FINISHED! yay! We can do it...when we get our collective arses in gear.

kmf's stuff: 2 for 1. I bet if half of you were still reading it, you'd be extremely excited. now, I'm with curt. sleep time.

curt's crap: w00t. -goes to bed, man-

-y-o-u-c-a-n-'t-d-e-n-y-w-h-a-t-y-o-u-s-e-e-

John had forgotten the number. He stood looking down at the stolen, little pre-paid cell phone that Jubilee had plunked down before him.

"I promised to stop doing crap like that, John," she had said before leaving him alone in what he had staked out as the conference room of the abandoned warehouse he'd found that part of the group had come to in Detroit. They had split up, hoping that there was safety in coverage. Hoping that it wasn't a stupid ass decision, and hoping that Gearson was out of commission for a while.

"John?"

Marie's soft voice made him jump, the words loud in the silence.

"Yeah? What?"

"You don't know what to call, do ya?"

"Fuck," he cursed softly, aloud. He pushed a hand back through his blond hair. He was tired. Bone-weary, dog-tired. Dull blue eyes met Marie's red-rimmed emerald ones.

"No," he admitted straight-forward.

Marie offered him a sympathetic smile and came over and punched in the number for the headmaster's - headmistress' now - direct line. "Here ya go." She hit send and handed it over.

"Hello?" Ororo Munroe's voice was strident and urgent - this line was used for parents seeking a good "school" for their child or for wayward mutant students. A hint of compassion could be found below the cultured tones. John sighed.

"Storm."

"Who is this?"she asked. He hesitated. She was gonna explode as soon as she heard his name.

"John. John Allerdyce," he answered. There was no hesitation on her part. The explosion was instantaneous. Wincing, he listened as she shrieked at him.

"You joined Magneto. You left! How dare you call here!"

"Look, I'm neither askin' to come back, nor am I saying that what I did was right. Even though I sure as hell believe it was, maybe it wasn't for you. That's not why I called. I called because of your nephew, Evan Daniels," he interrupted. She was quiet for a moment. Her mixed emotions were almost tangible. Blood-tied responsibility won out.

"What about him?"

"I don't know any other way to say this, so...he died. The humans found the Resistance base in Montana and attacked. He was shot. The funeral's in two days. He wanted you to know. And I thought it would only be right if you're here for it."

"I can't," she whispered, and he could hear the tears already.

"Why? It's only an hour's flight in the Blackbird. Marie assured me of that. So, it can't be that you don't have time for it," he could see Marie waving her hands and mouthing 'no' out of the corner of his eye as he said it, but he couldn't stop himself. Evan deserved to have his family be there for him after being gunned down like a dog. No way was she getting off the hook that easily.

"I don't want the human army associating the school with the resistance. I can't very well have them attack the school. These kids are not ready to fight them. I do not want the humans coming here. If I am seen in the presence of the Resistance leaders, they will think I am one of you. I cannot have that. And what is Marie doing with you?"

He almost let it slide out of pity for the woman's situation. But it was just so...offensive. "She's not. She's with the Resistance." Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Storm, he thought darkly. "Besides, it's none of your damned business what she does now, anyways. She's not one of you anymore, is she?" he snapped, knowing that the only thing that would drive Marie away from the mansion would be somebody telling her that. He didn't even wait for a reply as he hung up the phone. Marie was glaring at him openly.

"I'm not one of you, either," she stated.

"You aren't? Had me fooled when you ran back into a fight that you could've gotten killed in, just to fight for our rights. Was I wrong?" As he said this, she seemed more and more surprised and less angry.

"What?"

"Look, you were once one of us, Marie. A mutant. You know what it's like to be looked down upon because your not one of 'them'. You've got no powers, no way of protecting yourself, but you ran into that fight for us. You are a part of the Resistance, whether you like it or not. Which leads to what I've been wanting to ask you since we got here. Would you like to be a council member?" She took a step back. He could see the self-doubt in her eyes, as well as her surprise at him. John Allerdyce, the cold pyro, asking her? If she wanted to be a council member? At his side? An equal?

"Why would you ask a human?" she inquired, eyes wary.

"Human or not, you are one of us. Besides, it's not like you're not already a part of the council. I mean, you know every last thing that happens with us anyways. This is just making it official," he told her. She was pacing as he finished up. Coming to a decision, she faced him and smiled. She'd accepted, he knew that before she spoke.

"Alright. You got yaself a new council member." He saw the hint of a blush creep into her face at her accent broading with her elation. She cleared her throat and continued, "I just hope we don't lose anymore. We've already buried one member and we're gonna cremate another here soon. We can't afford to lose any more. But...thank you, John." With that she left. He watched the door shut, an annoying nagging in the back of his mind. There was no way they would escape this war without losing many more lives, including those on the council. But he couldn't help it. He hoped as she did, too.

Remy was swirling his drink idly as he sat in the more or less common room. It was just him, John, Marie, Jubilee, Naomi, maybe a fledgling or two, Kimana, Stuart and his band out here. Ryan, Shasa and Erika had all split up with their teams. The rest of the council had divvied up, more or less two leaders per group.

One of the fledglings had sparked the electricity, so the television they'd scalped from the Dumpster out on the side was on, tuned to some news station or another. Remy was damned tired of reporters and press and general public figures/people of power. All he wanted was a break. As Marie sank down on the sofa next to him, curling up and laying her head upon his shoulder and wrapping her arms round him, that want for a break became all the more intense.

"John done went and called Evan's aunt," Marie said quietly, her drawl pronounced.

"Here now, ma belle. Dat's a good thing, non? John keepin' his word an' all," Remy assured, tipping her chin up to look him in the eye. She gave him a tired smile and half-hearted shrug.

"Yeah. I mean, I know John's not as bad as we - back at Xavier's - he's not as bad as we all thought. He's a bit rough 'round the edges. Kinda like you, Remy LeBeau." He felt her smile, even though she had her head laid back down and she was snuggling up to him. He opened his mouth to speak when the reporter said something that made him stop.

"It seems that charismatic, anti-mutant movement figurehead Adam Gearson has not been seen or heard from in the past few days. While an engaging public speaker, Mr Gearson was known to be rather private about his life outside publicity..."

"Well, I be damned."

However delighted John was at the news that Gearson had turned tail and run like the coward he was, it was immediately sobered. Especially the next day. They pulled a bit - well, probably a really big - illegal act, and dug Evan a grave in the woods off a cemetary on the more deserted end of town. The service, for lack of a more fitting term, was short and sweet. Remy, John and Stuart filled in the grave, tamped down the dirt, and left a chain necklace, one of the ones that had almost always adorned Evan's neck on top of it, left as it had been, with blood still caught in the engraved "Spyke" name-tag hanging from the gold chain.

Evan was lost, as Trent had been, and countless others. But Marie was gained, officially. It was always good to have hope that there were still some pulling for the underdogs in this battle. Which, hopefully, John thought, with Gearson temporarily - because he knew that he was not gone - out of the picture, was a battle quieted, for the now.

(The lyric in the page-break is from "Violence Fetish" by Disturbed.)