' up on me, boss? You got no right to interfere; this is private.”

Mystique shrugged. “Actually I couldn't care less, but I'm here on business. Your attitude might queer my deal; frankly, you're not worth it. So step aside.”

If there was one rule Clarice knew by heart, it was that any guy calling himself Sabretooth would be impossible to intimidate. The two assassins glared at each other, Mystique's hand twitching near her gun belt, Creed's muscles tensed for a strike.

“You heard the lady,” said the person with Mystique. He stepped into the light, revealing Scott Summers, with his hand on his glasses. “Back off.”

Creed grinned. “Hey, Scottie! Been hopin' for another shot at you. You're blood's sweeter'n the runt's. Maybe Red knew what she was doin' all along.”

Cyclops took a step, the twitching muscle in his jaw the only sign that he really would have liked to blast Sabretooth a new bodily orifice. Clarice stepped between them, not entirely sure which man she was defending.

“Back off,” Scott repeated. “I will warn you *once*.”

“An' then what?”

CLICK. That was the sound of a hammer being pulled back-- actually, two hammers simultaneously-- as Mystique pointed a gun in each direction.

“*Men*,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Miss Ferguson, do you ever get the feeling that all these pointless superheroics are just another way for a bunch of males to determine who has the bigger... Spandex?”

Creed lowered his claws. Scott let go of his glasses. Mystique holstered her weapons. Clarice took a breath.

“What are you both doing here?” she asked.

“You're the intruders,” said Mystique. “Scott and I have a date.”

Clarice arched an eyebrow at her superior. “Jubes was right. You *do* move on fast.”

“Not that kind of date,” Scott said. “We're discussing our common enemy.”

Creed laughed. “Turnin' on the big boss, Raven? Can't say I'm surprised. Figured you had at least one more double-cross left in ya.”

“If you're talking about the Slayer,” Clarice said, “how d'you know he's not watching us right now?”

“It can be in multiple timelines simultaneously but, I think, only one place per timeline. I have a telepath on the corner with her senses wide open. We should get some warning of his approach.”

“Our telepaths haven't been much good against it,” Scott said.

“Yes, that's why I took the liberty of arranging a... further distraction.”

“A what?”

Mystique smiled. “It'll only upset you, Cyclops. Let's discuss more practical matters.”

Scott looked from the shapeshifter to her pet, his expression tight. “Blink, maybe you'd better return to the mansion. Tell Bobby to...”

She shook her head. “And leave you here, facing two against one? I don't think so.”

“I can take care of myself. Trust me.”

“Yeah,” said Creed, licking his fangs. “Trust him.”

“I'll stay.”

Scott glared at her, but Blink didn't think he was really going to bust her for excessive loyalty. He turned back to Mystique. “In that case, talk fast.”

****

Bobby Drake had turned in early, his habit of late. He spent his days in what was left of the Danger Room, perfecting his skills-- he was trying to learn to do on purpose what he'd done accidentally down in Mexico (* issue #2): convert entirely into sentient vapor to control the atmosphere around him. He had a feeling even the Slayer wouldn't expect *that*.

He had a long way to go, but he was making progress with other skills. Once, when she'd taken over his mind for a while, Emma Frost had showed Bobby a variety of new ways to use his powers. Bobby could do nearly all of them now. He'd never been so focused, so determined to get it *right* for once.

The X-Men were his family. If he had to protect him all by himself, he would.

Bobby didn't sleep well anymore-- which was inconvenient, because he really *wanted* to sleep, to see more of the precognitive dream that had set him off (* last two issues). He'd thought about sleeping pills, but he'd heard they didn't afford a lot of REM sleep, which would defeat the purpose. So he'd work himself to a frazzle, until he was so exhausted he collapsed into bed. Then he'd wake up in a frozen sweat during the night and have to spend the next morning guzzling coffee for a kickstart. As lifestyles went, it wasn't the healthiest, but he hoped it wouldn't last long.

And it was getting results: the dreams kept coming, slowly revealing more of themselves. Tonight, for example, he returned to his room, literally shaking from weariness, and was asleep the instant head met pillow. He saw a part of the dream he never had before, from the tantalizing middle section that so far remained hidden:

He's just returned from the mission with Mystique (*last issue) and he's in a hurry. He puts on a game face for the sake of the students he passes. They look up to him; the Iceman is nearly a legend by now. One of the original X-Men, but while the others' skills have begun to dull with age, he's stronger than ever, the field leader of the Gold Team, comprised of their most formidable fighters. Even Logan defers to him. It's an amazing feeling; Bobby never dreamed he could come this far. He smiles and nods to the students as he approaches the headmaster's office. No, no, nothing to worry about. Just another mission. Everything's going to be fine. He's not sure he believes it.

Blue Team's field leader, the newly-promoted Jubilation Lee, is already in the office when Bobby arrives. Sensing an opportunity, he tries on his best smile-- still youthful and dashing, since even his flesh-and-blood body is now comprised of what Bobby thinks of as "sculpted ice," able to be shaped and re-shaped as desired. Bobby Drake is effectively ageless, and so is the game they play:

"Heya, Jubes. I swear you've gotten even prettier since you made team leader. What are you doing for dinner tonight?"

She frowns back, but with a twinkle in her eye. "Same thing I was doing the last twelve times you asked, Drake. Turning you down. Doesn't it ever puncture your massive ego?"

"Nah. Someday you'll succumb to my charms."

"You have charms? No, seriously, YOU have CHARMS? I'll alert the media."

Bobby laughs. "Unbelievable. The lady hangs out with Wolverine and *I'm* beneath her standards..."

"You gotta admit Wolvie exudes a certain animal magnetism."

He leans in close. She doesn't seem to mind. "Are you saying I lack magnetism?"

"Well, sure, since Lorna left you."

"Ouch." He makes a show of the Hurt Puppy Dog Face. "You're a cold woman, Miss Lee. Ice-cold. I think that's what I like about you."

"Ha!" Jubilee takes a long step around him. "Big talk from a guy who'd need an igloo, a space heater, and a parka to keep a girl warm at night."

"Are you suggesting a date? Because I can totally procure those things..."

"Excuse me," says a new voice, and they both turn. Bobby's vaguely disappointed that he didn't hear Jubilee's answer. He thought that last zinger was a good one. "If you're both quite finished your mating dance, I did call you here for a reason."

"Sorry, Prof," says Jubilee. "What's the deal?"

Professor Charles Xavier is looking old these days; not just *older*, like everybody else Bobby knows, but *old*. The events of the last few years have taken a heavy toll on him. His face is now heavily lidded and crisscrossed with deep lines. But his mind is as strong as ever, and the lilt in his voice remains that of a proud father overlooking his children. He is the heart and soul of everything for the X-Men... but even he is not omnipotent, and these small, happy moments are coming fewer and further between as the mutant community he established careens headfirst into the future...

“In a moment, Jubilation,” he says, wheeling himself over to shake Bobby's hand with both of his. “Robert. It's good to have you back. Have you any news for us? Discovered-- anything?”

Bobby shares a look with Jubilee, then shakes his head. “I'm sorry, sir. We tried everything-- even Creed tried, but it's just like the other times. There's not a trace.”

Xavier's face falls. “I feared as much. My friends, we may now have to consider the possibility that this enemy is beyond us.”

Jubilee looks alarmed. She's never seen the old man so... defeated. “Hey, come on! I'm scared for Kurt an' Rachel too, but that's no reason to throw in the towel! You've still got me an' Wolvie an' Cyke to count on... an' even Drake's almost as good as he thinks he is.”

She smiles sweetly in Bobby's direction. He considers a rude gesture, then decides that won't help his cause. Xavier wheels away, his back to them.

“Have you spoken to Logan recently? I had hoped he would respond to my summons, as you did, but the man's barely civil to me. He's become paranoid...”

“It's not his fault!” Jubilee objects. “We lost Kitty right in front of him, an' now he's scared the same thing's gonna happen to Ororo. *Anybody'd* go a little nuts.”

“Perhaps you're right.” Xavier stops at his desk and turns around the flat-panel computer screen so they can see it. “Worse, I fear Logan is right. We've already lost Rogue... Chamber... Kitty... the Ferguson girl. Now Kurt and Rachel. I begin to understand his pattern.”

“Can we like buy a vowel?” Jubilee says. “Because it looks pretty random to me.”

“Later,” says the Professor. “For now, the important point is, I believe there are two possible targets for his next strike: Ororo... and you, Robert.”

Bobby stiffens. Somehow, in all the time he's spent fighting this threat, he's never quite imagined it might turn on *him*. He sees Jubilee looking at him, and is gratified to realize she's worried. He grins.

“C'mon, guys. Who'd want me?”

Jubes covers her concern by playing along with the joke: “Who'd *have* him, even?”

Xavier wheels out from behind his desk and seizes Bobby's hand, his grip still strong, his words and the extra mental kick he gives them conveying urgency:

“Do not underrate this threat, Robert. We made that mistake for too long, and now we're paying for it.”

“I'm ready,” he promises.

The professor nods. “Then perhaps the two of you will join me in a small... experiment?”

“Same old Prof,” says Jubilee. “Still trying to con us into extra science classes.”

“In case... in the unlikely case that there is nothing we can do, I believe I have... a last-ditch option to offer.” Xavier clears his throat and touches the intercom button on his desk. “You may come in now.”

Bobby turns to the door, and is surprised-- or rather, his real self is surprised that his dream self is *not* particularly surprised-- to see Barnabas, the big mutant called Savant whom he met in Mexico. Xavier wheels forward and shakes his hand, too, thanking him for... his help? Savant looks at him and Bobby with that same worshipful stare the students use. He'd do anything they asked. Bobby fears it will mean his death.

A few more words are exchanged, and Savant leaves. Xavier proceeds to lay out his plan for the others. Bobby can't quite tell what he's saying-- it's almost like his mind intentionally skips past that part-- but he knows he reacts with some concern. The Professor isn't kidding when he calls this a last resort. And he knows that Xavier touches his brain, and Jubilee's, and it's all in preparation for.. argh! He loses the thread. No specifics.

“Remember,” Xavier says as he finishes, “the trigger will be most important. The word order must be exact. I will rely upon the two of you to...”

An alarm goes off. Xavier has only just finished. He slaps at it in some concern. A face appears on the computer screen: It's Logan, who ought to be as ageless as Bobby, but he's looking old and haggard, beaten, like the Professor...

“It's 'Ro,” he says in a feral growl. “Nothin' I could... better get somebody here now.”

The screen goes dark. Bobby swears under his breath.

“I'll go to him,” Jubilee says. “If anybody can snap him out of it...”

“Be careful,” Bobby says.

The Chinese woman laughs. “Careful won't get me your job, Mr. Drake.”

“I'm more concerned with your life, Miss Lee.”

“I'll be all right,” she says more seriously, from the door.

Then she's gone. Bobby shares a look with the Professor...

The dream fast-forwards to the part with the murders, and the kiss, and his death.

Bobby woke to find icicles hanging off his ceiling, and himself exhaling clouds of frost. His powers must have gone a little haywire in his sleep. He thought: *That was a bad one...*

Then his head cleared a little, and he realized the alarm he'd heard hadn't *just* been in the dream...

****

James Proudstar sat in the manion's dining room with his feet up on the adjoining chair, his enhanced senses extended, listening to the chirping of crickets and the breeze ruffling leaves outside. He'd been among these people too long, always worried, always under siege. He'd had no time of his own, to seek his center, even if he had to find it in the middle of the night...

A footstep. A scent-- familiar. Proudstar tensed, but did not grab for his knives. It wasn't that kind of tension.

“Jimmy?” says a quiet voice.

He nods. “In here.”

Theresa Rourke Cassidy-- Siryn-- was the daughter of the X-Man Banshee and Proudstar's longtime, mostly unrequited love. She stood in the doorway, her long red hair down around her shoulders. Proudstar kept his eyes mostly closed, merely glancing at her, but it was good to see her well. It had been touch-and-go for a while with Terry, but under the care of Annie Ghazikanian and thanks to the telepathic intervention of Annie's son (* see last issue), she was almost recovered from the injuries she'd suffered at Mystique's hand. The color was back in her cheeks. She was staring at him. Proudstar shifted in his seat.

“You're a hard one to figure, James Proudstar,” she said, entering the room. “They tell me yeh hardly left me bedside, an' now I can't get a word with yeh.”

“Workin' hard,” Proudstar said. “Emma's off the team, Cyke's acting weird, the kid's gone... they're short-handed. D'you know I taught a literature class this morning?”

“How'd that go?”

“Learned something.” He quoted: “Hear thou how soft, how sad his voice is ever calling/Ever unanswered, and the dark rain falling...”

“Joyce,” she said.

“Yup. I get my merit badge for culture.” Proudstar crossed his legs, stretched, and yawned. “I also did some stuff I'm good at. Taught self-defense, threw some punches. I figure two, three more weeks... just hold the fort 'till things sort out... and I'll have repaid my debt here.”

“An' then what? Yeh're leavin'?”

Proudstar quirked one eye open. “You're not?”

Terry stood beside the table, shaking her head. “Not yet. I'm worried about m' dad. They tried t' contact him today, but it seems we rang at a bad time. Somethin's happenin' over there, Jimmy. Somethin' bad.”

“Well...” he frowned. “Sean's tough.”

“I know it.”

She shifted from foot to foot, but didn't seem to want to sit down. Proudstar felt awkward, gestured to a chair; she declined.

“So...” he cleared his throat. “That's why you can't sleep?”

“Not that alone,” Terry said. “Jimmy... they said Mystique attacked you, as well. I was wonderin'... what form she took to approach yeh.”

Proudstar froze. He wondered what might offend her more-- a lie, or the news that Mystique had used her own shape to coax him into a compromising position. He didn't want to make things awkward for Terry, or to make her think he expected... anything... for standing by her.

“My brother's,” he said, stone-faced. Everyone knew his issues regarding John Proudstar, recruited into the X-Men years earlier and killed on a mission, so it made a plausible lie.

“Oh,” Terry said, equally neutral. “That must ha' been... difficult.”

“You have no...”

CLUNK. A sound, barely audible to most people, from several rooms away. But nobody was supposed to be in that part of the mansion, and it sounded unnatural. And, hell, he needed a distraction. Proudstar shot to his feet, grabbing his knives from their sheathes...

Terry heard it, too. Her sound powers were more versatile than her father's-- enhanced hearing among them. She had already turned toward the door--

“Stay here!” Proudstar told her. “You're hurt!”

“If I were mad, I would!” Which Proudstar translated from the Irish as: Hell, no. “Sounds like more than one. We'd best...”

Proudstar guessed she was about to say something about caution. He was already out the door, so she might have saved her breath.

He caught the scents when he reached the corridor beyond-- two strange, two all-too-familiar. The first of them were in Scott's office, just down the corridor. Proudstar crashed through the door--

Two mutants were in the room: A pop-eyed little man, squatting on top of the desk, and a tall, powerful female whose body was a mass of greenish-white scar tissue. Proudstar recognized them as members of Mystique's new Brotherhood (* issues 2-3).

“Uh-oh,” said the little one. “This is bad, Sonja. This is so bad. Figures we'd rob a house of insomniacs.”

“We're not here to rob, Hawk,” said the woman.

“Why the hell *are* you here?” Proudstar growled. “Never mind-- you're leaving!”

He lunged at Sonja, slicing diagonally with his knife, and caught her across the shoulder. She hardly noticed, as the wound turned to more scar tissue immediately. Then she backhanded him across the room; he hit the wall hard, and the little guy bounced onto his chest. He landed a flurry of kicks and punches, always darting out of the way before the mutant called Warpath could grab him.

“You know, modern medical technology can help your sleeping disorder,” Hawk said. “We call this beat-the-crap-out-of-you-therapy. It's an instant cure! Side effects include death, death, death, death, and-- well, death.”

“Shut UP!” Proudstar growled, trying to brush the thing off.

Suddenly Hawk gagged and jerked to a halt, as someone moving as fast as him grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. It proved to be Jean-Paul Beaubier-- Northstar-- looking bleary-eyed and even more irritable than usual in his nightshirt and little else.

“Cute ensemble,” Proudstar said, gaining his feet as Jean-Paul pitched the little guy against the wall.

“I'm flattered you noticed,” said Jean-Paul, dodging a blow from Sonja. “I'd return the compliment, but 'homicidal lovelorn giant' isn't really my type. You understand.”

“Understood and much appreciated,” said Proudstar. He pounded a couple of punches into the scarred mutant's midsection. “Where's Terry?”

“We met in the corridor. I sent her after the others.”

“You WHAT? Alone?”

“Bobby will be joining her,” said Jean-Paul. He blasted Sonja point-blank with a burst of light, and Proudstar put her on the ground with a tremendous punch. She hit her head and lay still. “And now, if you like, so can we.”

“Suits me.” They ran for the door. “And by the way? I'm not homicidal.”

“I note you didn't quibble with 'lovelorn giant.'”

“Shut up.”

Jean-Paul streaked ahead, with Proudstar doggedly running after him.

****

Theresa Cassidy followed the sounds of commotion up one flight, and to the last place she'd expected troublemakers to break into-- the room three doors down from hers, where James Proudstar was staying. She had only a moment to contemplate that, another moment to let herself feel the pain of pushing her wounded body to its limits, and then she burst in...

One of the biggest men Theresa had ever seen was in the midst of trashing the place, while his dark, slender companion brooded off to the side. As Theresa entered, she was reprimanding the brute:

“Savant! Hey, c'mon, *hermano*, calm down! We got a job to do!”

“He's here,” the big mutant growled. “He will kill me. I have seen it. (* issue #2).”

“I don't give a--”

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Theresa wasted no time introducing herself. If the big fellow hadn't ruined Jimmy's room entirely, she'd finished the job: The windows blew out. A picture frame shattered. The bruiser, Savant, fell against the wall and covered his ears.

The woman wasn't as bad-off. She reached out. “Neat trick, *Tere*. But I can do it, too...”

She gestured, and something-- a book, the Siryn thought-- *exploded* on the shelf next to her head. She blocked the debris with her sonics, but the other woman was moving closer. POW! The ground at Theresa's feet exploded. She stumbled, hit the floor, wondering if a head-on scream would prove more effective.

“Hello again, Metralla” said a voice behind her.

The woman looked annoyed. “Not *you*.”

“Sorry,” said Bobby Drake. He stepped to Theresa's side, and the temperature took a sudden drop. The slender woman reached out again, her eyes widening...

“You said you disrupt bonds. I'm betting you need some kind of molecular friction for that. But the molecules in this room are all moving much too slowly. That's what happens in the cold. I *will* introduce you to absolute zero, if I have to...”

Theresa frowned at him. She didn't know Bobby Drake well, but his demeanor certainly didn't jibe with the devil-may-care, wisecracking Iceman she'd heard about. He sounded, and looked, positively grim...

“Put them on ice,” Bobby told her, “or I will.”

Theresa shrugged and altered her sonics, screaming a new tune that was meant to affect her target's mood centers-- entrancing them like a literal siren. Metralla swayed and then fell to her knees, disoriented. In the background, Savant stood enraptured-- music, or at least melodic sonic pulses-- having soothed the savage breast.

Jimmy and another man-- Northstar-- ran into the room, nearly startling Theresa from her song. They quickly bound the captives, but when James Proudstar approached Savant, he drew back, song or no.

“You...” he whispered. “You are going to kill me, but I will kill you first.”

Bobby Drake flinched. The others didn't notice, but Theresa did.

“I heard it the first time, pal,” Jimmy said. “Let me say: That future you're worried about? I am less opposed than ever to making it happen. Like right now.”

“Jimmy, don't!” Theresa said, breaking off her song. “Can't yeh see he's terrified?”

“He should be.”

“Leave him alone, Warpath,” Bobby said. He walked up to Savant, chill coming off him in waves. “We need to question this guy. He knows things.”

“He is the last person in the room I would accuse of knowing things,” said Jean-Paul.

Bobby glowered at the big man. “Trust me... he does.”

****

“You sent them WHERE?” Scott Summers said, grabbing Mystique by the arms.

She broke the hold easily. “Oh, relax. They're under orders not to kill anyone.”

“What if they forget?” Blink asked.

“Happens to me all th' time,” Creed said. “An' they ain't the brightest group.”

“That's true, they're not.” Mystique frowned. “The whole lineup was chosen by the Slayer, and I don't know why. These people... they're not mutant-supremacists. They don't share any goals with Sabretooth and myself.”

“He has goals?” Scott said, jerking his chin at Victor Creed.

“Live fast, draw lots'a blood, leave an ugly corpse. Workin' out so far.”

“These recruits, though,” Mystique continued, “they struck me more like...

“Like what?” Blink prompted.

“If you must know, more like X-Men in waiting.”

“Most of 'em hadda be tricked into fightin' you freaks,” Creed said. “Hell, I'd have done it for a cold beer. Or a warm beer. Or a root beer. Or--”

“We get the point,” said Blink.

“No, I don't think you do.” Sabretooth showed his fangs. “Point is, you go ahead an' have your little council a' war. Second it falls apart-- an' it will-- you're mine.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Mister Creed, look around for a moment. Everybody here hates you except me. And you're planning to messily devour *me*. It might be time to consider whether you're living right.”

“Enough,” said Mystique. “I couldn't possibly care. I care about Rogue and Kurt and getting out of this alive, not really in that order. If he forces us to attack...”

“Frankly, I think we can take you,” Scott said.

Mystique fingered her gun belt. “Maybe. But guess who's least likely to survive the first shot?”

“Heh. You do remind of Emma, you know.”

“In your sad and lonely dreams, Summers.”

Scott sighed. “Well, what's your suggestion? How do we beat it?”

“I don't know yet,” Mystique said. “But...”

Somebody screamed. The group turned as one, reaching for their various weapons. At the end of the block, very dimly, Clarice saw a billowing cloud...

“Oh, dear,” said Mystique. “I think that was our telepath.”

Creed growled. “Nice diversion, babe.”

“Oh, shut up. I...” The shapeshifter suddenly trailed of, staring into space while her pupils dilated. Her breath came harder. “No... no, I...”

“What the hell?” said Blink.

“He's in 'er head,” snarled Creed. “I think he's in her head...”

Scott said, “How's that...”

A javelin hit him, and he BLINKED to Clarice's side one second before Mystique blasted his old position with a full clip. Her eyes flashed from yellow to black, and the grin on her face was somewhere between cannibalistic and transcendent. She tore into Sabretooth the same way. Victor Creed fell, but Blink wasn't worried. She knew his capabilities too well; that wasn't nearly enough ammo to kill him. Her and Scott, on the other hand...

The possessed Mystique turned. “Now, child... I think it's time we were going.”

“Think again,” Scott said, and took off his glasses.

ZRAAAAAAAAACK!!! He blasted full strength through where Mystique should have been. She was moving already, rolling under the burst and coming up next to Cyclops. She drove a blow into his neck that landed with a sickening *crunch* and Scott fell, still blasting. Mystique was clipped by the burst and fell on top of him...

But the shadow was already leaving her, flowing through the air, coalescing around Blink. She could hear it talking in her mind...

--Understand, Clarice Ferguson, it had to be this way. It's why I needed the Witch to bring you here.--

“*You* took me away from the Exiles? Why?”

She could feel the thing's smile... and the utter cold that went with it. --Why, to join my collection, of course. We're very glad to have you...--

****

Jubilation Lee had forgotten how much of the night sky you could see from this particular clearing near what had been the Massachusetts Academy. She stared up at it, transfixed, while Emma Frost crunched through the woods behind her. Jubilee didn't understand a lot about this trip, like why Emma had brought them here, or why she'd slept in the hotel room until dark instead of getting right down to business, or why she'd turned down an offer to paff the main building's locks in favor of sneaking around the grounds. At this moment, none of it mattered a bit.

“Angelo brought me here,” she whispered, not caring if Emma heard. “Like two weeks after classes started. Got me out of bed in the middle of the night. I barely knew him. I figured he was a sleazoid, y'know? I threatened to totally paff his butt if he tried anything. But this is what he wanted to show me.”

She laughed, blinking back tears. “Couple of LA kids, y'know? Never got to stargaze, not really. I mean, I saw 'em some. Like traveling with Wolvie, or back in Westchester. I dunno if he realized that. Didn't matter anyway. It was... *he* was... it was nice. He was a gentleman, the geek. Now I wish he'd tried somethin'. Y'know, if all we take out of life is memories, we ought to have good ones... Emma?”

Her old teacher only grunted. Jubilee half-turned. Was that actually Emma Frost... *her* Emma Frost... on her hands and knees in the dirt?

“'Scuse me,” Jubilee said, “was that soda, like, hallucinogenic? 'Cause this is not happening.”

“Here it is...” Emma said, and started brushing away leaves. She lifted up a large rock and rolled it aside. “Help me here, won't you, darling? My fingernails are quite dirty enough...”

So Jubilee found herself in the last place she'd ever expected this caper to wind up-- on her hands and knees beside Emma Frost, digging in the dirt. She was about to ask again if the older woman was off her medication or something, when her hands struck something hard.

Two minutes later, she held it aloft: A small box of ornately engraved marble. It was secured with a lock, but Jubilee aimed two fingers at it and-- PAF!-- not a problem.

Emma sighed, an almost predatory sound, and withdrew the contents: An unopened envelope with a paper tucked into it and a golden key strapped to the outside.

Jubilee frowned. “So that's what you so totally needed my help for? Digging up a box? What do I look like, your native guide?”

“Hush, dear,” Emma breathed, caressing the envelope in her hands. Her eyes rolled back a little and her teeth gritted together, as though she were either using her power or having a fit of some kind.

“Okay, now you're seriously weirding me, so I gotta ask: Was Scott right? Did you know about this-- y'know, the Slayer?”

“I didn't,” Emma said. “Sebastian Shaw did.”

“How d'you know?”

“Because...” She held up the envelope. “He sent me a letter.”

“And a key. It better be to like a safety deposit box with a cool million inside or the Lost Ark or maybe something we can use as a Slayer-slayer...”

Emma opened her eyes. “Suppose I told you, dear, that there is a passage under the main building, one even Sean didn't know about, that extends underground for a length of precisely one mile, at the end of which we'll find the lock that goes with this key-- and, perhaps, the answers you so persistently seek? What would you say to that?”

Jubilee frowned. “I'd say it sounds more like a real mission. But I'm still not totally on board with the you-needing-my-help part.”

“Well, it's very simple, dear. When we unlock what we're looking for, we'll need to be certain no one *else* can find it. So you'll have to destroy it.”

“The passage?”

“The Academy.”

Jubilee gaped at her. “You brought me here to blow up my high school?”

“Well, you're not very attached to it, are you? Fear not, it's for sale now, and I can assure you there's nobody inside.”

“Except all my memories! It's creepy!”

Emma laughed. “Do try not to be so argumentative, Jubilation. This will be fun! You'll get to--what do you say?-- Paff it. You *adore* paffing things.”

“Yeah, but not big things!” Jubilee waved her hands in the air. “I'm more like a mutant lava lamp! I'm so totally not into the whole Juggernaut versus Hulk demolition deal!”

“But you *can* do it.”

Jubilee made a face. “I don't want to.”

“Believe me,” Emma unfastened the key and held it up to the moonlight. “When you see what this unlocks, you will...”

****

The shadow was all around Clarice, clammy and utterly cold, rifling her soul, turning her mind inside-out. She saw Annihilus and Mimic and both versions of Mr. Creed and Nocturne and Morph and Thunderbird and the X-Men of seven Universes and the parents she'd lost and the nightmare world she'd left and everything she'd ever thought or felt and all her mistakes and she suddenly hated herself, hated her life, wanted nothing more than to lash out at all the pictures in her head and she could feel the shadow's pleasure because that was what it wanted her to want and...

And suddenly the other pictures disappeared and only Mr. Creed was left, standing before her and snarling. It took Clarice some time to realize that was because he wasn't a memory, but real.

“Yo, freak! Hands off! Nobody gets to kill that kid but me...”

While Clarice looked on in astonishment, Sabretooth let loose a roar and hurled himself into the shadow...

END

Next issue: “New England Mile”
See the other Eternity series: New X-Men, X-Force, X-Factor, & eXcalibur, online now!
Next up: New X-Men #5: “Storm Fronts.” Coming soon!