Sins of the Father

Sins of the Father Chapter Sixty Two (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE (tm), Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta... *giggles * Everyone loved 'your' soaps, lol. InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena are most wonderful and splendid for archiving/hosting. And Tex, I promise I'll start uploading this weekend, lol. ProPhile: *BLUSH * Morgan: *glomp * Readers/Reviewers: The next story is going to be lighter, more smut and some angst but no hard core stuff, lol. In the mean time... Thank you SO much for reading/reviewing!!!!

Todd bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. In all his seventeen years of life, carpooling with Mystique had never once crossed his mind. Though, he suspected, this was hardly carpooling. "When'd Mags get a plane, yo?" he asked over the engine noise, trying to be conversational. Jamie looked scared to near death as he white knuckled the seat arms next to him and Todd felt a twinge of sympathy. He felt the same way when Lance drove.
Piotr glanced over his shoulder at the passengers then aside to Mystique. Finally, he rumbled, "Shut up."
Todd rolled his eyes. "Way to be a douche bag, man." He leaned forward again and said, "How much longer?"
Mystique sighed inwardly. "Ten minutes. And if you ask me again, I am shoving you out of the cargo bay doors." She smiled in grim satisfaction as Todd scooted back into his seat and resolutely avoided her eyes in the reflection off the window glass. "When we arrive, stay out of my way."
"Stay out of her way?" Jamie squeaked, then cleared his throat so he could speak normally again. "Todd, this is infuckingsane! They're the enemy!"
"Look," Todd snarled, "we haven't got much of a choice, ya know? Jean and Scott were gonna make us do this their way and take too long... I'm not gonna leave Rogue out there with those freaks a second more than I absolutely have to!" Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Lance I'm not too worried about, ya know? He's done weird before. He can do it."
Jamie did not look any more at ease after Todd was done speaking. He licked his very dry lips and swallowed a few times before whispering, "What's to stop 'em from killing us? We're the enemy!"
Piotr answered. "Petty murder is not what we do. We are not the boogey man under your bed, Jamie. We are the opposite side of the same coin."
Mystique seemed to tense at this analogy but did not reply to it. Instead, she banked the plane and announced, "We're landing a mile from the site in a protected area. If you do not do exactly as I tell you, when I tell you, it won't be petty murder. It'll be justifiable homicide."

Scott scrubbed furiously at his mouth while Jean looked out the window. "Stop it," she said sharply. "You're rubbing your skin raw."
"But he *slimed * me!" he complained anew.1 "Twice!"
"Well, you didn't take no for an answer," Firestar murmured from beside him. The Blackbird was quiet for such a large jet and her comment was heard throughout the passenger compartment.
Jean smirked. "She has a point. Even I told you to drop it after the third try to stop them."
Scott frowned and would have slid down in his seat to sulk had he not been flying the Blackbird. "You're just damned lucky he didn't knock me out."
"He slimed you, not hit you," Jean sighed. "You're making my head ache again. Stop it."
Scott pressed his lips together in a thin line and turned his attention to the communications coming in from Warren and the others who had gone ahead of them in his jet. It was no where near as fast or as high tech as the Blackbird but no one seemed to question Warren Worthington III and his use of expensive toys, even if it did take him to rural Massachusetts in the middle of the night. "Yeah?" he replied belatedly, realizing that Warren had been speaking to him for a few seconds at least, switching from the coded electronic communications to the quicker verbal one.
"What's your ETA?"
Jean smiled faintly at Warren's official tone as Scott replied, "About six minutes. You find anything yet?"
"Not sure... saw some strange lights from the sky but they passed pretty quick, Might be nothing. Nothing showed up on the monitors anyway and Betsy couldn't sense anything strange..." There was a burst of static and a moment of silence. Before Scott could really panic, Warren's voice was back. "Um, okay. I think we know what the lights were...someone is blowing stuff up down there!"
"Jubilee and Remy," Jean groaned. "It has to be those two. I swear..."
Firestar leaned forward, asking, "Are the explosions all in the same area?"
"Who's that?"
Scott sighed again. "Firestar. Friend of Emma's. She showed up at the Institute about five minutes before we left... About the explosions..."
There was a long silence and then a sharp report. Warren sounded distinctly shaken when he spoke again. "Not at all from the same place... we have to set down now. We're a mile off of our planned landing site."
"Noted. We'll be there in five."
Jean leaned back in her seat as Scott shut off the communications. "Well, this is just getting to be more and more chaotic, isn't it?" she murmured, closing her eyes against a new twinge of pain. "Damn it." She felt as if a drain had opened inside her, pulling all of her emotions into a whirlpool and leaving a void behind. It hurt to breathe now, it hurt to even think. She was aware that she was curling over her knees but she did not feel her body move despite the racking pain shooting through her being. "They know we're coming," she managed. "They know..."
Firestar was unbuckling her safety restraints and moving to kneel before Jean. "Breathe slowly," she ordered. "Count to ten in, then ten out through your mouth."
"I'm not...hyperventilating!"
"No, but you need focus!" She pinched Jean's arm hard, enough to leave a welt. Jean's head snapped up and her eyes blazed with some inner fire for a moment before a look of absolute relief came over her features. "All better," Firestar murmured, moving back to the copilot's chair.
Jean rubbed her arm and frowned. "You didn't have to be so rough!"
"You needed something to distract you from dwelling on the pain they were giving you... The more you dwell on it, the stronger they feed," Firestar informed her flatly. "Once you had something to distract you, they lost their hold on you."
"How do you know that?" Scott demanded, already banking for a landing.
"Let's just say I have a friend who talks in his sleep."
1 Bill Murray in the first Ghostbusters just popped into my head, when he's lying on the floor, rolling around. "He slimed me, Ray."