Lullaby

December 16th, 8:00am est

Angelo and Jubilee had skipped class together. He knew he was missing a quiz, and his grade would be lowered because of it. But at this moment he didn't care. There were more important things he needed to attend to.

He opened the squeaky driver's side door and slid in. Jubilee entered the other side, her hands shaking. He could tell she was nervous and having second thoughts. "You sure you want to do this, Chiquita?"

Jubilee nodded, but he knew she was lying. She wasn't sure. Her appointment was at 10:00, and as Angelo shifted his car into reverse, he imagined the vengeful blades of Wolverine sinking into him.

Just what would Wolverine do if he found out Jubilee was pregnant - and that he had played a part in having it aborted? He shook the mental image away from his mind and shuddered. Wolverine would not find out, he said to himself. Wolverine would not find out. He repeated silently. He would keep the use of his arms and legs. He looked down at his legs, imagining Wolverine's claws slicing across them. Wolverine would not find out. He took in a deep breath. He would keep his life. He looked into the rear-view mirror at his brown spanish eyes. Wolverine would not find out. He wouldn't, he wouldn't, he wouldn't. He repeated it to himself silently, over and over like a mantra, until Jubilee cleared her throat. "We going?"

"Right." He answered nervously in high-pitched voice. started the engine and drove off.

He ended up rolling the windows down as an attempt to calm his rattled nerves. So what if he risked his health by taking her to the abortion clinic? Jubilee was his friend and she needed him. He stole a glance over to Jubilee, who looked green at the gills. Both hands were planted on her stomach. It was concealed by her yellow trenchcoat. He let out a quiet groan.

It was so obvious that she wanted to keep it. Why was she doing this? She admitted to him that she had skipped her appointment twice. Was she going to repeat this cycle over and over until her due date? What was her due date, anyway? He let out a frustrated sigh and pressed on the gas.

---

Headmaster's office
9:36am est

Emma Frost rubbed the bridge of her nose in irritation. She could feel a migraine coming on. "She skipped a total of five classes, Sean. She failed Algebra." She looked up at him, exhausted. "I've tried everything. Even with Xavier's pardon because of trauma while on a mission, she's going to fail. That pardon only works if she has a passing grade of at least C."

Sean shrugged. "It's been hard for her. Let her alone. It hasna been that long ago."

"I can't just 'let her alone,' Banshee! Why can't you help me with this? Why do I have to be the only one who cares about her welfare?"

"We all care about her, Emma!"

"Then why aren't you and Xavier trying to help her!? I've seen no attempts made by either of you to do anything constructive! Even that Rooter boy has gone to counseling and that walking carpet Wolverine has had more attention than Jubilee has!" She had seen this pattern over and over again. Jubilee was almost constantly overlooked by everyone - it was as if her power to resist computer sensors and psychic interference also made her near-invisible to her peers and superiors.

"When has Jubilee ever benefitted from counseling? She always hated going. She gets her help from her friends, that's how she heals."

"She hasn't confided to any of her 'friends,' and I don't consider peer counseling to be a very effective or proffessional method anyway. I need your support in this because she's failing! Does that mean nothing to you?"

Sean fought to keep his anger at bay. Was Emma actually accusing him of not caring? Just because he didn't agree with her methods of counseling didn't mean he didn't worry for Jubilee. In fact, he had been very attentive. He watched her very closely, and had noticed changes in her that no one else had. He took a more fatherly approach to Jubilee, an approach that she seemed to react positively to.

Emma's approach had a negative impact - Jubilee always had a distrust of authority, she knew that! And by the way Emma treated her, it seemed that she still didn't know that Jubilee was pregnant. For Emma to not pick up on her condition with her powers meant that Jubilee's resistance ability was covering for her baby, too.

He had considered telling Emma the day he found out - but he thought better of it at the last minute. Instead, he had planned to approach Jubilee on his own. So when Jubilee fell back on her combat skills, he let her. He knew she didn't want to hurt the baby, and he certainly wasn't going to make her take the front line beside Monet and Paige.

He rose from his seat and strode for the door. "No, it means a lot." He said honestly. "But the lass's health is of more concern to me now than letters on a wee piece of paper." He opened the door and left.

---

Xavier Institute for Higher Learning
9:45am est

Jean paced back and forth nervously, her telepathy flairing occasionally. Every time it flared, she would close her eyes and concentrate. Then, when she didn't find whatever it was she was looking for, she would go back to pacing. She did this for an hour. Back and forth, back and forth, an endless cycle of pacing and searching telepathically.

Wolverine could hear the footsteps two rooms away, and the repeated thumping was beginning to grate on his nerves. He opened the door to Jean's room, unable to take it anymore. "Will ya stop, already? You're driving me crazy with all that pacing!"

She stopped, taking in a nervous breath. She looked at him, eyes pleading. She looked so worried. He could smell the anxiety dripping off of her. "What's the matter? What happened?"

"I don't know," She said, biting her lower lip. "It's so strong though."

"What's strong?"

"Can't you feel it? There's something wrong. It feels terrible, but I can't place it or who it's coming from." She closed her eyes, letting her telepathy search for the person who was causing so much grief. "So much fear." She opened her eyes and shrugged. "I don't know who it's coming from. Someone we know."

He scratched the back of his neck, the hair beginning to rise. So it wasn't his imagination. Since eight o'clock he had felt on edge, as if something bad was going to happen. He hated omens. "Ahh, I'm feelin' it, too." He admitted. He had grown a sixth-sense of sorts to when trouble was abroad. Now that he knew Jean was feeling it, too, he was more alert than ever.

She put her fingers to her temple and shook her head. "I wish I knew. I told Scott, so everyone is on watch, but..." She let her hand fall. "It's driving me crazy."

---
Planned Parenthood of Massechusetts
9:48am est

Jubilee was going crazy. She was actually in the clinic, filling out meaningless paperwork, shaking. Angelo sat next to her, watching. "You're shaking like a chihuahua. You sure you want to go through with this?"

She nodded, then groaned and lifted the clipboard. "It needs the signature of the father? Why?" She let her pencil fall. "This is so stupid! Why do I need his signature? This is not happening."

Angelo rolled his eyes. "It's just to keep the clinic from getting sued, Jubecita. Here." He took the clipboard from her and signed as the father. "Anyone asks, I'm the father, si?"

She looked down at the clipboard, blinking. It had been that simple. Scrawled across the box saying father's signature was Angelo Espinosa's loopy handwriting. "Wow, I didn't even think of that." She said, glancing at him.

"I thought you filled this out before?"

She shook her head. "Last two times I didn't even get through the door," She said, her voice shaking. She looked back at the paperwork, still shaking, and exhaled. "Okay, done."

She rose on shaky legs and returned the papers.

"You can go into room three." The nurse said, pointing with a black pen down the hall. Jubilee made an expression that could only be described as I don't want to go. She slowly made her way down the hall on tiny footsteps. Each step she made, she felt a little number. The sound of the machines. The chatting of doctors. The sterile smell of the clinic. It all made her sick.

She felt Angelo grab her shoulder, pulling her upright. Her world went spinning out of control. "You okay?" He mumbled to her, and she nodded. She was fine. She was just scared. So incredibly, thoroughly, undeniably, motherfuckingly scared. She kept her eyes locked on the floor, letting Angelo lead her to the room. She clung to him as if he was her lifeline, knuckles white.

She could hear the doctor's footsteps approach. "Hello!" He said in a professional, cheerful tone. He saw Jubilee clinging to Angelo's jacket, looking like a meek rabbit, as if she had been beaten mercilessly. She looked positively frightened- a common enough sight. Only this one looked a tad more scared than the others. "Are you Jubilation?" he asked, and she nodded meekly.

"Yes, yes, yes." She said so quietly he could barely hear. She noticed his name was Dr. Spinnard, his nametag written on what looked like a shiny, gold pin. "If you will follow me to room three." He turned on his heel and went into the room, looking down at the signed paperwork.

As they entered the room, Angelo shut the door. Jubilee had begun to feel better when she started walking again. Then she took one look at the sterile table, and she was sure she was going to throw up. Her anxiety had returned with a vengeance.

"Wait," Dr. Spinnard said, looking down at the paperwork. "This says you're seventeen?" He pointed to the clipboard, looking to Jubilee. She nodded. He looked up at Angelo. "And you're seventeen?" He nodded, swallowing. Oh, no. He thought to himself.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know why Maggie didn't notice at the front desk," he explained, "We can't go through with the procedure unless you have a guardian's signature."

Relief and terror swam through Jubilee's tiny frame at the same time. Relief that she didn't have to abort her child. Terror that this meant she had to get her guardian's signature. And she didn't want her guardian to sign. She didn't want her guardian to know about this nightmare.

Angelo put his hands in his pockets, looking down, nodding, chewing on his toothpick. Then he glanced up at the kind-looking doctor. "Well, we were hoping you could make an exception." He removed one hand from his pocket. He could already feel the sweat on his back. He would have to do this right if this was going to work. "you see," he said, then let his fingers stretch, "your laws are created with humans in mind, si?"

The doctor's mouth formed words, but no words emerged. His eyes had grown round in fear. Angelo noticed his eyes were a very lovely toffee brown. The doctor was afraid - that wasn't Angelo's intention.

The doctor didn't know what to say. Was his life being threatened by this mutant? Why didn't he pick a safer job like dentistry? His parents had warned him that if he became an abortionist he could very well die for it. But no, he wanted to be an abortionist. He wanted to stand up for women's rights and make a little difference somewhere. And now there was a mutant in his room, stretching his skin.

"Well, she's a mutant too. And that's a mutant baby, so your policies don't have to cover for us." Angelo said in as gentle a voice as possible. The last thing he wanted to do was scare the man! His fingers returned to their normal length, and he took a step back, trying to look as innocent as possible. "We're not trying to scare you. We're desperate. What's the worst this can do? But ensure there's one less mutant to worry about later?"

The doctor took in a breath. He looked at his patient, her expression reminding him why he had chosen his profession in the first place. She looked terrified. And Mr. Espinosa had a point - what harm could be done? They had the means to pay for the procedure, and they were mutants, so the law didn't exactly apply to them in a traditional sense. "Okay," he said, swallowing. He couldn't believe he was doing this.

"We'll continue." He said, then pointed to the dressing room - a mere curtain on a curved rod in the corner of the room. "Change into the gown. I have to prepare." He motioned for Angelo to follow. "Mr. Espinosa, if you'll come with me."

---

When Angelo shut the door, Dr. Spinnard lead him to a chair not far from the room. "It would be best if she took it easy for a few days. Help her out and make sure she doesn't lift anything heavy." He said, putting his pen in his pocket.

"If you'll wait out here. This shouldn't be too long." Then the doctor left for the prep room. Angelo watched as the doctor walked away, thankful. He was a decent man - someone Angelo could respect. He sat back on the chair, wondering how Jubilee was doing.

---

She hated hospital gowns. She hated them with a passion. And now she was wearing one. And she hated those god-forsken tables. Honestly, the tables looked like torturing devices. They were cold and impersonal, not warm and inviting like real beds were. And now she was sitting on one. How did life get to be so messed up that she was willingly doing all the things that she hated?

Time seemed to stand still for her. It felt as if the doctor would never return. Maybe he forgot about her? A part of her wished he had. She stared at her hands, having nothing better to do. Funny how a little lichen and one night in a cell with Wolverine managed to bring her to this cold, sterilized room. As she sat there, she realized just how much she didn't want to be there.

She kicked her feet while she waited. Really, it felt like forever. She could hear people walk up and down the halls, nurses and doctors. They said the strangest things as they walked by, medical lingo that she didn't understand and didn't care to. Every time they passed, she held her breath, sure they were going to open her door. But they didn't.

She took in a deep breath and tried to think of something else. She looked around the room and at all the instruments that sat on the table and hung on the walls. Some of them she recognized, others she didn't and had to imagine their function. She could feel butterfies in her stomach.

She lowered her eyebrows. Wait. That wasn't butterflies - that wasn't imagined. She looked down, putting her hands on her stomach. It was a strange feeling - tremors, it felt like, like little earthquakes. Was that ... was that the baby?

The tremors would start and stop, start and stop, almost like a twitch. And that definately wasn't her. "Oh," she said quietly, looking down at the small round of her stomach, covered by a blue surgical gown. "It's you."

---

9:50am est

Tank had been a guard since he was twenty years old. He was good at what he did. He was always thorough. For that reason, he was one of Caid's favorites. He was always given the special jobs along with Incu.

When he heard that Caid had been demoted, he felt for the man. Caid was good at his job - the finest. Now because of two stupid pretties he had been stripped of his title. Dishonored.

When Caid told him of The Plan - to find Yvanka's child and bring it to her - he took the job happily, not only glad to have time away from the prison, but also glad that soon Caid would be reinstated. Yvanka wouldn't let such a grand deed go unpraised. Besides, Tank enjoyed the sun and snow - they were beautiful, and it had been so long since he had seen them both.

He sniffed, wiping his runny nose. It had been almost three weeks since he had been assigned to watch the Planned Parenthood clinic in Massechusetts. He had gone three weeks without the drugs that gave him super healing.

He was already suffering from withdrawal. It made concentrating on anything a difficult task. He was slower on his feet. Weaker. Tank hated feeling weak. Caid had promised that he would go home in two days, so he could take his badly-needed dose. But for the time being, he would have to stick it out. And he did just that, like a good little guard.

He was almost certain that the girl would run away again. But this time she brought a friend, and that friend helped her inside the building. She wasn't running out. Which meant that she was going back to Myvern, willingly or not, and god help whoever stood in his way. He picked himself off the ground and cocked his gun. "Incu," He said to his communicator, "The pretty ain't runnin'. It's show time."