Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It happens without warning.

Your husband goes on a mission. And then he doesn’t come back.

Your stomach churns anxiously as you wait for your cellphone to chime –for any sign of life from Piotr, really. Baby, where are you? Please come home to me.

Talking to the official person in charge of the duty roster does no good.

Chiefly because that person is Scott Summers.

“Look, Y/N, I know you’re concerned—”

“It’s been three days, Scott! Piotr was supposed to be back by now.”

“He requested a mission extension,” Scott says –lies, because Scott Summers is a horrifically bad liar, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

(Not even those damn sunglasses he wears all the time helps conceal it.)

“If we don’t hear from him by tomorrow, we’ll start the retrieval protocol.”

You raise an eyebrow at Scott. “Piotr requested an extension.”

“Ye—”

“Without telling me he was requesting an extension.”

“He may have not wanted to worry you—”

“He texts me good night and good morning every day he’s gone, Scott. He hasn’t done that for three days. So, do you really want to keep going down this route, or do you want to tell me the truth?”

“Are you accusing me of—”

“Show me the extension request, Scott. I know those have to be filed in the mission logs.”

Scott goes pale, swallows hard, but ultimately holds his ground. “If we don’t hear from him in another twenty-four hours, we’ll start the retrieval protocol.”

You roll your eyes at his back as he quickly retreats away from you, then stalk out of the training room. “Fuck you. I’ll handle this myself. Idiot.”

You call Wade first. Nathan doesn’t always keep his phone charged if he gets into a work hole, meaning that Wade’s the best bet to get ahold of your ‘somehow knows everything’ dad.

Except you can’t get ahold of Wade. Or Nate. Or Neena, when you decide to try her. Countless texts, phone calls, emails, and face-time requests –which, under normal circumstances, would be downright sociopathic to pull without making sure the recipient is available first, but these are desperate times—go unanswered.

Towards the end of the day, in what can only be described as a burst of mass anxiety and paranoia, you call your uncle.

He picks up on the first ring. “Hey, punk. How’s it going?”

“Oh, thank fuck.” You collapse into the nearest chair, relief surging through you. “They didn’t get you, too.”

“What?” Your uncle’s voice goes from warm and friendly to all business –and a little panicked—in a split second. “Who didn’t get me? What’s going on? Punk, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, but –Piotr’s missing. And Dad. And Wade. And Neena. Piotr went on a mission, but stopped checking in on me three days ago, and then when I tried to call the rest of my family, I couldn’t reach anyone. I’ve been trying all day, and then I thought that maybe someone’s targeting my family, so I decided to call you.”

“Shit,” your uncle mutters. “You’re sure Nathan and Wade are in town, right? And Neena? They don’t have any hits to fill or silent missions they’re running?”

“Wade and I were talking on Snapchat last night,” you answer, panic rising in your chest. “And I saw Nathan during call. And Neena always lets me know if she’ll be out of touch for a job or something.”

Your uncle exhales heavily into the speaker. “Fuck. Yeah, that doesn’t bode well. Did you talk to Charles?”

“He’s out of town for a conference. I had to deal with Scott, and he just shot me down.”

“Asshole.”

“Pretty much.”

“Talk to Scott one more time. I know it probably won’t help,” he adds when you start protesting, “but it’ll give me time to put my ear to the ground, see what I can find. After you try Scott, go over his head. I’ll help you however I can.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course, punk. Now, get moving. Time’s of the essence here.”

“Right.” You make a quick goodbye, then run out of yours and Piotr’s home and fly towards the mansion.

By the time you reach Scott’s room, Russell, Ellie, and Yukio are already there, arguing with him.

“We aren’t responsible for Wade—”

“He’s my legal guardian, asshole,” Russell insists indignantly. “Isn’t there a bunch of legal shit you guys have to do if he dies or goes missing?”

“We—”

“And you are responsible for Colossus,” Ellie adds, arms crossed over his chest. “He’s my mentor and an X-Man. And he’s missing, too.”

“How did you—”

“He texts her to see how she’s doing,” Yukio pipes up, looking nowhere near as pissed as Ellie and Russell given her pink hair and soft, fluffy sweater, but frustration still reads plain in her voice. “And he stopped three days ago.”

“Which is the same time he stopped texting me,” you speak up, joining the fray. “Are you actually going to take this seriously now? Because if that’s not enough, Nathan and Neena are missing, too.”

A brief flicker of frustration crosses Scott’s face, but he masks it quickly. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve tried to reach them all day!”

“Maybe they’re just busy. Could you be overthinking it? Did you remember to take your medication today?”

“Are you shitting me?” Ellie snaps, eyes widening with outrage.

“Easy,” you murmur, putting an arm around her small shoulders before staring Scott down. “So, just so we’re clear, it is your intention to not pursue any of this further even though you have multiple complaints from different residents?”

Scott’s face twitches, but his resolve remains strong. “We have a protocol.”

“Yeah, just like that protocol of logging mission extension requests that you can’t show me right now.” You flash him a fake smile. “Thanks for nothing, asshole.”

The three teens follow after you as you storm off.

“What do we do now?” Russell asks.

“Are Cable and Domino really missing as well?” Yukio adds.

“Should we call the Professor?” Ellie suggests.

“The Professor probably wouldn’t be able to do anything, since Scott’s still the man in charge,” you say as you hurry down the main flight of stairs.

“He could make Cyclops toe the line,” Ellie points out.

“It’s still Scott. He’d do the bare minimum just to shut us up, then go back to jerking off –or whatever it he does for fun. And, yes, Neena and Nathan are missing, too. As far as I can tell, at least. As far as what we do now, we go over Scott’s head. I mean, I—” you turn around and look at the three teens staring at you “—go over Scott’s head. Not ‘we.’ You three should stay out of trouble.”

“But Wade’s my guardian!” Russell argues.

“And Piotr’s my mentor.”

“And Scott’s a pain in the ass,” Yukio adds.

“While all those things are true,” you agree, “that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t bring you three into this. Things could get dangerous. You’re all trainees. You’re not cleared for this kind of stuff.”

Ellie glances at Russell and her girlfriend, then crosses her arms over her chest and takes a step towards you. “Well, the way I see it, you can either bring the three of us in and have some idea of what we’re doing, or you can keep us out of it and we’ll just go over your head. Which means we could accidentally get caught in the middle of whatever you wind up doing and get hurt.”

You narrow your eyes at your husband’s mentee. “You are such a Slytherin, and I’m so proud of you, but also how dare you.” You sigh heavily. “Fine. You guys can come with. But if I get in trouble, I’m taking you all down with me.”

Fun fact: attached to every suit worn by X-Men and trainees are little GPS trackers that, in addition to letting you know where the wearer of the suit is, also keeps tabs on their vitals.

“Why didn’t you just try this to begin with?” Ellie asks as you pull up the interface that tracks the suits.

“Because it makes a pinging noise to alert the wearer that their location is being monitored,” you explain. “If they’re on a stealth mission, it could alert an enemy agent. I didn’t want to do that in case Piotr had needed to go silent for some reason.”

“Do you think he could’ve?” Russell asks.

“Considering that, as his spouse, I would’ve been notified by the mission board –not to mention he would’ve at least let Ellie or I know himself—and the fact that Wade, Nathan, and Neena are missing, to, I don’t think so.” As much of a pain in the ass as Scott is, if Piotr had actually gone silent, he wouldn’t have just not told you.

“I thought the mission board and Professor Xavier were the only ones with access to the trackers,” Yukio interjects.

“I have spousal permissions for Piotr’s suit.” You pull up the page that lets you enter a password so you can access the tracker, then turn around and face the teens. “I’ve got to enter the password. No peeking.” You wait until they all cover their eyes, then type in the password and hit enter.

“It’s ‘myshka,’” Ellie says without uncovering her eyes.

You whirl around to stare at her. “Hey!”

“You hit seven keys, one of which was the enter button.”

“You really should talk to Colossus about better password security,” Yukio says with an earnest nod.

You sigh (they’re not wrong), then focus on the computer screen.

The good news: your husband’s tracker is still on and still registering his vitals –which look healthy, as far as you can tell.

The bad news: it’s out in the middle of nowhere in Upstate New York. No nearby roads, no registered address, just a couple of GPS coordinates.

“Where the hell is that?” Russell asks as he peers at the laptop screen over your shoulder.

“A couple hours from here,” you say as you write down the coordinates and the nearest identifiable landmarks. “I’m gonna go check it out. You guys stay here—”

“We’re helping whether you like it or not,” Ellie interrupts, expression comically stern given her round face and rounder eyes.

“Yes, you are, but I can’t carry all of you with me,” you say. “Besides, I need you three here to collect information.”

Russell’s brow furrows. “What information?”

You send a quick text to your uncle to let him know you’re leaving the phone with Russell, Ellie, and Yukio, then hand it to Ellie. “I called my uncle when I realized Wade, Nathan, and Neena were missing, too. He’s looking into all of it for me. If he calls with any information, I’ll need you guys to take it down and possibly do some –computer only—research on it.”

“Won’t you need the burner phone, just in case you get captured?” Yukio asks.

You shake your head. “Can’t risk his number getting in the wrong hands. I’ll have my phone on me, and I’ll wear my suit so you can keep track of me. If I’m gone longer than six hours, or if my suit goes offline, call my uncle immediately. Not the Professor, not Scott, but my uncle. Okay?”

The three teens give you equally scared looks, but all nod anyway.

You hug each of them before flying upstairs to get changed and pack a small bag with some supplies. Hang on, honey. I’m coming.

The coordinates turn out to be home to the middle of a massive, matte black warehouse with virtually no windows in the middle of a dense forest. There’s only one road leading in or out, which is cut off from the warehouse itself by towering concrete walls topped with razor wire, a hulking gate with multiple guards, and several armed men patrolling the perimeter as well.

Definitely not suspicious at all. Definitely does not read as “hidden government or evildoers base” whatsoever.

Scott Summers, you are so full of shit, you think to yourself as you peer down at the warehouse through a pair of electronic binoculars (a Christmas gift from Alexandra). Requested an extension, my ass. You frown as you watch a large, but otherwise non-descript van get waved through the gate. Piotr, baby, what did you do to wind up in here?

Your mind flashes to images of Piotr, bound against his well, likely being experimented on by various nefarious, white lab coat and nerd glasses wearing scientists. Your teeth grit together, and you steady yourself with a deep breath. Just hang in there, sweetheart. I’m gonna get you out.

You crawl forward a little further, hoping to get a better look at the lot surrounding the warehouse—

And you wind up bumping into a large, muscular woman, wearing all black –like you—with black hair cut into an angled bob, dark eyes, and—

Angel Dust.

Your eyes widen when the description connects with the stories Wade’s told you, and you quickly shove her away from you with a blast of air. “You fucking traitor! Helping lock up your own kind for a fucking bullshit paycheck! I’m gonna beat your ass—”

“What the fuck –stop it!” She whips a rock the size of a small child at you, narrowly missing your head. “What the fuck are you talking about? Who the fuck are you?”

“You’re working with them!” You jerk your head towards the warehouse.

“The fuck I am!” She finally notes your suit, and her mouth twists into a grimace. “Oh. You’re X-Men.”

“Damn right. Now, give me one good reason not to bounce you down this hill like a beach ball!”

Angel Dust smirks. “You’re a little rougher around the edges than most of them…” The smirk fades just as quickly as it appeared, and the color seems to drain from her face. “Fuck, you’re Wilson’s sister, aren’t you?”

“Ding-ding-ding, bitch!” you hiss. “And if you aren’t here to work for those cockwipes, then what the fuck are you doing on this hill?”

“I could ask you the fucking same—”

“Look, unlike my brother, I don’t have to get close to you to hit you. So, unless you want to go through that line of trees, I suggest you start talking.”

She rolls her eyes, but relents. “I’m here to rescue my daughter.”

“Daughter?” Your face scrunches up in confusion. “Wade didn’t say anything about you having a daughter.”

“Yeah, well, he wouldn’t fucking know!”

“I suppose that’s fair –considering you helped torture him and almost killed him, then helped kidnap his girlfriend!”

“Fuck’s sake –the fuck do you want from me?”

“Proving you have a daughter and that you aren’t lying might be a good start.”

She glowers at you, then begrudgingly takes a wallet out of her pocket and pulls out a few pictures. “Here. Proof enough?”

The pictures show Angel Dust holding a young girl –first as a baby, then a couple shots of them at a park when the girl looks about to be three, one of them eating ice cream together when the kid looks about five, and a school photo headshot dated from this year, in which the girl looks to be around seven.

Granted, she could be lying, but the pictures look real enough. Besides, if she really was working with the warehouse people, she probably wouldn’t have tried to convince you otherwise in the first place.

“What’s her name?” you ask, stiffly hanging back the pictures.

“Madeline. Maddie, for short. Why are you here?”

“They have my husband.”

“He an X-Man, too?”

“Yeah. Colossus. The big metal guy that you punched in the dick.”

She smirks. “Oh, yeah. Good brawler. Kinda sweet. He refused to ogle me when one of my tits fell out of my shirt.”

“Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “That’d be him.”

Tense silence falls around the two of you as you regard each other warily.

“Far be it from me to suggest we team up,” you start.

Angel Dust cuts you off with a sardonic snort. “What makes you think I need –want—your help?”

“You won’t make it through there alone. They’ve basically got an army guarding that place. You’re strong, but you’re not bulletproof. Or, worse, you’ll wind up captured. Besides, I have backup.”

She raises an incredulous eyebrow. “What, the X-Men? Pass.”

“No,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “The schedule master didn’t want to get off his ass, so I’m working without them for this.”

“Sounds like you don’t have backup, then.”

You bite down on the urge to sneer at her. “I have more resources than the X-Men.” Asshole.

“Such as?”

“Such as the kind that don’t mind using real guns.” When Angel Dust’s eyebrows spike towards her hairline, you continue. “Look, I get my husband and my other people out, you get your daughter out, everyone goes home happy and hopefully we never have to speak to each other again. Deal?”

“Fine,” she says after a minute. “So, if we’re not breaking in right now, what’s next?”

“I’ve got some people looking into this place. They should have some proper information by now. We head back to my place, learn what we can, then make plans to bust into here later tonight.”

Angel Dust considers for a moment, then concedes with a nod. “Fine. Wait… how’d you get out here?”

You shrug. “Flew.”

She scoffs, rolls her eyes. “Of course. We’ll take my car back.”

You text Yukio once you’re safely in Angel Dust’s car—

“Do you have a name?”

“Fuck kind of question is that?”

“I only know you as Angel Dust,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “So, unless you want me to refer to you as ‘Angel Dust’ all the time, having a name to use would be handy.”

She sighs heavily. Rolls her eyes. “Christina.”

You blink. You’re not sure what you’d been expecting, honestly. “Cool. I’m Y/N.”

“Great. Glad we’re fucking best friends now,” Christina grumbles under her breath as she starts her car and pulls away from the thicket of bushes she’d parked her car behind.

You text Yukio, letting her know that you’re on your way back, that you’ve picked up some help, and that if you aren’t back in three hours to call your uncle. You pocket your phone once Yukio replies, then steal a quick glance at Christina.

All in all, you don’t know much about her. You heard about her and her whole involvement with Ajax –Francis, whatever—from Wade, and you’ve heard a little bit from Piotr about her other criminal escapades –car-jacking, fighting rings, blackmailing—but beyond that, Angel Dust –Christina—is a complete mystery to you.

“How’d your daughter wind up in there?” you ask, breaking the thick silence that had settled around the two of you.

Her jaw clenches tighter, and her hands grip the steering wheel hard enough that –for a moment—you’re worried that she might break it. “My ex.”

“You had a kid with Francis?”

Her hands grip the wheel tighter. “No. I was married before I met Ajax. Long time before. Had Maddie. Got divorced. Met Ajax a little while later.”

“Riveting,” you snark, which gets a murderous glare shot your way. “So, what, your ex-husband decided to do a ‘take your daughter to work day’ and it ended poorly?”

“He doesn’t like mutants. Part of why we divorced.”

Pain strikes your chest as you put the pieces together. “Wait a second. He… he sent his own child to a testing facility?”

“Like I said,” Christina growls as she presses down harder on the gas pedal, “there’s a reason he’s my ex.”

Ellie goes from hunched over your laptop to standing bolt upright, fists clenched and energy swirling around her the second Christina follows you through the door—

And, yeah, okay, you definitely should’ve given more warning about the “help” that you were bringing back.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Ellie snaps.

Christina just smirks. “Good to see you again, short stack.”

“Ellie, please don’t obliterate my house,” you say quickly, stepping between Ellie and Christina before Ellie does something rash –albeit probably deserved. “She’s helping us.”

“Why is she—” Ellie jerks her chin towards Christina “—helping us? She’s a criminal!”

“She has someone that was captured, too,” you explain, doing your best to stay calm. “The more innocent lives we can save in all of this, the better.”

“Fucking Christ,” Christina grumbles under her breath. “It’s like the fucking boyscouts.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the Icebox?” Ellie snaps, still glaring down Christina –albeit without the energy charge-up, which you’re grateful for.

“I wasn’t deemed ‘dangerous enough’ for ‘removal from society.’”

“You kidnapped an innocent woman and nearly killed Colossus!”

She shrugs, blasé. “Paycheck’s a paycheck.”

“You fucking bitch—”

“Okay!” You shove Ellie back, and give her the sternest look you can muster at the moment –which, in reality, probably looks more desperate than anything else. “I know you’re mad, but we have a job to do. Can you…” You sigh when Ellie raises an eyebrow at you in challenge, and your expression is definitely desperate now. “Please, Ellie-bell. We need to get Piotr and Wade and Nate and Neena and anyone else they might have locked up out of there. Please.”

Ellie sighs heavily, but relents with a nod. “Fine. But if she—” she points at Christina, who smirks “—does anything out of line, I’m blasting her through a wall.”

“I’d comment, but I know you’re more than capable,” Christina mutters as she sizes up Yukio and Russell. “Also, if this was the back up you’re talking about—”

“It’s part of it, but they’re strictly the research team,” you interject quickly. “We’re bringing someone else along for the actual rescue mission.”

“Who?” Russell asks.

You shoot him a warning, incredibly desperate look to ‘please, for the love of Cthulhu, shut it’ because you haven’t actually figured that part out yet—

And then Yukio comes to your rescue. “Your uncle called while you were gone. He said he wanted you to call him as soon as you were back.”

“He also gave us a lot of information about the warehouse,” Russell adds, having caught on to your ‘please help me bullshit my through this.’ “Covered by ten different teams of armed men that work on five different shifts—”

You glance over your shoulder at Christina. “You mind looking through what we already have while I make the call?”

She sighs, rolls her eyes, but ultimately sits down at the dining room table. “Fine.”

You take your phone from Yukio, then step into the living room so you can talk to your uncle while also keeping an eye on Christina.

He answers on the first ring. “Who am I talking to this time?”

“It’s me. I’m safe.”

“Punk.” Your uncle lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay, I told Ellie everything I could fine, but listen to me. You cannot try to crack this place open, okay? The person running this operation is far too dangerous to mess with. I’m sending some people in to help, and I’ll fly in as soon as I can; just let the professionals handle this, okay?”

You grimace. “I can’t do that.”

“Okay, look, I know you’re worried about Piotr—”

“There’s a kid involved,” you say quietly, watching Christina intently. “A little girl. She was dumped at the holding center. I… I can’t wait. Not with a child’s safety on the line.”

Your uncle swears, then sighs. “…Okay. Just… take some heavier ammunition with you. Please. I’ll get there as fast as I can to help back you up.”

“Alright. I can do that.” You make a quick good-bye, then head back into the dining room. “Alright, what are we looking at?”

“Nothing good,” Christina says heavily. “You were right about not being able to break into this place. We’ll need an army to do just that.”

“…I might just be able to get us one.”

The new offices of Nelson, Murdock, and Page come with countless new amenities –one of which being that it’s not located inside a deli.

There’s also a dedicated “back entrance” for clients that don’t want to be –or shouldn’t be—seen by the public.

Which, as fortune would have it, is where you find Frank Castle.

He’s wearing all black, carrying a bouquet of violets, and looks extremely startled when you all but shout his name. “What the fuck?”

“I need your help,” you say by way of greeting as you jog over to him. “Kidnappers, mutant experimentation, guys with lots of guns… yeah.”

“What the—” Christina yanks you aside with more strength than strictly necessarily, eyes so big they look like they’re about to pop out of her sockets. “How do you know the fucking Punisher?”

“Will you let go?” You wrench your arm out of her grasp. “I’m getting us an army. Chill the fuck out!”

“Do I get to know what’s going on here?” Frank interjects, looking equal parts confused, startled, and annoyed.

“There’s a warehouse two and a half hours from here,” you explain. “Heavily guarded. Piotr was kidnapped and taken there, as was her daughter.” You nod to Christina. “Wade, Nathan, and Neena are missing, too, and I’m willing to bet they’re there as well –along with who knows how many other people. The X-Men aren’t getting off their ass for this one, and the two of us—” you gesture between you and Christina “—aren’t enough to break in and get everyone out. We need help.” You take a breath, then shoot Frank a desperate look and add, “Please.”

He exhales heavily, then nods before gesturing at the door with the flowers. “Yeah. Just give me a minute.”

Karen, fortunately, gives her blessing for you to borrow her boyfriend for a potential suicide mission without too much fuss. Frank steps back into the alley a few minutes later, grabs a few duffels from his “murder van,” then directs you to where he keeps the rest of his weapons stash before you drive him and Christina back to your home.

From there, two things happen right away.

One: Frank is immediately able to make more sense of the information your uncle had sent, which makes developing a plan so much easier.

Two: Russell, Ellie, and Yukio all refuse to stay behind while you, Frank, and Christina head to the warehouse.

“For the last time,” you grit out, on the verge of ripping out your hair. “I cannot take you three with me. You’re all trainees! You’re not cleared for something like this. Besides, if Piotr doesn’t kill me, Scott definitely will!”

“You could take Scott in a fight,” Yukio says with an earnest nod.

“That’s not the point!”

“The point is we want to help.” Russell crosses his arms over his chest. “Wade’s my friend and guardian, Colossus is one of our teachers, and Cable and Domino are part of the X-Force. They’re our friends. Why shouldn’t we help?”

“I really don’t know how to explain to you that you’re a minor.”

“Yukio and I aren’t,” Ellie pipes up, voice deadly calm. “We’re both adults. We can do whatever we want with this. And I have a license and access to a car.”

“Ellie—”

“Look, either we’re in on the plan and how to handle all of this, or we drive up on our own and insert ourselves into the situation.” She raises an eyebrow at you when you start sputtering. “What? What are you going to do? Duct tape us to the walls so we can’t leave?”

You narrow your eyes at her. “I’m seriously tempted to. There is such a thing as ‘being in over you head,’ and –make no mistake—this is one of those situations.”

Ellie’s jaw tenses. “We’re not staying behind.”

“For what it’s worth,” Frank interjects from where he’s been sitting at your dining room table, pouring over all the data your uncle was able to collect, “if they can help us, we could definitely use their help. We’re pretty damn outnumbered.”

“See!” Russell chimes in. “You need us!”

“That’s not the point!” you snap, nerves finally fraying enough to let your stress show through.

“It’s exactly the point!” Ellie argues. “You need extra help, we want to help!”

“That’s not the point Y/N is trying to make,” Yukio says when you grip your hair in frustration. “It may be the point of the mission, but it’s not what she’s focused on.”

You exhale heavily as silence finally falls, then lean wearily against the dining room table. “It’s not that we don’t need your help. We do. But… you’re just kids.”

“Yukio and I are eighteen,” Ellie points out.

“You are an infant and you will accept it!” you fire back. “This… this isn’t fighting Magneto or a few punk frat boys who just realized they have superpowers. These are trained assassins with guns and who knows what else and… you guys still deserve to be young. You deserve more time before you have to face that.”

The space goes suffocatingly silent as your words hang in the air, bitter and desperate.

Because, really, you all already know what’s going to happen.

“We’re ready,” Yukio says, quiet but confident. She squares her shoulders and gives you a smile. “This is what we’ve trained to do.”

“You already know what my stance is,” Ellie says when you look over to her.

Russell seems a little more pensive when you check with him, but he doesn’t waver, either. He swallows hard, then nods. “I want to help Wade. He’s my guardian… my friend.”

You sigh, heavy and with finality, then plop down into the nearest chair. “Alright. Let’s make a plan.”

The plan is simple enough.

Your uncle had managed to dig up a plethora of information –including the policy for dealing with “captured individuals.” Anyone caught snooping around the warehouse was taken, searched for weapons, then taken to a room that was labelled “primary containment area.”

You’re willing to bet that Piotr and everyone will be there as well.

So, you and Christina will pose as a couple of amateur activists, attempting to get some film of what seemed to be a “secret military base” that was undoubtedly propagating violence, war culture, etcetera. You two will get yourselves captured, get inside the base, ditch whoever brought you in, find your missing people, then get out.

And, just for good measure, while the two of you were inside, Frank, Russell, Ellie, and Yukio will create a distraction outside, thus increasing your odds of success.

Frank also had one of his friends –who was some type of tech wizard, apparently—hack into the base and put the cameras on a loop, so that the two of you wouldn’t be caught out right away.

Is it the most sophisticated plan? No.

Is it the most likely to succeed, considering the circumstances? Also no.

Is it the best you all could do, considering the time and personnel constraints? Yes.

“If we die,” Christina growls –she’d been none too fond of the plan, but hadn’t had a better counteroffer—as the two of you cut through the woods, “I’m killing you before these dipshits get a chance.”

“Good fucking luck with that,” you grumble back, pulling a camera –which had a busted release mechanism for the SD card and was therefore useless—out of your bag. “Ready?”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

The two of you skulk around the perimeter, pretending to take film of the place –which, granted, you are, but it’s not like you’re planning on using any of it—and talking in stage whispers about angles, lighting, and framing. When that doesn’t work, you move in closer to the entry –where the guards are stationed—and start taking photos with the flash on.

It gets their attention pretty quick.

“Hey! Stop!”

The two of you feign making a run for it as the armed guards rush towards you, then switch to fake pleas and promise to “give up the footage” in exchange for being let go when you’re caught.

“Look, this is just for a school project,” Christina babbles –and, you have to give her credit, she’s a good actress.

Though, that could just be the guns the guards are carrying providing a proper incentive.

“We’ll give you the camera,” you add, faking desperation. “Just, like, please let us go.”

“Take them inside,” one of the older looking guards says. “Search them, then take them to the main containment center.”

You and Christina pretend to resist and struggle, but ultimately let the men march you past the wall and towards the compound.

The search goes well enough. The two of you had made a point to not carry any weapons –or any IDs, just in case. Your phones –fakes—are tossed, as is the camera, but other than that the guards don’t find anything particularly interesting.

Being taken to the main containment area, however, doesn’t go as well.

Mostly because your people aren’t there.

“Shit,” Christina swears when you’re marched into what’s essentially a windowless, metal box.

“Search the base?” you ask.

“We have to.”

You slam the guards against the nearest wall with a gust of wind, knocking them out.

The two of you quickly handcuff the guards with their hands behind their backs, careful to interlock the sets of cuffs to make it harder for them to move or escape once they come to.

You strip off one of their tac vest and quickly adjust it to your body, while Christina pulls out their phones and walkie talkies and crushes them. “I’m guessing neither of them are carrying a map?”

“Wouldn’t that be our lucky day.”

You pull out an ear piece that you’d hidden in your bra, then turn it on and tuck it in your ear. “Ellie, can you hear me?”

“Yeah. What’s up?"

“Slight problem. Containment area’s empty. Is there a lab or something labelled on the blueprints my uncle sent us?”

“…Yeah. Left from the entrance to the containment room, take a right at the second doorway, then all the way down the hall to the back. Do you need us to go now?”

You eye the hallway outside the containment room, then grimace when you see several guards patrolling the space. “Yeah. We’re pretty boxed in otherwise.”

“Alright. Give us five minutes.”

The two of you wait –then, sure enough, the building shudders as a loud explosion echoes outside.

You flash Christina a somewhat manic grin. “Shall we?”

“You’re just as crazy as Wilson.”

“You’re not the first person to say that.”

The lab is straight out of some cheesy action-flick style evil lair. There’s a massive –practically floor to ceiling—screen that looks like someone lifted it from a movie theatre that’s framed by a wall to wall bank of computer keys, buttons, smaller inset display screens, dials, and sliders. The center of the room boasts a particularly sinister tilted metal table with arm and ankle restraints on the sides, an operation room light at the top, and various trays of syringes, surgical equipment, and other tools. Towards the back, there’s several rows of tables with various beakers, test tubes, and other items straight out of chemistry textbook.

And, on the wall opposite the door, there are a series of cylindrical, glass holding containers –which are currently housing your husband, Nate, Wade, Neena, and a young, dark haired girl that must be Madeline.

Madeline and Piotr don’t look too much worse for wear. A little bruised and a little tired, perhaps, but otherwise unharmed.

Neena’s face is fixed in a tight grimace. You don’t see any visible signs of harm on her, but that doesn’t mean that she’s okay.

Wade looks sick. He has a repression collar on, just like everyone else in the holding tanks, so there’s no doubt that his cancer is giving him hell.

Nathan looks tense. He’s sat on the floor of his tank, leaned back against the glass, gaze fixed in a pensive thousand mile stare. There’s no visible signs of the virus having spread, but you know he can’t be feeling too comfortable, either.

Madeline visibly perks up when you and Christina enter the lab, then jumps to the feet and presses her tiny body against the glass of her tank. “Mommy!”

“Mom—oh fuck.” Wade glares at Christina. “What is she doing here? And since when did you have a kid with Francis?”

Christina, predictably, ignores Wade. She sprints over to her daughter’s containment tube, pressing her hands flat against the glass. “Hey, sweetie. Are you okay?”

Madeline’s face crumples, and she starts crying. “I want to go home, Mommy. I want to go home—”

“Don’t!” Neena exclaimed when Christina moved to rip off the door on her daughter’s containment cell. “The guy running the tests said there was a different lock on her door.” She pointed to the keypad on the side of Madeline’s containment tube. “He said that if the cell was tampered with, it’d release a toxin gas.”

Christina shot a desperate look at you over her shoulder. “Can you diffuse the gas?”

“I don’t want to risk it,” you said. “Look, Ellie can probably figure out to get it open safely, and if she can’t, we’ve got other people who definitely can. Bottom line, she’s not staying in there for long."

Piotr shoot you a sharp look. “Why is NTW here?”

You flounder, before shrugging sheepishly. “I got out-voted?”

“It’s going to be okay, sweet girl.” Christina knelt in front of her daughter’s tube, smiling reassuringly. “We’re going to get you out, okay?”

“Can you get the doors off the other cells?” you ask upon checking to make sure that the same locking mechanisms aren’t on the other containment tubes. “If we get everyone else out, I can get the repression collars off, and then we can shut this thing down and focus on getting Maddie out.”

Christina shoots you a look –most likely annoyed by being taken away from her daughter—but rises and walks down the row of cells, ripping the doors off as she goes and chucking them out of the way.

You help Wade out of his cell and get him situated on a chair—

And then Piotr sweeps you into his arms and presses his lips against yours.

He smells a little ripe, his breath isn’t much better, he has a few days’ worth of stubble on his face, and his hair is a mess.

He’s perfect.

“Are you okay?” you murmur, cupping his face when the kiss ends.

“I am now.” He kisses your forehead. “How did you find me?”

“Went over Scott’s head, used the tracker on your suit, and asked my uncle for help.” You lay your head against his chest, and close your eyes for a moment as you listen to the steady thud of his heartbeat.

He’s safe. He’s alive.

Getting the collars off is a cinch. They’re basic model collars with keypads. You’ve taken shit like this apart in your sleep.

The building rumbles ominously while you work on defusing the collars, and the sounds of gunfire and death are rapidly approaching the lab.

Piotr eyes the door warily. “What all is going on?”

“Uh… kinda asked Frank for some help.”

Your husband’s eyes damn near bug out of his head. “Frank Castle?”

“Ooh, Frankie’s here!” Wade chirps, perking up now that his collar’s off and his healing factor is kicking back in. “Did he bring any grenades?”

“Why did you ask Frank Castle for help?” Piotr interjects, sounding aghast.

“What else was I going to do?” you exclaim. “Scott literally wouldn’t get off his ass to check in on things. It was either do it alone, or get what help I could!”

Piotr looks like he’s about to drop it –then his eyes widen with horror. “You… you left trainees with him.”

Fucking shit on an ass cracker— “Look, I will be very happy to discuss this with you later, but for now can we just focus on—”

A door at the far end of the lab sweeps open –not the one you and Christina came in through—and a man wearing a lab coat walks in.

A man that, though it takes you a moment, you recognize.

Mostly because you slammed his head into a table and threatened to rip off his balls if he ever hurt your husband again.

Rage floods your system. “You!”

Dwight Bard –stupid fucking nickname “Rogue”—jerks when he sees all of you, then pales when recognition hits his system. “Oh shit—”

You don’t give him a chance to finish his sentence, much less escape or do anything else. You hit him in the back with a blast of wind, bouncing him across the floor of the lab and smacking him against the metal table. You dash over, secure one of his arms in one of the restraints before he can get up, then grab the first thing you find on the tool tray –which happens to be a scalpel—and aim it at him. “I fucking warned you, you son of a bitch. I’m gonna gut you like a fucking catfish—”

“Myshka!” Piotr plucks you up and sets you away from the table before physically putting himself between you and Dwight. “Stop!”

You take one look at your husband’s horrified expression and shrink in on yourself, ashamed. “I’m not—” You try to gesture with your hand, forgetting that you have the scalpel, and nearly nick Piotr with it. You flounder as you try to find a place to set the utensil, then ultimately hand it over to Piotr so he can set back on the instrument tray. “He’s—”

“No killing,” Piotr says, voice soft but firm. “Ever. Under any circumstances.”

Your mouth opens and closes as you try to find the words to explain your headspace.

That Dwight isn’t worth saving because he’s perverted and hasn’t stopped the track he’s on despite having the chance to change and more than enough incentive –can anyone say ‘staying out of prison,’ much—to do so. That killing people recklessly and without thought is bad, but that defending those who can’t defend themselves is another category. That you weren’t even intending to really do anything, but he helped hurt the people you love, that he’s hurt your husband –the most important person in your life—over and over and over again, and you can’t live in a world knowing that person is out there and could hurt him again.

Ultimately, you shrug helplessly and say, “He hurt you.”

An emotion settles on Piotr’s face that you can’t identify. (Grief? Anguish? Fear? A combination of all three, or maybe none of them at all?) He stares at you for a moment, expression inscrutable, then gently takes you into his arms and kisses the top of your head. “I do not want you killing for me.”

You nestle against his chest –then break away when Dwight starts trying to get the restraint off his wrist. “Oh, no, no, no. Just because I’m not force-feeding you your balls doesn’t mean you get a free pass.” You finish restraining his arms and legs, then flip the overhead light on so he has to keep his eyes closed for good measure. “You can just stay right there until we’re ready to drag you out of here and back to jail.”

The door that you and Christina originally entered through opens, and Ellie, Russell, Yukio, and Frank walk through.

You nod at Madeline’s containment cell. “There’s a special lock on this one. Can you get it open?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ellie says, checking over the locking mechanism before walking over to the bank of computers.

“Building’s clear,” Frank says, momentarily eyeing Dwight before turning his attention to Madeline and Christina. “What’s going on there?”

“Special lock,” you explain, paraphrasing what Neena told you. “Improperly opening the chamber releases a neurotoxin gas.”

Frank’s lip curls into a menacing sneer as he stalks towards Dwight. “You think that’s fun? Putting a little girl’s life in the balance?”

“It wasn’t me!” Dwight panics, trying –and failing—to edge himself away from Frank. “I’m just –look, I’m just a scientist, I had no idea—”

“You’ve got a kid a tube!” Frank shouts. “It doesn’t get more fucking obvious!”

“Okay, okay, just –look. The building’s not clear yet.”

“The hell it isn’t—”

“They had teams on standby, down the road, in case the place was stormed.”

The lights flicker, then turn off before flipping back on—

And then an explosion goes off outside, making the building shake and the windows rattle in their settings.

Frank tenses, then swears under his breath when more explosions sound outside. “Shit.”

“Sounds like we’ve got company,” Wade comments as he stretches lazily (the movement is accompanied by a grimace, though, which is how you know he’s still not feeling good). “Got a gun I can borrow?”

“Best move right now is to handle the team outside,” Nathan agrees as Frank hands them both spare pistols. “You three stay back here.” He nods to the teens. “Get the kid out. The rest of us will hold the base.”

Madeline bursts into tears when Christina takes a reluctant step away from her daughter’s containment cell. “Mommy, I want you to stay! I’m scared!”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Christina reassures her quickly. “It’s okay—”

“Stay with her,” you decide. “We don’t have enough weapons for you to use, which means your strength won’t be an advantage out there.”

Christina mouths a grateful “thank you” at you, then sits at the base of her daughter’s cell. “It’s going to be okay, Maddie. Mommy’s right here.”

“What about Neena?” Russell asks as the rest of you prepare to head out. “She doesn’t have a gun.”

“I’ve got a good feeling about finding one,” Neena quips, flashing Russell a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

You want to take her aside, ask her if she’s okay –the explosions are still ongoing, meaning that right now, you’ve got more important things to do.

Frank reloads his rifle, then strides towards the main lab door. “Let’s go.”

The lot of you make swift progress through the base. Frank and Nate lead you all with military-like precision –go figure—and before you know it, you’re at the main entrance.

The explosions are still going, rocking and rattling the building with each shockwave. The lights flicker ominously overhead each time; a few fall out and shatter against the floor.

Piotr shields you with his body when one lands near the two of you. “What now?”

“You know how many people are out there?” Frank asks Nathan.

Your dad shakes his head. “The number of psychic signatures keeps changing. Maybe… twenty-five? Thirty? They keep bouncing around the lot.”

“We’ve handled worse,” Neena decides as she loads her shotgun (which, true to form, she’d stumbled across while you’d all navigated the base).

“Wait, wait –Natey, hold on a second.” Wade grabs his boyfriend’s arm, holding Nathan back from moving (even though Nate stopped the first time Wade asked him to wait). “Do you not hear what I’m not hearing?”

“The fuck does that mean?” Frank grumbles under his breath.

Nathan cocks his head to the side though, gaze darting back and forth while he listens. “Gunfire. Voices.”

“Exactly!”

Frank’s expression sharpens as he catches the same lack of gunfire and people talking. “They could be trying to draw us out. We’ve got a chokepoint here.”

“Yeah, but why would they be bombing the parking lot they’re standing in?” Neena fires back.

“Should one of us go out?” Wade asks, looking between Frank, Nate, and Neena. “Scope things out?”

“If there are people waiting out there, we’ll get shot to pieces!” Neena exclaims.

“Okay, I can heal!” Wade fires back. “So, if you hear swearing and sounds of carnage—”

“No, no, we are not using you as a fucking guinea pig,” Nathan growls.

“Well, what would you recommend—”

“I’ll go,” Piotr interjects.

“What?” You blink rapidly as he kisses your forehead, then reach for him when he stands and steps away so he can armor up. “No! No—”

“It’s okay.” Your dad puts an arm around your shoulder, equal parts comforting and restraining. “He’ll be okay.”

Piotr ducks around the corner and strides towards the entrance –stooping over so he doesn’t bang his head on the ceiling. The sound of his heavy footsteps clank against the floor, barely audible over the explosions outside.

You listen to your husband’s step retreat away from you, scarcely daring to breathe. Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay…

There’s a moment where the explosions stop, and the ensuing silence stretches out, unending and horrible—

“No one is out here.”

You let out a breath, nearly collapsing with relief when you hear Piotr’s voice—

And then what he said hits you.

Frank stalks out, rifle at the ready in case shit goes sideways. He’s quiet for a moment, then shouts out an “all clear.”

You shadow the others out, mindful that you don’t have a gun or near as much combat experience. You sidle up next to your husband, one hand clutching at the material of his X-Men suit.

The explosions, at least, were real. The lot looked scorched, pitted with craters and dotted with debris and chunks of concrete.

That’s where the legitimacy of Dwight’s claims seem to end, though. There’s no sign of any opposition, armed, dangerous, or otherwise.

“Was he wrong?” you ask as Frank, Wade, Nate, and Neena carefully scope out the lot. “Maybe… maybe there’s no back up.”

“There is car coming,” Piotr announces, quickly tucking you behind his back.

The others hop to, taking up different positions around the lot to set up the best spread of gunfire possible.

You peek around your husband’s side as much as you dare, trying to get a read on the situation.

A lone SUV rolls up to the gate of the compound. It doesn’t seem armored, much less like it could hold the amount of guys your dad was initially sensing in the lot…

The SUV parks just inside the gate, and then the driver’s door opens and Mikhail Rasputin steps out. He grins laconically at Piotr, and lifts a hand in greeting. “Poves'te desyat', mladshiy brat!”

Piotr gapes as his mother exits the front passenger side of the SUV, whilst Mikhail ambles around to the back of the car to open the trunk. “Matushka?”

She’s decked out in black tactical gear and combat boots, and looks ready to kill.

(Granted, Alexandra always looks ready to kill, but the expression is more literal than figurative this time around.)

She graces her son with a brief, greeting smile, but quickly steps into scanning the surrounding environment for potential threats. Alex eyes the craters in the lot with a critical eye, one brow arching as she takes it all in. “Big fight?”

“Not really,” Wade says with a shrug. “Lots of explosions, but when we got out here there was no one around.”

You frown, stepping out from behind Piotr. “What are you two doing here?”

“Sent by uncle,” Mikhail says, nodding at you with a smile that’s entirely too relaxed for the scope of the situation. “To help.”

“Well, I think we’ve got it under control,” Wade says, gesturing at the parking lot.

“For now,” Alex tacks on as she eyes the building. “Man running this place is highly dangerous. Sooner we leave, the better. Is this everyone?”

“There are others inside,” Piotr says, eyes widening with realization. “Ellie, and Yukio, and Russell, and—”

The ground shakes again, and then there’s an explosion that sends chunks of concrete wall flying from the back side of the compound.

You stare at the plume of fire and smoke that billows into the sky, heart sinking. Shit.

The lab, once you arrive, is in complete and utter chaos. Tables are strewn everywhere, glass equipment lies shattered on the floor, and a gaping hole gashes through one of the internal walls.

At the far end of the lab is Dwight –who, somehow, has managed to free himself and is grinning as he hovers above the ground. He extends his hand towards the opposite side of the room, flinging several heavy work tables that are deflected by Christina and Ellie.

“He’s a mutant!” Ellie shouts, pointing an accusing finger at Dwight before dodging more flying debris. “He has to be! He undid his restraints without even touching them!”

“Sorry for the deception,” Dwight says, grinning nastily—

And then his body ripples, changing size and form until he’s several inches taller and nowhere near as gangly. His face morphs hideously, hair going from tight auburn curls to slicked back black tresses. His eyes change from hazel to gray, his jawline sharpens, and by the end of it he looks less like some sort of computer tech pervert and more like a rugged assassin.

“Someone fucking promise me we’re not about to go down another ‘it was Mystique the whole time’ writing hole,” Wade groans as he skids to a stop, then ducks to avoid shards of flying glass. “Because I can’t handle another plot headache like that.”

“Name’s Nathaniel. Nathaniel Essex.” Nathaniel tosses Dwight’s glasses aside, smirking laconically. “So, no, no Mystique storyline here. Though, that might’ve been better for the rest of you.”

“How you figure, Captain Chameleon?” Wade fires back. “Don’t know if you forgot how to count, but there are…” Wade starts counting, then gets fed up with the process and settles for cocking his gun and aiming it at Nathaniel. “You’re fucking outnumbered, shit for brains! Best surrender now, and maybe I won’t fuck your ass with the business end of this gun!”

“You do, you’re buying me a new one, Wilson!” Frank snaps.

“Do you accept stolen?”

“The way I see it, my odds are just fine.” Nathaniel smirks, and several pieces of broken tables and twisted metal start floating around him. “Don’t worry. I’ll try to keep from hurting you too bad.” He hurls the objects across the lab—

Only for them to freeze halfway across.

Nathaniel’s face goes slack with shock. “What the—”

Alexandra steps out from behind Piotr, eyes glowing gold as she stares down Nathaniel. “Care to try again, tupitsa?”

Nathaniel grits his teeth and tries to fling more carnage across the lab, but to no avail. “Go fuck yourself, bitch.”

Alex raises an eyebrow, then shrugs. “Have it your way.”

And then the items floating in the air zip across the lab. Those that don’t bounce of the telekinetic shield Nathaniel erects around himself embed themselves in the opposing wall.

“We need to get Maddie out of here!” you shout. “Ellie, can’t you disarm the pod?”

“I couldn’t find anything that disables the gas system!”

You’re starting to think that the supposed “toxic gas” attached to Maddie’s containment tube was a lie as well –but, best not to take chances.

“We’ll figure it out once we take down Essex,” you shout before darting towards where Alex and Nathaniel are scuffling with each other.

Nathaniel lets out a pained grunt when Alex throws him against one of the walls hard enough to crack the concrete, then yanks his sleeves back and starts pressing buttons on a wrist-mounted console. He taps at the display screen between dodging various attacks—

And then security drones fly out from hatches in the ceiling and start raining down gatling gunfire on all of you.

“Get down!” Frank bellows as he dives behind one of the upended, heavy, metal lab tables.

Neena, Mikhail, and Nate join him, opening fire at the various drones.

You dive tackle Yukio, practically throwing her and yourself underneath one of the computer desks. You tuck her underneath you, doing your best to shield her from flying glass shards and stray chunks of metal.

Wade grabs Russell and Ellie, yanking them into a nearby alcove and shoving them behind him so he can take shots at the drones. “Since when did this go from a redux of my first movie to a redux of Terminator? We don’t have that kind of budget!”

Madeline shrieks when some of the rounds fired by the drones bounce off her containment cell. She drops to the floor of the tube, curling into a ball and sobbing hysterically. “Mommy!”

“Maddie!” Christina wholesale throws an operation table at one of the drones, cleaving it in half, before sprinting across the lab to reach her daughter’s cell. “Maddie!”

The whole building shakes like it’s about to come down. You hold tighter onto Yukio, getting what glimpses you can of the battle from under your table.

Alex and Nathaniel are caught up in a fraught telekinetic tango. They’re both reaching out towards each other –Nathaniel with both hands, red-faced and straining, and Alex with one hand, expression grim but determined—and their stand off seems to be what’s ripping the lab apart.

What happens when there are two unstoppable forces and two immovable objects, and each person has one?

Mikhail pops out of nowhere, landing next to Nathaniel. He lets out a burst of maniacal laughter, hits Nathaniel upside the head with the butt of his rifle, then disappears again.

Nathaniel stumbles, dazed –and it’s enough. He shrieks as he whizzes past you, bouncing off the ground before slamming into the computer station near the main entrance to the lab.

The remaining windows in the lab shatter, along with the lights. Glass rains down on the floor in tiny shards. Smoke and dust billow from one of the destroyed computer terminals, mixing with the glass into a lethal fog.

Your husband grabs Christina before quickly shielding her, Frank, Neena, and Nathan from the worst of the falling glass.

At the lab’s entrance, Wade and a newly reappeared Mikhail shield Russell and Ellie with their bodies.

For a moment, everything goes quiet, save for Essex’s labored groaning, Maddie’s terrified sobbing, and the tinkling sound of the glass making contact with the floor.

And then, not unlike a phoenix, Alex emerges from a cloud of smoke, head held high and eyes glowing menacingly. “Still want to do this, podonok?”

Nathaniel bares his teeth in a snarl before pushing up the sleeve on his jacket, revealing a time travel device like Nathan’s. “Fuck you.” He slaps a button on the device, then winks out of view in a flash of green light.

Alex snorts disdainfully. “Coward.”

Everything goes silent again. Relief slowly starts to sink in, now that the worst of it is over.

And then there’s an ominous whirring noise, and Madeline’s tube starts sinking into the lab floor.

She panics, shrieking and pounding on the glass. “Mommy!”

Christina bolts towards her daughter, equally as terror-stricken. “Maddie!”

The tube sinks fully into the ground, locking into place with a sickening click.

Christina freezes for a moment, staring at the place where her daughter used to be. Then, she lets out an anguished shriek and makes to rip the containment tube out of the ground.

“Don’t!” you shout, batting her away from the tube with a blast of air. “The neurotoxin!”

“I have to save her!”

“She’s already gone,” Nathan says, voice ragged. “He had a teleportation device attached to her cell. It would’ve activated seconds after he left.”

“Fuck you!”

Alex steps between Christina and the cell, keeping her from yanking it back up. “Easy, easy. We will still find your daughter.”

Christina snarls, then punches Alex straight in the face.

She doesn’t so much as flinch. Instead, she raises an eyebrow at the aggrieved woman, then lifts her own fist. “My turn? Or are we done?”

Christina gapes up at Alex for a moment, shocked, then resumes her efforts to try and get to the tube. “Maddie –I have to save her—”

“She is not there,” Alex insists, grunting as she bodily lifts Christina away from the cell. “Our best bet is to find Nathaniel.”

“He could be anywhere!”

“He used a short-range teleporter,” Nathan pipes up. “He’ll be close by. The sooner we start tracking him, the better.”

“Well, that would be our cue,” Alex says, firmly ushering Christina towards the door. “Let’s head back to house. We can plan from there.”

“What about this place?” Yukio asks as she follows after Alex.

“We burn it.”

“We –we can’t do that,” Piotr protests, staring at his mother’s back. “Criminals need to be held responsible for—”

“And, what, we just leave evidence of our involvement? Of your connections to criminal underworld?” Alex snaps, whirling to face her son. “Nyet! We destroy this place and keep ourselves in the clear.”

“And what about the people connected to this place. Without evidence, they will never be held accountable!”

“Justice has many forms, medvezhonok. They’ll get theirs.”

“Come on.” You tug on your husband’s hand when he frowns after his mother. “We need to go, either way. The cops aren’t gonna be able to help us with this, not the way we really need help.”

Piotr’s grimace deepens –but, he ultimately falls into step next to you.

Chapter Text

Alright. Let’s start with the good news.

The good news is that Piotr is –mostly—okay. He’s a little dehydrated and a little roughed up from being knocked out and captured, but other than that he’s fine.

(According to him, Essex and his team of scientists seemed more interested in Neena, Wade, and Madeline; he and Nate were merely proxy captures.)

The bad news is that everything else is going to shit.

Scott basically hit the roof once he found out you left –with the teens, two known criminals, and a Hell’s Kitchen vigilante that is in the legal gray area in tow—without authorization, and is none too thrilled when you return with three more mutants that fall on the vigilante-assassin spectrum and a mutant super weapon with no tongue.

(Fortunately, Alex sends him packing with a none-too-welcoming glare before he can verbally rip you to shreds.)

Your home is a veritable madhouse, now. True to his word, your uncle flew in, and has since taken your dining room hostage with various laptops, weapons, and stacks of paper. Nate and Frank are shoulder to shoulder with him, going over various strategies and pieces of intel; Wade, Ellie, Piotr, and Christina are arguing about Francis and the Weapon-X program, while Mikhail, Yukio, Alex, and Russell are having their own other conversation about the lab and everything that happened there—

It all blends into a cacophony of noises, none of which is helping you think right now.

Shit.

You notice Neena sitting off to the side, staring out the darkened window that overlooks the back deck. You skirt the chaos that starts in your dining room, trails through the hall, and spills into the kitchen, and sit down next to her on the couch. “You okay?”

She sighs heavily, then gives you a weak, tired smile. “Not really. But I will be.”

You want to ask her what happened in the lab –what Essex was so interested in—but you know now’s not the time for that question. That there may never be a time for that question. “Why don’t you go lay down in the guest room upstairs?” You look over your shoulder at the multiple arguments and conversation, then back at her. “Not to say we don’t need you, but I think we’re covered as far as opinions go.”

“Thanks,” she says with a small smile, “but Wade actually called Dopinder for me. He’ll be taking me back to my place.”

“Are you sure that’s safe?” you ask with a frown.

“I’ve got a good feeling about it.”

You let out a little huff of laughter. “Well, if you want to go chill upstairs until Dopinder comes, feel free.”

“That actually sounds good. I think I’ll do—”

The sound of glass shattering cuts Neena off –along with every other person in your home, save for one.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about!”

You whirl around and see Christina advancing on Wade, who quickly gets Russell out of her warpath before picking up the nearest, largest shard of glass from the broken mirror that he can find and angles it at her.

“I will fucking shank you,” Wade snaps, voice entirely lethal. “You –you, of all people—do not get to tell me what is and isn’t a job! Your fucking sugar daddy turned me into a moldy avocado that got facefucked by a naked mole rat! You two built an entire scam off torturing innocent, desperate people just so your psychopathic main squeeze could get his rocks off and feel like some sort of Zeus-wannabe—”

“You don’t understand shit!” Christina snarls, advancing on Wade. “You’ve never tried to take care of a kid—”

“—playing God and crushing people under his feet—”

“—with no way to get a decent job or pay child support—”

“—and then you helped kidnap my future baby momma—”

“—and no resources or avenues to help you out—”

“—and you think I’m just going to forgive that?”

“—so you take what you can get!”

“Alright, alright, easy,” Alex says with an air of unchallengeable authority. With a simple gesture of her hand, she uses her telekinesis to back Wade and Christina away from each other, before flicking her wrist again, sending every last splinter of glass off the floor and intothe kitchen trash can. “There’s bad blood between you two, that much is obvious. None of that changes that we have child to rescue. You two can duke it out later; now, we focus. Ponimayu?”

“If you think,” Wade spits out, still glaring at Christina, “that I am working with some fucking Cara Dune knock off—”

“She will not be joining us,” Alex interjects. “So that takes care of that.”

“Since fucking when!” Christina growls, advancing on Alex with her fists balled up. “Maddie’s my daughter, I’m not—”

“Risking losing her permanently by possibly getting your ass caught in some less than legal actions, while associating with less than legal people,” Alex finishes, standing and crossing her arms over her chest. “Because you have criminal history, da? Which means you do not have full custody, da? And if you get caught in further such activity, you will lose custody to ex who decided to give your daughter to man we are tracking, da?”

Christina visibly seethes, but says nothing.

“Our goal is to protect your daughter, which also means protecting you,” Alex continues, voice gentler. “Otherwise, we end up right back here. So, you stay here, we bring Maddie back to you—”

“—and my ex still has custody rights,” Christina finishes, bitter and defeated.

Alex casts a glance at your uncle before shrugging. “Maybe not. We’ll work something out.”

Christina squints at her, expression perplexed. “Work ‘what’ out?”

“Also, sidebar,” Wade interjects. “Since when am I just getting looped in on this?”

“You want to leave young girl in hands of experimenting scientist?” Alex asks, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“No.”

“Then you help. Anyone else want to say anything?”

“What about us?” Russell asks, gesturing between himself, Yukio, and Ellie.

“You three stay here as well –I will handcuff you all to chairs myself if it comes to that,” Alex adds before any of the teens can argue. “Anyone else?”

“How’re we gonna track this shitstain down?” Frank pipes up. “He could be anywhere.”

“We can go through the intel we already have,” your uncle says, jumping into the conversation. “Chances are he’s still local, since it’s not easy to keep multiple sites running across a widespread area. We sift through everything, we might find something—”

“I can do you one better.” Ellie rummages in the cargo pockets on her suit, then pulls out a miniature hard drive. “I downloaded the compound’s entire database while trying to open the last containment tube. If he’s got other contacts, other places he’s been setting up, it should be on here.”

Your uncle takes the hard drive from Ellie’s outstretched hand with an impressed nod. “Nice. I’ll get working on this, start doing some basic search eliminations so that we aren’t wading through so much information.”

“X-Men are still involved in this,” Piotr says, speaking up for the first time since Christina punched the mirror. “Things cannot go too far off rails.”

“I’ll go along,” you say quickly when you catch the expressions that flicker across Nate’s, Wade’s, Frank’s, Mikhail’s, and Alex’s faces. “To make sure things don’t get too crazy.”

Piotr frowns. “Myshka—”

“I’m already knee-deep in this shit when it comes to Scott,” you mutter, shrugging. “No need to yank anyone else in. And you need to rest. So there.”

Piotr purses his lips, then nods towards the stairs. “Can I talk to you for moment? Please?”

By the time you step over the threshold to yours and your husband’s bedroom, your stomach is in your shoes. You don’t need to see Piotr’s face to feel the disappointment, disapproval, and dissatisfaction radiating off him.

You knew it’d be coming. You’d just hoped that it would wait a little longer than this.

Piotr sits on the bed, waiting until you close the door behind you. The door latches shut, and then he lets out a sigh twice the size he is.

This fucking sucks.

“I wish I knew where to start,” he says quietly, gazing across the room at you.

“You’re upset,” you manage, throat already tight with emotion.

“I am,” Piotr confesses, still quiet. “I know you knew better. Are better.”

And there it is. Less than ten words, and he’s already got you on the verge of tapping.

“I didn’t have any other options,” you say, voice shaking. You sniff, then swallow hard and tilt your chin up. Don’t break down. Not now. “I really didn’t.”

“You always have other options, myshka. Options better than involving children and likes of Frank Castle. You could have asked X-Men for help—”

“Scott was the one on patrol monitor duty. Do you really think he gave me the time of day?”

Piotr frowns deeply. “You are X-Men. If you request assistance—”

“I’ll never been an X-Men in Scott’s eyes,” you spit out, voice breaking embarrassingly. “Look –there’s a young child missing, and she’s in the hands of a fucking maniac. Right now, that takes priority. You’re already disappointed in me—” You choke back a sob, then spread your hands in a ‘what else can I do’ gesture. “We all knew that was coming. So, let’s just leave it there, and next time I’ll try ‘extra hard to be good,’ or whatever.”

“Y/N—”

Whatever he’s going to say next you can’t bear hearing it.

You turn on your heel and all but run out of your bedroom and back downstairs.

You catch your uncle as he leaves the dining room.

“Woah, punk –you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie, scrubbing your face dry. “You get through everything?”

He stares at you, hard, for a long time, but ultimately drops your evident falsehood. “Yeah. Team’s in there concocting a plan right now.” He nods towards the dining room. “Should probably hop in if you want to keep tabs on shit.”

“Yeah, yeah. Look, uh, could you do me a favor?”

“Sure. Name it.”

“Can you get her—” you nod towards Christina, who’s sitting on your family room couch and staring off aimlessly into space “—on one of your teams?”

Your uncle raises an eyebrow. “I thought she and your brother had bad blood.”

“I’m more worried about her daughter. If we can give her something mostly legit to do, she’s more likely to be able to keep her, and then…” Images of your childhood flash through your mind, and you swallow hard. “And then another little kid doesn’t have to spend the rest of their life with someone who hates them.”

Your uncle’s expression softens. He nods. “Yeah, punk. I’ll get her set up.”

You nod in thanks –then hug tightly before heading into the dining room. Job’s not over yet. Not by a longshot.

Ellie’s mass download turns out to be more fruitful than anticipated –namely in that Essex has a righthand man that never visited the compound –to avoid potential capture if the location was compromised. A string of email communications shows that the righthand man knew about all of Essex’s secondary locations and developed the teleporter for Nathaniel.

And, with a little bit of working and some mostly illegal hacking, Nathaniel’s righthand man can be traced back to an apartment in Northern Manhattan (thank you, Micro, aka “Lieberman”).

The plan is simple. Mikhail teleports the rest of you inside the building’s stairwell to avoid being caught on camera. From there, you follow Alex, Mikhail, Nate, Wade, and Frank up to the proper floor.

Simple. Now all you have to do is execute it.

Your heart starts pounding in your throat as you follow the gaggle of assassins into the hallway. You’d agreed to come along, and you’d known that things would get… less than kosher…

But for the first time, you really take in the various guns everyone else is packing, and the body armor that Frank, Mikhail, and Alex all wear, and your stomach churns.

Dammit, Y/N, what did you just get yourself into.

Both Frank and Wade make to kick the door in –and then get yanked to the opposite wall via telekinesis.

“What, you want to alert entire floor?” Alex hisses, pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. “And get your fucking gloves on, Castle. We are not leaving prints if this guy decides to squeal.” She puts a glove hand on the doorknob, then frowns in concentration—

The door unlocks with a quiet click and swings open with a barely audible squeak.

You trail after everyone else, careful to stay outside any lines of fire—

And then everything happens in the blink of an eye.

The righthand man –Jason Cross, according to the name on the WiFi bill that Frank’s tech spook had tracked down—gets up out of his chair and makes a dive for a cell phone, only to hit the floor empty handed.

Alex summons the phone to her hand with her telekinesis, then swiftly pockets it. “Quiet, or this gets worse for you.”

“Get him in a chair,” Nate growls.

Frank, Wade, and Mikhail all rush Jason, physically picking him up and manhandling him into a wooden chair.

Mikhail pulls out a roll of duct tape from the duffel bag slung over his shoulder, then restrains Jason’s legs and arms with several loops of the stuff –all while whistling what sounds suspiciously like Katy Perry’s “California Girls.”

Because this night can’t get any weirder.

Wade rubs his gloved hands together, and the eyes on his Deadpool mask widen as he stares down at Jason. “Ah, this is gonna be fun! Whatcha feeling, baby boy? Chinese hot sauce water torture? Car battery to the nips? Poptart up the ass?”

“Why overcomplicate things,” Frank growls, voice sounding less like a human’s and more like if a pile of gravel learned how to talk. He towers over Jason, glaring down at him like Death personified. “Talk.”

Jason, to his credit, doesn’t piss his pants –though it’s probably a near thing. “L-look, man, I –I don’t know what you want, or what you’re hear for—”

“Wrong answer,” Frank snarls, then rears back and balls his hand into a fist.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Alex snaps, voice hushed. She bats his hand away from Jason with her telekinesis, then glares Frank down. “Eat a damn Snickers and sit the fuck down! For fuck’s sake!”

“He knows were the girl is,” Frank argues.

“And we are not going to get information if you start messing with his head –or if neighbors overhear you beating his ass. Sit down! Just –give me a minute.”

Frank scowls, but sits down on the nearest chair.

Alex lets out a huff, then starts stalking around the apartment.

You visually follow her trail as she snoops around Jason’s apartment. She does a cursory search of the kitchen, eyeing the pristinely white coffee mugs all arranged with the handles facing left. She glances over the meticulously maintained coffee pot, then goes about checking through the cabinets.

“Whoa. Looks like someone’s a caffeine fiend,” Wade jokes when she opens one cabinet door to reveal several unopened bags of the same type of coffee.

Alex ignores Wade as she continues her circuit around Jason’s apartment. She eyes the immaculately white area rug and furniture, the precisely spaced pictures, and the flawlessly dusted coffee table before moving into his bedroom.

“Is there something specific we’re looking for?” Frank grumbles.

“Patience,” is Alex’s only reply. She opens the nightstand drawer, then pulls out a black leather-bound journal.

You get that sinking feeling in your stomach as you watch her flip through the journal’s pages, but stay quiet.

At this point, there’s really not much you can do to stop this ride.

Alex strides back out of the bedroom and tosses the journal onto the coffee table next to Jason, letting it land with a resounding thwap. She stares him down for a moment, then heads back to the kitchen.

“We’re looking for a missing kid,” Frank points out irritably.

“I am well aware,” Alex fires back, tone dry. She casts one more glance at Jason, then starts to shuffle through the rows of coffee cups –messing up their arrangement, touching them all over, sending the handles askew. She eyes one, coughs on it, then sets it back in the group before picking one from the back.

Jason stares after Alex, jaw clenching and unclenching feverishly. “Look, whatever it is you want—”

Alex ignores him as she withdraws the coffee pot from the machine. She turns towards the sink, then freezes halfway and sneezes into the pot.

Jason goes whiter than a sheet. “Just –look, I can’t tell you anything—”

She fills the pot with water, then sticks it in the machine. Alex tosses the already opened bag of coffee around for a moment –spilling a sprinkling of grounds on the counter and floor—before yanking one of the cabinet doors open and pulling out an unopened bag.

“Look, I –just stop!”

Alex pauses in her actions, glancing over her shoulder. “You know where the girl is.”

“I already said, I don’t know any—”

She turns away from him and rips the bag in half, sending coffee flying all over the kitchen.

Jason lets out a noise close to a sob.

Mikhail tosses a knife up and down as his mother portions out coffee grounds into a filter. “Is going long? Because, if is, I order pizza.”

Wade perks up. “Ooh, yeah! Burnt crusts and pineapple with olives!”

“No fucking pizza,” Frank growls, grimacing at Wade’s topping choices. “‘Specially not like that.”

“Terpeniye, ognennyy shar. We are just waiting for coffee to brew.”

“Betcha there’s a Postmates option that gets the pizza here faster than that.”

“Later, gorgeous,” Nate murmurs, gently squeezing his boyfriend’s hand.

Alex sets the coffee to brew, then strides into the main living area of the apartment, trailing coffee grounds with her. “Alright, we have few minutes. Let’s talk.” She fixes Jason with a stern glare when he all but lets out a shriek of agony. “You stay quiet, or I make this worse for you. Ponyal?” When his mouth screws shut, she nods and leans against a marble topped end table. “You know where the girl is. Where Essex took her.”

“Look, I don’t know—”

“Your email is listed in compound records,” Alex lists, starting tick off items on her fingers. “You own the blueprints for teleporter –which you also designed. Your journal mentions Essex by name and working with him. You have record of unethical scientific practices and aligning with agencies that promote or practice testing on mutant individuals. You know exactly why we are here and what we want, you are able to give it to us, and there is no ending in this that you do not come out fucked.” She stares him down for a minute, then shrugs. “You only control just how much it hurts.”

Jason gulps, then looks away. “Okay, look, I admit I know the guy –but if Nathaniel finds out I told you anything, he’s gonna kill me!”

“Should’ve thought about that before you sided with the guy that experiments on kids,” Frank growls.

“He’s going to kill you either way, considering we’ve been here,” Nate adds, leaning against the nearest wall. “You want to save a little girl’s life, or not?”

“You guys don’t understand,” Jason says, voice and expression suddenly earnest in a way that makes your skin crawl. “The gift this child possesses is too extraordinary to simply pass up on. The advancements that could be made for mankind are innumerable.”

“She’s a kid,” Frank snarls, finger tapping against his thigh. “Not a resource for you shitbags to exploit.”

“What even do you want her for?” Wade pipes up. “Aside from whatever sick torture porno collection the two of you are creating.”

“Subject Fifty-Eight has the ability to mimic other mutation sets and already displays remarkable ability to control and use said mutation. On her own, she could be an amazing asset in law enforcement and conflict de-escalation—”

“Which means you want to use her as a gun,” Wade surmises. “You sick cumsock.”

“It’s more than that!” Jason insists, leaning towards Wade as much as he can until the duct tape restraints stop him. “Nathaniel was making good headway on isolating the chromosome that carried the mimicry ability. If he’s able to separate it out, stabilize it, there’s not limits to what it could be used for. Soldiers and policemen with the ability to mimic fighting styles or power sets of alien opponents. Weapons with artificial intelligence interfaces that can adapt their ammunition to whatever they’re up against. Technology with programming that lets them adapt and overcome any type of malware. Vaccinations that could adapt to viruses—”

“We aren’t your ‘Godsend!’” you interrupt, crossing your arms over your chest. “Mutants aren’t a resource that you can just exploit for some type of breakthrough!”

“Not to mention, you held us against our will and put us in giant test tubes,” Wade adds furiously. “And we’re talking about a kid!”

“Sounds like dystopic book,” Mikhail interjects. “Like Hunger Games.”

“I think it’s more of a Divergent, technically—”

“I can’t let you stop the pursuit of science,” Jason says, so sincere and earnest that it’s disgusting.

You stare at him, shocked to your core. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Mikhail turns to face his mother. “Mozhem li my prosto udarit' yego uzhe?”

“Almost.” The coffee maker beeps, and Alex strides back into the kitchen. She pours herself a cup, then walks back into the living area and sits on the couch, directly across from Jason. “Alright. Let’s try this one last time.”

Jason watches her, shifting in his seat (as much as the duct tape lets him). “Look, I already told you—”

“All you told me was a bunch of self-congratulating bullshit that, frankly, made me want to put your face through that end table,” she cuts him off, nodding at the marble end table to her right. “I’m giving you one last chance to do something other than waste my time, and then I’m personally shipping you out to a Siberian gulag, where you can spend the rest of your pathetic, disgusting days sniveling in a cold, dark cell and getting pissed on by gangsters who think you’re a fun bitch to bend over.”

As a credit to his tenacity, if not his common sense, Jason holds strong.

He gulps, and lets out a shaky breath, but shakes his head. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“For fuck’s sake, why aren’t we just breaking this shitbag?” Frank snaps, lurching up off the couch.

“Oh, we are,” Alex says, voice eerily soft and a calm, as she slowly raises the coffee cup to her lips. She maintains full eye contact with Jason as she takes a small sip—

Then she lifts the cup over the immaculate, pure white carpet, and tips it over.

Jason panics, lurching and struggling against his restraints. “No! No, no, no, no—”

The coffee stops, hovering in the air in a massive, rippling, dark brown blob.

Jason pants and gasps, eyes darting between Alex and the coffee.

Alex gently sets the empty mug down on the end table, expression completely inscrutable. She keeps her eyes locked on Jason, practically staring down into his soul.

If he has one left, you think bitterly.

Jason’s chest heaves, breaths slowly relaxing as the coffee continues to float in the air—

And then the blob begins to slowly –inexorably—pour towards the carpet.

Jason’s expression contorts into one of grief. His brow furrows. His eyes widen. His mouth strains into a grimace. His hands grip the armrests of the chair, knuckles going stark white. “Look –I can’t –I’m not—”

Alex merely raises an eyebrow –looking like the pinnacle of unimpressed—and continues to let the coffee flow sluggishly towards the ground.

Jason’s face goes deathly pale, then flushes as he starts to cry. Tears form in his eyes as he yanks at the restraints on his wrists. “Stop it… just –stop it!”

“Careful,” Alex says, voice perfectly smooth and neutral. “Struggle too hard, and you’ll knock over your chair. Might break something.”

His shoulders shake as he watches on, as he stares at a small drip of coffee that rolls down the outer edge of the blob and drops off, falling away from the liquid mass and towards the flawless white carpet—

And he breaks.

“Okay! Okay, okay, okay.”

The drop halts mere inches away from the floor.

Alex raises an eyebrow expectantly.

Jason sniffs and shudders, then hangs his head and starts talking. “The teleporter’s a prototype. It works, but it has a limited range and limited coordinate functions.”

“Useful stuff,” Alex says, voice going gravelly for the first time. “Or I’m dropping this whole cup and going back for the damn pot.”

“It’s in New Jersey. Near Cape May. There’s a second lab there that Nathaniel planned on retreating to if shit hit the fan.”

“And he’ll be there? With the girl?”

“Unless he’s decided to take her somewhere else, yeah.” Jason sniffs. “It’s the only other place he has that has the equipment he needs.”

Alex narrows her eyes. “Coordinates.”

“There’s a flash drive in my safe, underneath my bed. It has a backup of all the information and programming for the teleporter, in case the thing wiped itself clean.”

“Encryption?”

“Yeah; Nathaniel was paranoid about opposition from other companies and scientists. I can—”

“We’ll manage,” Alex interrupts him briskly. “Security measures on the safe?”

“There’s an alarm wired to the door that texts Nathaniel’s phone when it’s opened without the proper code.”

Alex nods at Mikhail. “Cut the back open.” She goes back to staring at Jason, bracing her elbows on her knees. “Security measures at the compound in Cape May.”

Jason squirms. “Look, I’ve already told you—” He lets out a pained whine when the coffee mass drops two inches, then starts talking once more. “It’s pretty spare. We couldn’t afford to have it equipped like the New York one. There’s some cameras, maybe three or four moderately armed guards, and some lockdown functions on the lab doors and windows, but that’s it.”

Alex watches him for a few moments longer, then turns her attention to everyone else. “Anyone else have questions?”

Frank scowls and shakes his head. He lurches off the couch, stalking towards the bedroom where the sounds of Mikhail cutting through the safe drone on. “Broke for a fucking carpet. Disgusting son of a bitch.”

Nathan shakes his head when Alex looks at him. “I’ve heard everything I need to hear.”

You pass on asking any questions, which only leaves Wade—

Who is staring off into space, fists clenched at his side.

You look at Nathan –who shakes his head—then back to Alex. “I… think we’re all set?”

Jason lets out a whimper when Alex collects the coffee back into the cup –mass, single drop, and all—then crumples as much as his restraints let him. “So, what are you going to do with me now?”

Alex shrugs. “Nothing.”

He frowns. “What?”

“Well, you said it yourself,” Alex says. “Essex will kill you just for ratting him out. We don’t have to do anything.”

Jason sputters, mouth opening and closing as he stares at Alex. “I—”

“I mean, look at you,” she continues, smiling enough to show a hint of teeth. “There’s not even a mark on you. Your apartment’s in one piece. All we really did was tape you to a chair and just… talk to you.” Her smile grows as Jason’s expression morphs to one of horror. “You broke for a carpet. If he doesn’t kill you for that, I’d be amazed.”

Jason’s chin trembles as tears roll down his cheeks.

Alex smirks, stands, takes a sip coffee, then grimaces. “You have shit taste in coffee.” She chucks the cup against the nearest wall –which elicits another groan from Jason—then peers into the bedroom. “Ognennyy shar! Skol'ko dol'she?”

“Uzhe sdelano!” The sound of the safe-cutting stops, followed by some rustling noises, and then Mikhail appears in the living room. He tosses the flash drive to Nathan. “Here goes.”

Nate catches it, then raises an eyebrow at the manila folder and envelopes in Mikhail’s other hand. “What are those?”

“Identity thieving.” He crams them in his duffel bag, then nods at Jason. “What do with him?”

Alex makes a ‘hmm-ing’ noise, then glances over at Jason—

Who promptly passes out.

“What did you do to him?” you ask.

“Pressure point and telekinesis.”

“And we’re just leaving him here?” Frank growls, emerging from the bedroom. “Letting him walk away?”

“With any luck, Essex will handle him for us,” Alex says, dropping the empty coffee mug in the kitchen sink. “If he doesn’t, we take things from there.”

You gulp. You know you should protest the idea of executing another human being –on some level, you want to, the justice system exists for a reason—

But you also know there won’t be any swaying any of the people around you. And… you doubt the world would mourn the loss of someone that broke for a damn carpet.

 “Alright, we’re done here,” Alex declares as she strides towards the front door. “Let’s go.”

“What the fuck was that?”

You’re all back at the van –which was parked a few miles away from Jason’s apartment—stationed around it while you all wait for Frank to finish his argument with his “tech spook” and for the flash drive to be unencrypted. Frank’s at the open tailgate, doubled over a laptop while grumbling into a shitty flip-phone. Mikhail and Nate are going what the former lifted from Jason’s safe, and Alex—

Is currently being glared down by one very, very irate Wade Wilson.

He has his mask off, which is the biggest tip off that he’s genuinely furious and not just making an argument for the sake of making an argument. The dim lighting and the scars covering his skin cast his face in shadows, but it isn’t hard to miss the sound of his ragged breathing, the way he keeps clenching and unclenching his fists, or how his body is so tensely coiled that it seems like he’s only three seconds away from physically lashing out at Alexandra.

Everything goes silent –save for Frank’s frustrated muttering—as you all glance between the two assassins.

Alex, to her credit, seems none too ruffled. She blinks slowly, raises an eyebrow, and calmly crosses her arms over her chest. “In regards to what?”

“That fucking interrogation!” Wade snaps, sounding almost like a feral dog. “You said we were going in there to squeeze this guy until he coughed up his juices, and then you just –you just—”

“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.” She shrugs. “Evident from the state of his apartment, his reactions to his order and cleanliness being disrupted, and the journal entries talking about his therapy sessions for the condition.”

“You fucking—”

“I got results,” Alex states. “Without alerting neighbors, authorities, or leaving a trail of evidence that would lead back to us or X-Men.” She raises an eyebrow. “You have problems with that?”

“Oh, I have fucking problems,” Wade seethes. “You don’t just… you don’t just force your way into someone’s brain and turn it fucking inside out! You don’t use something against them that they can’t help or control!”

Even Frank’s staring now, having stopped his quiet swearing and arguing.

“How many therapy sessions do you think this guy is gonna have to go through, now, just undo everything you did to him? You don’t –you don’t just—”

“Presuming he lives that long,” Alex interjects, leaning against the side of the van, “that is not my problem.”

Wade shakes his head vehemently, mouth twisting into a scowl. “We’re not supposed to be that. We bend the rules, we’re morally gray, but we do not sink to the bad guy’s level.”

Alex stares at Wade for a long time before finally speaking. “If you think you’re the first man who has problems with how I operate—”

“It has nothing to do with me being a man!” Wade shouts. “It has everything to do with you emotionally manipulating that shitbag on stuff that he can’t help and can systemically destroy his mental well-being! You beat the shit out of them, you make them piss their pants in fear, but you don’t purposefully look for their weakest spot and keep beating on it until they have nothing left to give you!”

Silence falls, save for the sound of taxis honking and various sirens in the distance.

Nathan steps towards Wade, gently putting his arms around him while Wade gasps and shakes. “Easy, sweetheart. Deep breaths.”

“Semantics of the ‘ethics of interrogation’ aside,” Alex continues once Wade catches his breath, “you are not the first person who takes issue with how I operate. Our goal tonight was covert operation and quick answers. I did both. That nets a win.”

Wade shakes his head against Nate’s shoulder. “You can’t.”

“You don’t want to. I don’t take issue with it.” She shrugs. “Next time we have to do something similar, we stick you on lookout duty instead. Simple.”

You swallow hard as silence stretches on once more, gaze darting between Wade and Alex as the two stare each other down—

And then Frank’s phone starts yelling.

Frank blinks, then lifts his phone’s speaker to his ear. “Yeah, I’m here… dammit, Lieberman, why didn’t you say you were fucking done? …yeah, yeah…” He crouches and peers at the laptop screen, where there’s a few different folders open. “Alright, what are we looking at?”

The secondary compound is markedly smaller than the first. It’s fairly non-descript, planted in the center of a vast, weed-choked, otherwise abandoned parking lot.

“Used to be a pharmaceutical processing center,” Nate says as scans the warehouse through a pair of night vision binoculars. “Records say that Essex bought it through a third-party once they shut down due to budget cuts.”

“Good for him,” Frank grumbles as he sips down a cup of coffee. “How do we crack this place open?”

“Should be able to break in through the South entrance,” Nate reasons. “It’s the least defensible from the inside. Get in, gun our way to the lab.”

You drink from your own cup of coffee as you mull your dad’s suggestion over –it’s three in the morning, and it’s only going to get rougher from here on out—then shake your head. “No. We can’t risk losing Madeline.”

“She’s right,” Alex chimes in. “Going in ‘guns blazing’ will alert everyone and give Essex time to escape.”

“Anything we do is going to alert him,” Nate huffs. “The lab has security camera feeds that let him see the whole base. At this point, it’s about speed.”

“Unless we draw him out,” Wade suggests.

Silence falls over the group as you all consider the idea.

“How would we do that?” Nathan asks.

“Like you said, he has the camera feeds,” Wade explains. “So, figure out where the cameras are, and send out a ‘bait team’ to trigger them and bring him out. Then, while they have Essex distracted, the rest of us go in and save Madeline.”

“Is good idea,” Mikhail agrees after a moment of thought.

Nathan considers, then nods. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

“Do you really think he’s gonna come out here to fight us?”

You’d teamed up with Alex and Nate to distract Essex, leaving Frank, Wade, and Mikhail to extract Madeline from the compound.

At the time, it’d seemed like a good idea.

But now, as you’re strolling up to the warehouse-style building, in full view of any cameras and with no other cover, you’re starting to have second thoughts.

“He’ll come,” Nate says, charging up his gun.

There’s an undercurrent to his voice –tension, anger, you’re not sure what—that makes you think he knows more about this situation than he’s letting on—

But then there’s a flash of light, and Nathaniel’s standing less than twenty feet away from you, and you don’t have time to second guess anything else.

“You really thought that splitting up would work?” He smirks, self-assured. “Like I don’t already have your whole plan figured out.”

“Working so far,” Nathan grits out, setting his sights on Essex. “You’re out here.”

Nathaniel’s smirk broadens into an arrogant, borderline crazed grin –and then whips his hand to his left.

A rusted metal shipping container, long since left discarded by the previous owners, scrapes across the pavement as it moves towards you three. It picks up speed, moving faster and faster, until it’s practically hurtling towards you.

You gasp and crouch, split seconds away from grabbing your dad and Alex and flying for it—

And then Alex flicks her hand –deftly, casually—at the container.

It stops in its tracks, crumping in on itself like an empty Pepsi can.

Nathaniel stares at her, mouth gaping in awe and horror.

Alex glares mutely at him, stalking across the parking lot towards him before pulling out her own gun and opening fire.

Nathaniel erects a telekinetic shield to deflect the bullets, then reaches for the teleporter mounted on his wrist.

Before he can touch it, though, Alex flicks out a thin cord of energy from her hand, wraps it around his upper body, then flings him across the parking lot.

Nathaniel grunts as he tumbles along the ground, teleporter sparking when it smacks into the hard pavement. He rolls to his feet, tapping at the device’s display screen, then curses when it doesn’t work before launching more scattered debris at Alexandra.

You watch, somewhat awestruck, as Alex deftly dodges the various projectiles as she charges Essex once more. “You think she’s got that covered?”

“Here’s fucking hoping,” Nate grunts as several black-clad, well-armed men sprint out of the nearest entrance to the warehouse.

The fight becomes less of a ‘fight’ and more of a ‘dodge the multiple flying chunks of metal’ challenge as you and Nathan try to take down Essex’s hired muscle and Alex deals with Nathaniel himself.

You yelp as you duck a straight blast of energy from Alex, which goes on to score out a chunk of the asphalt behind you. You try to fly into the air to avoid getting hit by anything else –then nearly get taken out by a spray of gunfire from one of the guys Nathan’s chasing down.

You’re in over your head. You’re in way over your head. This is so far above your pay grade it’s not even funny anymore. You can handle the various scrapes the X-Men get into, and you’ve managed to come out on top in a few rougher fights than that, but trying to keep pace with literal professional soldiers and assassins is a step too far for you. Several steps too far.

Get home to Piotr, you chant in your head, like a mantra. Get home to Piotr, get home to Piotr, get home to Piotr.

You unleash a whirlwind of air, knocking several gun-bearing men away from you.

Get home to Piotr.

You bounce away from what sounds like a grenade going off, sailing through the air and dodging pieces of shrapnel as best you can as you go.

Get home to Piotr.

Something hits you hard in the back, and you plummet to the ground with a choked grunt. The pavement is none too forgiving to your comparatively fragile, fleshy body; pain sparks in your head and your right knee, alerting you to their discontent with being abused like this.

Your vision goes blurry, and the world slows for a minute as you try to get your bearings back about you.

Get… home…

“…hardly even a challenge.”

You look up, and see Nathaniel Essex standing over you.

He’s grinning nastily, which only further offset by the blood caked to the side of his face. He flicks his hand, and sends you tumbling across the ground once more. “I know the X-men have low standards for fighting capabilities, but this is depressing, even for them.”

Get home… to…

You stagger to your feet, gritting your teeth together as your head and knee throb in vengeful unison. Your stomach drops when you think of Alexandra –granted, your vision’s blurred, but you can’t see her anywhere—but you quickly push it aside when Nathaniel launches a steel beam at you.

He has the decency to look somewhat impressed when you bat it away with an air shield. “Not bad.”

Before you can think, you feel an invisible hand close around your neck, shutting your airflow off as it lifts you off the ground.

“But not good enough.”

You claw at the invisible force –not that it does any good. Your feet kick and thrash as you cough and sputter—

And slowly, the world goes dim.

Piotr.

I’m sorry.

Your face throbs, pulse slowing as you begin to pass out—

No.

Absolutely. Not.

I refuse to go out to this jackass.

With your last bit of consciousness, you force yourself to stop struggling against the pressure around your neck and focus instead on the air around you –to do something with it, anything.

You manage to create a shockwave, sending it out in all directions around you—

It’s enough.

You drop to the ground as Nathaniel goes flying –hitting your other knee in the process, because that would be just your luck—gasping and sobbing as oxygen flows back into your lungs and body. Your ears are ringing slightly, and you throat feels like you’ve been drinking sandpaper—

Get home to Piotr.

You’re alive. Now you just need to do something with it.

You get to your feet, vision swimming as your eyes adjust from having hit your head and then nearly been strangled, but you manage to make out Nathaniel, groaning and laying a few yards away from you.

Get home to Piotr.

You clumsily unleash another blast of air at him, shoving him further away from you and getting a few good, pained swear words out of him for your efforts. You stumble to the side, then gear up to hit him again—

A flash of brilliant, golden energy slams into Nathaniel, rocketing him across the lot and into one of the warehouse walls. A few seconds later, it’s followed by a none too happy Alexandra, who storms after Nathaniel like the human equivalent of a particularly angry swan with a gun.

Seeing that Alex has Nathaniel well handled, you opt to drop down to your knees –hurting both of them this time, fan-fucking-tastic—then crumple against the asphalt on your side and curl into a ball.

Get home to Piotr. Get home to Piotr. Get home to—

A pair of hands grip underneath your armpits, and then someone hauls you to your feet.

“Come on, Rasputin,” Frank grunts, steadying you as you whine and curse. “We’re not done yet.”

“I am,” you mutter. “Hit my head.”

“Yeah, that’s probably why you’re bleeding.”

“Shit.”

A few feet away, you can see Mikhail handling the last of the gunmen, while Wade sprints clear of the fracas, holding a crying little girl in his arms.

Further away, you can make out Nathan and Alex, who’re working on taking down Essex.

You squint, then let out a frustrated sigh when that does nothing to clear your vision. “Who’s winning?”

“Your guy’s mom,” Frank says, sounding somewhat… amused? Impressed? It’s impossible to tell, with him. “She’s uh… she’s pretty much stomping him.”

There’s a few more flashes of Alex’s energy powers, accompanied by the tell-tale sound of your dad’s “future gun”—

And then there’s a flash of white light, and everything goes silent.

Dread sinks in your stomach. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

Frank lets out an irritated grunt that confirms your fears.

“Okay,” Wade says as he gently rocks Madeline back and forth. “Who pressed the Staples’ button?”

Mikhail looks around for any sign of Essex, then looks to his mother. “Chto teper'?”

“Now, Alexandra sighs as she flicks the safety for her rifle on, “we go home.”

“What about Essex?” Mikhail asks.

“He will surface again, eventually. For now—” she nods at Madeline “—we get her back to mother.”

You raise your hand. “Question: does this mean I can pass out now?”

The ride home –since Mikhail’s too tired to teleport everyone and the van you’ve been using back to Xavier’s—is exhausting. By the time you reach the school, the sun’s already rising into the sky.

The process of going through the medical checks –which takes even longer for you, since you have a definite concussion—is excruciating. You’re past running on fumes; all you want is a hot shower, a warm bed, and to not be interrupted for about seven to twelve hours.

It’s all worth it when you see Madeline dash into her mother’s arms. For all your misgivings against Christina –and, considering what she did to Wade, there’s plenty—there’s no denying that she and her daughter have a good bond.

Your uncle intercepts you as you trudge up the porch steps, steadying you as he guides you towards the door. “We’ve got her—” he points discreetly at Christina, who’s still hugging Madeline “—step up. She and her kid should be safe.”

You nod, too weary for words, then make to enter your home—

Except Christina stops you, quickly ushering Maddie inside while your uncle leaves to talk to Nathan and Frank. She steps between you and the door, gaze darting between your uncle and you. “Who the hell is he?” he hisses, jerking her chin towards your uncle. “And why did you even help me? He told me you asked him to set me up with… basically everything?” She narrows her eyes at you, regarding you with hostile suspicion. “The fuck are you trying to pull?”

You want to say something about morals and doing the right thing, about taking the high road, about mutants needing to stand together regardless of their respective pasts…

What comes out, though, is, “My parents paid a telepath to remove my mutant abilities, and all it wound up doing me was nearly killing me and left permanent psychic scarring on my brain.”

Christina blanches, blinking repeatedly. “…Shit.”

You shrug. “Pretty much. Look, your daughter needs a safe space to grow up in, and despite my vast misgivings against you… it’s clear that the two of you love and trust each other. As far as I’m concerned, I did all this for your daughter, so that…” You throat constricts with emotion, and you swallow hard before pressing on. “So that she wouldn’t have to endure the kind of childhood I had.” You sigh, wipe away a few stray tears, then level Christina with an exhausted glare. “Let’s be clear, though –you hurt Wade again, and I’ll fly you out to the middle of the fucking ocean and drop you there.”

Christina rolls her eyes. “Ooh, I’m so scared.”

“Whatever. Please get out of my way so I can go take a fucking shower.”

She smirks, but steps aside nonetheless.

You sigh heavily, then finally step into your home.

Somewhere during the period when you were gone, Illyana and Nikolai showed up –and brought Karen Page with them, too. They, in tandem with Piotr, are monopolizing your kitchen, making breakfast for everyone.

You wait until everyone else from the “rescue group” files into your house, then use the distraction of everyone being reunited to slip upstairs unnoticed. You beeline straight for the bathroom in yours and Piotr’s bedroom, shucking your clothes as you go, then step into the shower and turn the water on full blast.

You can barely keep your eyes open. The only thing that’s keeping you from curling up and going to sleep in this shower is that you don’t fancy the thought of drowning… or accidentally plugging the drain with your foot, flooding the basin, and soaking the bathroom floor.

(You’d been sick; it’d been an accident.)

You do the bare minimum to get yourself clean, then shut off the water and sag against the tile wall. It’s a full five minutes before you can convince yourself to get out of the shower, and even then it’s with a great deal of mental swearing and complaining.

You get dry, find some pajamas (which are really just one of Piotr’s shirts and a pair of clean underwear), then crawl onto the end of your bed and curl up under the throw blanket you keep there for decorative purposes.

And, finally, sleep claims you.

You get all of five minutes before the door to yours and your husband’s bedroom opens.

“Myshka.”

You groan and crawl further under the throw blanket. “Y/N is not available right now. Please leave a message at the sound of the ‘fuck.’”

Piotr laughs softly, and you can hear a plate and a glass clatter against his nightstand before the soft, rustling sounds of the blankets and pillows being moved fill your ears. “Come on, moya lyubov’. Breakfast is—”

“I will jam a pancake up your ass.”

He laughs again –then gently cradles you in his arms and sets you at the top of the bed, against a pile of pillows. He sets a warm plate of food in your lap, then sets a fork and knife on the top edge of the plate. “You need to eat, myshka. You have had long night.”

You groan, reluctantly pry one eye open, then sigh resignedly when you see a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, a helping of bacon, two slices of banana bread, and a heap of hash browns. “Carbs. You would know the way to my heart.”

“I would hope so.” He sits next to you on the bed, takes your hand in his, and kisses your bruised knuckles. “You are moya zhena, after all.”

He looks better than when you rescued him from Essex’s clutches. He’s showered, shaved, put on fresh clothes, combed his hair. There’s still shadows under his eyes and a bruise on his cheek, but he looks more like the Piotr you know and love.

You lift your hand to gently rub your thumb along the swell of his cheek, skirting the edge of his bruise –but then your low mood catches up with you, and you drop your hand and look down at your breakfast plate. “You don’t have to stay with me. I know you probably don’t want to.”

You can hear the frown in his voice when he speaks. “Why… why would I not want to be with you?”

“Because you’re ashamed of me,” you eke out, fighting back tears.

Piotr sighs heavily, then leans over and kisses your temple. “I am not ashamed of you. I love you. And… I owe you apology.”

“Apology?” You frown, then set your plate aside before looking up at him. “For what?”

“For not standing up for you more, to Scott.” He grimaces. “Ellie told me what happened. How Scott treated you.”

“That –that’s not your fault, Piotr,” you protest. “Scott’s an asshole because he wants to be; you’re not responsible for his dickotry.”

“Perhaps not—”

“And I can stand up for myself,” you add, eager to soothe his worries. “It’s –it’s not your job to have to do that for me. I’m more than capable of standing up for myself, I promise.”

He smiles softly, then kisses the back of your hand. “I know. It is nothing about ‘capable’ or ‘job.’ I… I know he picks at you. And others. And perhaps it is because I am complacent or non-confrontational, but… I do nothing. And that is not okay. And for that, I am sorry. I am sorry I have not protected you better, and I hope you can forgive me.”

You sniff, then wipe away the tears trailing down your cheeks. “Of course, I can forgive you, sweetheart. I…” You sniff again, and –finding yourself at a loss for words—repeat yourself. “I forgive you, Piotr. Always.”

“Spasibo, moya serdste.” He kisses your forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment, then leans back to rub at his own damp eyes. “Ellie also told me about… conversation she and you had before rescue mission. About position she and others put you in. We had long talk about respecting authority and listening to those with more experience; she wants to apologize, once you are ready.”

You let out a shaky breath, then nod. “I think I want to sleep first.”

“Konechno. After breakfast.”

You laugh wetly and roll your eyes. “Yes, fine, after breakfast, you big dad.”

He chuckles along with you, then none-too-subtly sets your plate back in your lap. “Shoe fits, I wear. Plate in front of you… you eat?”

You laugh at the adorable, impossibly hopeful look he gives you, then heap up some hash browns and pancake on your fork and shove the bite in your mouth. “There. Happy?”

“Immensely.” He hands you the glass of orange juice he brought up, but it slowly ebbs as he watches you eat, contemplation evident in his expression. “Why… why did you think… that I was disappointed in you?”

“Is this your way of saying you weren’t?” you ask tiredly.

He purses his lips, then sighs heavily. “Initially, I was… frustrated. And small bit disappointed. But once I understood,” Piotr says, angling his head to catch your gaze until you relent and look him in the eye, “I was not disappointed with you in slightest. I know you. I know you are not needlessly reckless. I know you would not carelessly put Ellie, or Russell, or Yukio in such dangerous position.”

“But you thought I was. Reckless and careless.”

“It looked that way, but I knew it was not you,” he says, sincere. “And I knew that you had to be desperate to turn to Mr. Castle, I just… did not have all pieces. So, again, why did you believe I was disappointed in you?”

“Because why wouldn’t you be?” You set your fork down, chest tight with hurt and sorrow and regret. “I –I failed! I couldn’t do things the ‘right’ way, I asked a vigilante and a –a murder for help, I couldn’t –I couldn’t keep Ellie and Russell and Yukio out of it—”

“You did your best,” Piotr says softly. He sets the plate back on the bed and draws you into his arms when you start crying again. “You knew that we were in danger –that child was in danger—and you had no help, so you went and found it.”

“But –but Ellie—”

“Put you in unfair position and did not respect your authority, so you did what you could to keep her and Russell and Yukio safe,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “You did your best, myshka. And that is something I am very proud of.”

You burst into sobs, relief pouring over you, washing away the grief and hurt and self-loathing you’d held in over the course of the night. You cling to him, clenching the material of his shirt in your fists as you shake and sniff and whimper.

And Piotr holds you. Rocks you back and forth. Whispers how much he loves you and how proud he is of you and kisses your hair and the bridge of your nose and your tear-streaked cheeks.

Eventually, you calm down. You catch your breath, inhaling and exhaling shakily as your husband rocks you back and forth. You lay your head on his shoulder, blinking the last of the tears away. “She’s right, you know.”

“Who is?”

“Ellie. About being an adult. We won’t be able to… to tell her what to do forever.”

“Nyet,” Piotr agrees, kissing your forehead gently. “But this is different. And she understands that now.”

You let out a shaky breath, then hug your husband tightly. “I love you, baby.”

He hugs you back just as tight. “And I love you, myshka.”

You tip your head back so you can kiss him, then let out a contented, relieved sigh when he presses his lips against yours.

You’re okay.