The Enemy of my Enemy, part 1 (After-Dinner MNTs)

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

The darkness that envelops Josh is absolute and timeless, except for a momentary touch by what his unconscious mind knows to be Warren. He wants to touch back, to let Warren know that he’s there… but he can’t. As the touch fades, the darkness creeps back in.

A couple minutes after the two of them make it into the sewer system, Josh regains consciousness with a gasp. His heart races for a few moments until he realizes the two of them are no longer in immediate danger. With a reassuring mental touch, he slides off of Warren and takes a seat on the metal grating, doing a quick once-over.

Well, we’re both alive. And that’s more than I was expecting a couple of minutes ago. At least, he thinks it was only a few minutes ago that he’d detonated the missile heading their way. That was pretty stupid, Josh. Both of you could have been killed. Truthfully, the missile would have done that anyway, and they’d had few options. The explosion had been much bigger than he’d expected. I suppose we got away, and that’s what’s important.

Josh runs a hand over his body. Miraculously, he didn’t appear to have been hit with any bullets. His clothes were in terrible shape, as well. The force of the explosion had thrown the two of them pretty far. Fortunately, the shield he’d projected over the two of them had translated the explosive energy into pummeling force, or they’d never have survived. End result - he felt like he’d been sucker-punched all over, repeatedly. Warren had to be even worse, since the vicious woman in the restaurant had already hurt him before the blast. He looks up.

“God, what did she do to you?” Josh’s tone is worried, and this is the first time he’s seen Warren’s wounds in semi-decent light. He scrambles to his feet and winces as he puts pressure onto a wrist. “Ow. That’s sprained, at least.” The movement itself makes his already-tender body shout in pain. “Fuck. We’re a mess, aren’t we?” Josh tears off a piece of his shirt-tail and tries to wipe some of the blood off of Warren’s face. “Do you think you’re going to be okay?” He bites his lip, concerned.

After a minute or so, he looks around at their surroundings. “We need to get out of here. Get some medical attention, and contact home. I hope they’re not tracking us… ” Whoever these people are, they’re professional. Which means they probably are. “We’ve gotta get back to the Blackbird. If we can lift off, there’s no way they’ll catch us.”

He concentrates briefly, to no avail. "One of them must be a telepath that's much stronger than me, because I can't sense them at all. I couldn't detect them during the fight, either." Josh thinks for a second. "I can try to cloud over our own presence. It might buy us some more time before they find us again."

The team silently makes their way down to the alleyway. With guns raised, they step into view - and it's empty. Where are you, little boys? Charlie looks angry, and immediately notices the broken window. She heads towards the alley entrance of the building, when Scanner shakes her head and motions at the sewer grating.

"Nice work." Their leader nods, and Red makes to pull off the manhole cover. Scanner, however, shakes her head again and motions in the direction of the street behind them. Their leader nods again, and the brigade heads off in search of their targets.

It's by far easier to follow them aboveground. Dalton and Worthington can run from me, but they certainly can't hide. Scanner nods, satisfied. Their prey wouldn't last much longer, at this rate, despite the surprising fight they'd put up so far.

[Warren Worthington III]

It’s only when Josh comes to that Warren becomes aware of just how worried he hadn’t let himself know he’d been. He’d practically stopped thinking, his attention focused on nothing but putting as much distance as possible between them and the manhole cover. Now, with relief flooding over him, his brain kicks back into gear… but the truth is he has no idea what else he ought to be doing.

> " God, what did she do to you?"

Warren blinks, incredulous. To me? From what he can see through the tattered, sewage-soaked tuxedo, Josh is literally one solid bruise, he was unconscious until a moment ago and he’s worried about me? At which point it occurs to him that he’s not in any better shape, and he can feel his knees start to buckle under him at the realization.

> " Fuck. We’re a mess, aren’t we? Do you think you’re going to be okay? "

He resists the impulse to collapse, and tries hard not to wince from the pain as Josh wipes his face. "’ll b’ ‘n," he starts out, trying to force words through his rapidly swelling mouth, then gives up on speech altogether. I’ll be fine, eventually. I heal fast, remember? A moment’s self-assessment later, he adds And that damned trank seems to have mostly worked its way out of my system. Guess we should be thankful for small favors, huh?

Not that it was a small thing at all: if he hadn’t managed to take that dart for Josh, that would have been it for both of them… even undrugged, Warren knows he’d never have been able to handle that team by himself. He’s still not really sure how they managed to survive the hail of bullets… he’s watched enough of Josh’s Danger Room sessions to know that’s not how his TK works. But that can wait.

> " We need to get out of here. Get some medical attention, and contact home. "

Warren nods gingerly. Right… sorry, I should’ve thought of that. He reaches into his jacket pocket for his mobile, then stares at the “no signal” indicator in some dismay. No reception down here… we’re going to have to surface. He wishes there were some way to keep Josh from sensing the degree to which that notion terrifies him right now.

> " We’ve gotta get back to the Blackbird. If we can lift off, there’s no way they’ll catch us"

Unless they have a second missile, of course. He frowns then, wishing he hadn’t thought that “out loud.” This is going to be hard enough without him being pessimistic about it. Right. Blackbird. Just a few miles away. Or kilometers.

It takes him a few minutes to get his bearings (usually it’s almost reflex, but usually he’s not underground), then he points in roughly the direction of the airport where they landed the Blackbird. There’s no sewer tunnel in exactly that direction, though. So, what’s the plan? Try to get there underground, or surface somewhere on the way?

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

> I’ll be fine, eventually. I heal fast, remember?

Josh can tell Warren’s putting forward more confidence than he actually feels. At the same time, though, he does heal much faster than a normal person. Everything’s going to be fine. Josh tries to smile, but the sunburn the blast gave him causes him to wince.

“I thought… I didn’t know if you were going to be okay in there.” The words tumble out of his mouth before he can censor them out. Not that it mattered much. His concern had to be broadcasting clear on through their link. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” Josh sniffles a little and slips an arm around Warren, ostensibly to help him through the sewers. Truthfully, the contact calms him.

> No reception down here… we’re going to have to surface […]So, what’s the plan? Try to get there underground, or surface somewhere on the way?

Josh tries to keep worry out of his voice, and stops their limp for a second. “You’re right, we’ll have to surface to get any kind of a signal. We’d probably do better traveling above ground… I’m afraid they’re going to cave the roadway in on us.” He tries to keep his tone joking, but the notion has crossed his mind.

The two of them resume their limping gait, and Josh tries to throw together some sort of plan. Okay. First, let’s get out of here. On the way to the airport, let’s try to get ahold of Storm or Hank… we might have to… borrow… a car. It’s too far way to walk.

After a few minutes, the two of them arrive at another manhole cover. Josh levitates it out of the way, and shortly afterward the two of them are standing in the middle of the street in a business district. Fortunately, it’s a short side-street, and the only person present is a bouncer leaning in the doorway to a club, who gives them an appraising glance, and promptly ignores them. Josh suppresses a laugh. Maybe he gets a lot of people who look like they’ve fought a couple rounds with a blowtorch?

“Okay.” He quickly replaces the cover and presses up against the wall, looking down the alley. “How’s your signal now?”

[Warren Worthington III]

> " I thought… I didn’t know if you were going to be okay in there. I don’t know what I would do without you. "

The weakness in Warren’s knees probably has more to do with the beating he received before Josh pulled him out of the restaurant than anything else, but for just a moment every other effect… every pain, ache, and fear… is washed away in the fierce, gentle current of Josh’s love, and he actually feels like they’re going to get through this.

It only lasts a moment before reality comes crashing back, but it’s enough to renew some of his confidence. Taking Josh in his arms hurts in places he didn’t even know he had, and takes time they don’t have to spare, and even grinning gives him a sharp pain in the jaw and makes him look like some kind of B-movie zombie, but he doesn’t care.

I’m not going anywhere, trust me… least not while I’ve got you around to take care of stray heat-seeking missiles. And, hey, now that you’re back on your feet those goons don’t stand a chance, right? I’ll just put my feet up on a pillow and let you take care of them.

He wishes they could just stay there, together. Not that the Parisian sewers are exactly where he’d intended to spend the night, but as long as they’re together it doesn’t matter. But they have to get away, report in, figure out what’s going on… he can already sense Josh’s mind putting together escape plans.

He follows Josh to the street and checks his phone again. We have signal! He hits the speed-dial for the Institute’s emergency number.

Scanner heads down the street with a confidence she doesn’t entirely understand, herself. Ever since that “Mutant Growth Hormone” treatment had enhanced her perceptions it’s seemed like she’s growing more sensitive, more aware, more powerful with every passing day… to the point where she’s no longer even tracking her quarry, so much as anticipating them. No, not here… down there… left here…there.

A brief consultation later and the car with the rest of their gear is meeting them at the selected intersection, and she laughs quietly at the sight of dozens of Parisian pedestrians staring at their mobile phones in outrage.

Even though she’s an ocean away with no means of getting here soon, Warren still feels an overwhelming sense of relief when he hears Ororo’s voice on the line, still somewhat sleep-bleary, but sharp with the awareness of danger. He starts to hand the phone to Josh when he realizes he can’t really speak intelligibly, then curses painfully as he sees the signal fade. Of all the luck! Why does it have to fade now?

Then he “feels” his pursuers approaching the corner of the side-street they’re on, and realizes his mistake. Josh, they’re jamming us! And they’re almost here!

He freezes for a moment, torn between the instinct to take to the sky and the fear of another attack, the urge to dive back underground and Josh’s fear of cave-in, the desire to run into the nightclub and the fear of getting innocent bystanders injured or killed. Frantically, he looks to Josh for direction.

She knows their primary mission has failed before she even reaches the corner, though as always she’s not sure how she knows. She can’t see it, or hear it, or anything simple like that, but she knows Worthington has managed to contact his home base, despite their best efforts to prevent it. She knows that back at their headquarters, the mutants are already starting to organize themselves against some unknown danger.

Of course, that doesn’t change their secondary mission… they still have to neutralize Worthington and Dalton. But she pauses a moment to send a coded message up her own chain of command. Whatever it was they’d been intended to avoid by preventing that signal, now it’s going to happen… and Scanner wishes she could simpy dismiss the faint premonition she feels that it’s going to have some very unpleasant consequences before it’s over.

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

> I’m not going anywhere, trust me…

Despite the slight pain involved, Josh smiles at the swell of Warren’s love, and kisses him ever-so-lightly on the cheek. “More of that later with good behavior… meaning no more injuries.” He sets himself to levitating the manhole cover.

How can I joke at a time like this? He supposes they have to, or they’d both keel over from the pressure. Being in a situation like this was stressful enough, but having that stress over an extended period of time, with no reprieve, was even worse. The lights of Paris shine down through the hole as he sets the lid aside.

* * *

Josh feels Warren’s triumph and defeat, all in a moment. Shit.

Josh, they’re jamming us! And they’re almost here!

What do we do? His eyes dart around quickly. We’re cornered, and they’re at the end of this alley. The only thing they seemed to have going for them was that it would be far too difficult to maneuver a helicopter around this area of the city.

He looks over at Warren, and then indicates the wall behind them. “Go one street over and find us some kind of car. Nothing brand-new, or I won’t be able to manipulate the ignition without the key itself. I’ll be there in a second.” Josh brushes a reassuring ‘hand’ across Warren’s mind. Trust me, okay?. I’m planning on making it out of this one.

After a moment, he takes a step towards the alley mouth. Alright, assholes… With a gesture, the manhole cover begins floating along the pavement, silently.

A pair of black-clothed troopers round the corner, guns raised. With a flick of his hand, Josh generates a telekinetic wave that tosses the two of them backwards, hard. Before he can draw another breath, one of the men from the restaurant steps smoothly around the opposite corner and fires, all in one movement.

Dammit! The manhole cover leaps upwards, collecting the bullets on his behalf. When the man pauses for a moment, he receives the lid straight in the stomach, doubling him over in pain.

While Dalton is occupied with Red, Charlie cuts in beyond his field of vision and delivers him a stunning clip to the head. He staggers backward, and she grins in a predatory manner. With any luck, the blow will help disrupt his mental control, weakening his telekinetic powers.

Holding his head dizzily, Josh lashes out in the woman’s direction with his powers, control forgotten. She crashes into a nearby wall, and he makes a run towards the back of the alley. At the end, he gathers his powers, and jumps impossibly out of sight.

I’m on my way… Josh’s mental presence is scattered from the hit.

[Warren Worthington III]

> " More of that later with good behavior… meaning no more injuries "

There you go, then… he thinks back, suddenly cheerful. All I needed was the proper incentive, really. Next time I won’t let them lay a hand on me…

Warren is pretty sure that, given sufficient time, he can think of a more inappropriate time and place to suddenly feel cheerful and horny… maybe at someone’s funeral, or watching a building burn down, or something like that… but half-beaten to a pulp and half-covered in sewage under the streets of Paris while armed soldiers try to kill him definitely belongs in the Top Ten, at least. Or, rather, Bottom Ten. Or… well, something like that.

Still, it beats panic, which seems to be the leading contender to replace it. So maybe it’s not so inappropriate after all. Besides, it’s good to have something to live for… and there’s nobody he’d rather die with, if it comes to that.

> " Go one street over [..] I’ll be there in a second. "

Warren hesitates at the thought of leaving his partner to face their attackers alone, then nods as he picks up on Josh’s sense of confidence… he has a plan, and that’s good enough for Warren. He grits his teeth and ignores the ripping feeling in his shoulder-blades as he launches himself into the air… whatever it is, it’ll heal eventually.

> Trust me, okay?. I’m planning on making it out of this one.

Trust you… always. he sends back as he skims the top of the wall, staying as close to its surface as he can to avoid radar and similar things. (He wonders, idly, whether his TK-aura can be used to “slip through” radar the way it can slip through air and water… probably not, though.)

He drops down to the street quickly, then falls to one knee as his much-abused right ankle gives way on landing, then stands back up again with a curse on his lips. I’m supposed to be the high-flying Angel, right? Should at least be able to land without embarrassing myself. OK. Moving on…

The street itself is lined by moderate-quality apartment buildings and lit by occasional streetlights, rather than the garish neon of the main street. To Warren, who has lived all his life in suburbs, finding a residential area this close to the center of the city is jarring… though fortunate, as it’s late enough for there to be lots of cars parked by the curb and in driveways.

Nothing “brand-new,” huh? It doesn’t seem like a difficult assignment, except that everything on the street looks equally clunky and cheap by Warren’s standards. He shakes his head sheepishly, embarrassed at having suddenly become a walking (well, limping) "Rich Kid" cliché, and looks around more carefully.

Behind the wall he hears gunfire, and a moment later feels Josh’s irritation, and lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding at the realization that Josh is OK. Which is silly, he realizes – if Josh had been hit, he’d know it. But while their growing psychic bond has become second nature to him in some ways, to the point where he misses it when he’s outside Josh’s telepathic range, he’s not accustomed to relying on it yet. It’s a lot like when he first started learning to use his wings… part of him, and yet separate. Anyway, what’s important is that Josh is uninjured.

There. He has no idea what make or model or year the car is, but the flecks of rust on its body and differences in style mark it as older than its neighbors, and that’s got to be good enough. He approaches it, places a hand on the driver’s-side door, strains his aura to its utmost to reach “through” it. The door-latch is on the very edge of his range, and pulling to unlock the door feels like lifting a boulder, and he almost gives up and waits for Josh to take care of it before pride takes over: Josh is already handling delaying the enemy and hotwiring the car; the least Warren can do is unlock the damned door!

Officer Pierre-Louis Lefèvre had already not been having a good day when he received the APB… two Americans, mutants, suspected terrorists, one with wings, both armed and dangerous. He has no expectations of it getting any better, now.

Pierre-Louis has nothing against mutants in and of themselves; he knows his Captain even relies on civilians with uncanny abilities to help handle difficult cases, though this is officially frowned upon. But mutant criminals with the power of an army at their fingertips… well, that is another matter altogether. And Americans, on top of that! “Isn’t it enough that these crazed American mutants destroy their own country?,” he gripes to his partner. “Why must they export their insanity to us?”

He is not far from Tailevent when the he gets the report, so he turns on his sirens and heads in that direction. He’s several blocks away when the sky is lit up by an explosion, and he curses fluently for several minutes as he forces his way through traffic.

He remembers, from a briefing his precinct had received some months ago about known terrorists, one with flame-controlling abilities… the Americans had thought him powerless at first, but since then reported otherwise. He nods grimly, resolving to shoot first if he must… that one had already burned several American police, and the review board will no doubt be more forgiving than the terrorist’s flames.

He turns off his siren and cuts down a residential side-street to avoid further traffic, then reverses direction hastily when he hears gunshots nearby. That’s when he sees the winged figure furtively breaking into a car… slams on the brakes… reverses his vehicle to block the alley (foolish, he realizes, when the thief can fly… then again, he is no doubt stealing a car for some purpose!)... tumbles out to use the car as a shield, and calls out in stilted English learned from old television programs…

“Halt, in the name of the law!”

Warren has vaguely been aware of the sirens and passing vehicles, but paid them no attention as he concentrated on getting the door-latch open. Now, as the two police point weapons at him, he realizes that was a mistake. He can hear one of them radioing in for backup, as well… something about American terrorists and wanted criminals… and getting nothing but static.

He turns from the still-locked car, his hands raised… he doesn’t want to have to fight police, and he hopes he can defuse the situation, possibly get them to escort him to the Blackbird… he isn’t a terrorist, after all, and the X-Men are a quasi-official group now, and while he’s admittedly in the process of stealing a car, surely that’s less important than armed lunatics are shooting up Paris to get to him?

But his attempts at placating French are unintelligible through the swelling bloody mess of his mouth, and the officers are on a hair-trigger. So when Warren flinches at the echo of Charlie’s blow to Josh’s head, he’s not really surprised when those hair-triggers go off… he’s already dodging the bullets, diving behind cover, ignoring his body’s complaints.

> I’m on my way…

Warren sends back a wordless affirmative as he glides along the surface of the street, skittering smoothly from cover to cover like an urban stingray, easily evading gunfire from the increasingly rattled police.

Minor change of plans, love, he adds, opening his recent memory to Josh as he senses him jumping over the wall. On the plus side, you won’t have to hotwire the ignition, right? He appears behind the two officers before they even know he’s there, smashing them into unconsciousness with a sudden spreading of his wings, and climbs into the driver’s seat of the police vehicle as he unlocks the passenger-side door.

This is probably going to take some explaining, later. But at least we’ll be alive to explain it.

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

As he sails in a wide arc over the wall, Josh can sense Warren nearby. The wings ducking into a - police car? - stick out immediately, as well.

> Minor change of plans, love

We’re stealing a police car? You sure know how to show a boy a good time. Josh can’t help but grin at the thought, crazy as it was. He stumbles at his landing, hand pressed to the side of his head. You know, at some point the world is probably going to stop spinning. Not that it’s actually going to matter, because the French police are now shooting at us. Warren’s short term memory streams through their link at him, and he inwardly winces as the bullets fly towards ‘himself’. He shakes his head as if to clear it of the images.

Josh limps over to the passenger side of the car, and gets in. “So. When did the cops start trying to kill us?” Almost before the door is closed, Warren guns the engine, and they tear off down the street.

“Whoever’s chasing us has the Paris police commissioner in his pocket? Or…” Between his wounds and the momentum of the situation, Josh is unable to think much farther beyond the present. “Well… if I have to become an international criminal, I’m glad it was with you, Warren.” He smiles a little at that.

As they fly down the street, the car radio begins squawking French incoherently. Josh is able to catch something about ‘male suspects’ and thinks he hears something about ‘wings’. The radio begins to increase in volume as the dispatcher shouts the number ‘31’ repeatedly. “Warren? What squad number is this?” His eyes rover around the periphery, until he spots the large stenciling on the hood. Uh oh.

“I think they know we’re in thi--” Josh's eyes widen as Warren slams on the brakes, skidding around a corner when another squad tries to block their forward progress. “Here we go again…” Behind them, a large black van has begun weaving its way through traffic to them.

A spike strip slides out across the pavement into their path. With barely an effort, Josh sends it flipping into the path of one of the police cars chasing them. Its tires pop with a loud snap! and the two of them continue to make their way towards the airport.

[Warren Worthington III]

> We’re stealing a police car? You sure know how to show a boy a good time.

Josh’s good humor, however out-of-place, is infectious. We’re not stealing it! We’re borrowing it… I can leave it at the airport for them to pick up. He grins, and adds I mean, unless you want us to steal it. I never did get to give you your birthday gift, after all… it’s back at the hotel… do you like police cars? I’m not sure it’s really your color, though.

> " So. When did the cops start trying to kill us?"

Warren makes a great show of consulting his watch as he slams the car into gear, wiping a glob of sewage off of it as he swerves into traffic with sirens blaring. About thirty-five seconds ago, as near as I can tell. Have to keep up, here… I like my dates to move fast, you know! The banter comes surprisingly easily, and does a better job of masking his panic than he’d have expected it to, most importantly from himself.

After a near-miss with a motorcycle he rolls down the driver’s side window, finding it easier to avoid traffic with his windsense engaged... which also nets him an impromptu refresher course in colloquial French obscenities as cars swerve to get out of his way. He tries to swear back cheerfully, and moans slightly as he’s reminded yet again of the abused condition of his jaw.

> " Well… if I have to become an international criminal, I’m glad it was with you, Warren."

He laughs painfully, then looks over at Josh in pleased surprise when he realizes that wasn’t entirely a joke, and grins. Yeah… stick with me, kid, I’ll take you places. It occurs to him that he’d meant that to come out in a cheesy Humphrey Bogart accent, but he’s not at all sure how to do accents telepathically… it’s never come up before. And this probably isn’t the best time to practice. His gaze stays locked with Josh’s as he swerves into the left lane to pass a heavily-loaded station-wagon and back into the right just in time to avoid an oncoming minivan, leaving just a few inches to spare, and grins again… imagine how good I’d be if my eyes were on the road!

Warren is only a little surprised by the dispatcher’s announcing of their car number; they had to drive out of the jamming range eventually, after all. He’s not surprised at all by the other police cars when they arrive, or the van behind them… whoever’s chased them this far isn’t likely to give up any time soon.

He really wishes he could shout “Yeeeeee-hah!” as he brakes hard and skids around a corner, rights himself, swerves sharply to avoid some pedestrians, veers back into his lane with two wheels just barely touching asphalt and takes a sharp turn into an alleyway he’s pretty sure he can sense another opening for . He settles for thinking it, instead, which isn’t as much fun. This isn’t as good as flying, but it isn’t bad, eith--

His manic running commentary is interrupted by the sight of a small Golden Retriever sitting in the middle of the alley, between a brick wall and a pick-up truck jutting several feet out of its driveway. No room to swerve, no time to dodge. His shouted "Jshh!!! " is nearly incomprehensible, but he has time to hope the sentiment has been communicated before the car careens through the spot the puppy occupied.

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

Josh’s eyes stay locked with Warren’s throughout the entire pass-maneuver. Vaguely, in the edges of his mind, he can sense the terror of the minivan driver, but all of that seems rather inconsequential and bothersome in light of Warren’s melting gaze.

> imagine how good I’d be if my eyes were on the road!

Well, you know that I trust you with my life, but maybe we should concentrate on the driving so we can have more moments like this in the future. Josh drags his eyes away from Warren’s, but a permanent smile is plastered across his face, and he’s finding it difficult to shake, despite the gravity of the situation.

As their vehicle slaloms between other cars and trucks on the road, Josh begins to actually enjoy the ride. It’s somewhat like a roller coaster, in fact - just one that could plunge you into a fiery death at any moment. This he pushes away distractedly - his faith in Warren’s wind-sense is too solid.

Warren throws the car down an alley, which Josh assumes has an exit, or their escape will be coming to a crushing (literally) conclusion.

> "Jshh!!! "

What the… Josh’s eyes scan the pavement quickly rushing in at them. A small fluffy ball is sitting quietly in their path, and the truck is about to force them to go through its space.

Without thinking, Josh levitates the fluffball into the air. As it careens at them, it resolves itself into the image of a small puppy, which barks at them comically. If not for the seriousness of its plight, Josh would have burst out laughing. Uh..I’ve never tried to stop something at these sorts of speeds before - not something breakable. He’s barely able to stop the pup from splattering across their windshield, before he’s able to match it to their relative velocity. He looks around confusedly - there’s no safe place in the alley to put it down, not with the police and the commandoes and God-knows-what-else chasing them at top speed through the city.
He reluctantly, but gently, pins the puppy to their windshield, and slowly slides it to the right-hand side with his powers. Josh looks over incredulously at Warren, but reaches a hand out the window. After some trial-and-error, he’s able to safely pull the puppy into the car. It barks happily, and tries to lick his face.

Josh laughs, and looks over. “Um. Warren: I’d like you to meet Puppy. Puppy: This is my boyfriend, Warren. I’ll have to ask you to get out at the next intersection if you’re not okay with that.” Almost as if response, the puppy crawls over the stick shift into Warren’s lap, looking up, thoroughly excited with the sheer pleasure of being alive. There’s no evidence of its recent peril, if it had any sense of it in the first place.

“Hey, get back here! Warren is driving! If you’re going to rob banks with us, you have to step in line.” Josh lifts the puppy carefully out of Warren’s lap and looks over sheepishly. “Kids. What can you do?” It absently tries to paw at Warren's wings. "I think he likes you."

[Warren Worthington III]

> Well, you know that I trust you with my life, but maybe we should concentrate on the driving so we can have more moments like this in the future.
.
Not to mention your fortune and sacred honor! Well, OK, I guess technically I’m the one with the fortune.

Warren is beginning to understand why some of the X-Men seem to enjoy this sort of thing… now that he’s not being beaten into a bloody pulp by some crazy commandos or huddling in a wet smelly dark sewer carrying his unconscious partner, it’s kinda fun! Which is no doubt just the endorphins talking, but, well… yay endorphins! And Josh’s enjoyment of the ride enhances the effect, and Warren discovers he can giggle without pain as long as it stays in his throat, so he starts doing that a lot.

Besides, you’re way more fun to look at. But, fine, if you insist… he adds as he makes a great show of looking away from Josh and back at the street, noting with interest that in some ways it doesn’t help… his eyes keep being distracted by bright lights in the darkness, whereas his windsense is far more consistent. But he watches the road anyway, even as he swerves back onto the main street from his alley detour, rather than watching their new puppy companion.

The notion of picking up a hitchhiker in the middle of all of this is utterly ridiculous, but Josh’s affection for the little mutt is unmistakable, and Warren sighs in resignation.

> " I think he likes you. "

It’s the wings. Probably thinks I’m a giant pigeon or something, wants to chase me around the park. He giggles again. Anyway, unlike your little pal there, I think I’ve lost our tail… and we’re not too far from the airp – DAMMIT! he’s interrupted by the same black van swerving in just behind them, two armed figures preparing to fire out its windows. He cuts hard to the left into a not-quite-large-enough space between two cars, ignoring the unpleasant crunching noise made by one of them as the police-car’s rear bumper smashes into its front and gripping the steering wheel hard to prevent fishtailing, then makes a last-second turn into yet another alley as the black van zooms past them, wincing a bit at the sparks and the fingernails-on-a-chalkboard screech the passenger side of their car makes as it scrapes along the brick wall, and the yelping one their passenger makes as it slides across Josh’s lap into the door.

Sorry ‘bout that, Warren thinks, not entirely sure if he’s addressing Josh or the pup or possibly the car itself. Might want to strap Inspector Hound over there into a seatbelt… or something?

Another too-narrow (fortunately pedestrianless, this time) alley adventure later, their car is careening along a winding road through a park, and Warren no longer has any idea where he is or how to get to the airport from here. Well, OK, I’m lost now, but now we’ve definitely lost those – oh, come ON! This time the black van cuts them off, and he has to drive through a tree to pass them… he’s pretty sure Josh was responsible for eliminating the tree, but by this point it’s hard to tell which of them is doing what… a state he’s accustomed to by now, but usually under less life-or-death circumstances.

How in hell do they keep finding us?!? They must have some kind of tracker on us, or the car, or something… this isn’t natural!

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

> Might want to strap Inspector Hound over there into a seatbelt… or something?

"I would, but I think the seat belt might strangle him. He's too tiny. I guess let's just hope nothing hits us." There's no way you're going to hit anything, not with your wind-sense. Unless you hit something on purpose. Josh tries to put kamikaze car maneuvers out of his mind, and holds tighter to the puppy, which is beginning to squirm.

"Puppy, chill out! We're kind of in the middle of something, and we took time out of our busy day to avoid running you over! Isn't that worth something?" Strangely, the pup settles down after a moment, staring intently out the windshield.

> Well, OK, I’m lost now, but now we’ve definitely lost those – oh, come ON!

"Too bad Paris doesn't equip its squad cars with OnStar. 'It's an emergency!! Black-Ops commandos are chasing us in a van!! What do you suggest?" As the car swerves into the parkway, Josh takes a look back at the van. It seems that the two of them had foiled all of the Paris cops - but whoever in the van was eerily accurate in tailing them.

"It can't be a telepath. I haven't caught a peep from any of them yet. No one is that good at mental stealth - well, maybe Professor Xavier was. If they were so amazing, they could have just paralyzed us, or taken control of your motor functions." Josh shakes his head.

> How in hell do they keep finding us?!? They must have some kind of tracker on us, or the car, or something… this isn’t natural!

"There's a thought. It can't be the car - they had no idea we'd be taking it. Maybe they slipped something onto one of us?" Josh briefly entertains the thought of the two of them fighting their way through Paris naked, discards it, but not before sending the image over to Warren. "Hee!" After a minute, he speaks up. "Maybe I can shake them."

Josh slides the puppy over to Warren, and turns around, craning his neck to see their pursuers. With a thought, a trash bin rises into the air and careens into the side of the vehicle, leaving a good dent. He looks around quickly for other contenders - but the scenery is flying by almost too fast to comprehend anything before it blurs by. Ooh. Park bench. Indeed, a heavy, wrought-iron bench is sitting along the side of the street. Josh lifts this with his powers, and it leapfrogs their police car, embedding itself into the front grille of the black van.

The black van swerves dangerously until the bench drops loose. It slides along the pavement, sparks shooting into the air, until the driver cuts to the side quickly, allowing it to tumble past.

For a few moments he entertains himself with dropping light poles in front of it and hurtling trash bins into its side, but the chase quickly enters a more populous area and he stops. "I'm worried about hitting pedestrians at this point. And that van's definitely reinforced." Josh glances over at Warren, concerned.

Minutes later, the higher buildings around them drop away, and afford the two of them a spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower and its gardens. "Wow." Josh looks at it a moment, trying to burn the image into his mind. "You planned this entire car chase to take us past it, didn't you?" Just kidding, hon. He kisses Warren on the cheek. "This is definitely the most interesting birthday I've ever had ---" Gunfire spatters off one of their rear panels, interrupting them.

"Jeez, they don't give up." He slides his hand away from Warren's. "Are we anywhere near the airport?" Probably not, he thinks unhappily. There had been a short drive from the outskirts after they'd landed.

The puppy barks at the Tower's spotlights. "Shush." Josh admonishes it mildly.

[Warren Worthington III]

Warren is a little surprised by Puppy’s sudden quietness in response to Josh, and he grins. Heh… looks like the pup understood you. Sure you aren’t suddenly discovering mind-control abilities or something?

It occurs to him that he’s not actually sure whether Josh can communicate with animals or not… usually his telepathy is verbal. Then again, he thinks, we’ve been known to make exceptions to that rule. Not that he anticipates Josh working quite the same way with the puppy, but…

> " Maybe they slipped something onto one of us?"

He’d been thinking the same thing – unsurprising, that – and it takes him a second to realize that the image of the two of them running naked through the streets of Paris originated with Josh. (It’s getting harder and harder for Warren to be sure of that, as their telepathic rapport grows stronger and more subtle, but the relative degree of attention lavished on Warren’s own imaginary backside as opposed to Josh’s is a moderately reliable indicator.)

As Josh telekinetically distracts their pursuers, Puppy chews enthusiastically on the stick-shift, and Warren weaves their car around traffic, pedestrians, parked cars, mailboxes, and an entirely inexplicable ceramic cow wearing a black fedora, with gunfire striking regularly in places the car was just a second ago, Warren becomes vaguely aware of an almost-intolerable itchy feeling in his jaw… teeth growing back, maybe? That would be nice.

He also becomes aware that it’s more than a little ridiculous to worry about his teeth while armed soldiers are trying to kill him, but somehow it just doesn’t seem to matter as much as it seems like it should. Possibly he’s temporarily exhausted his capacity for sheer terror. Maybe he’s actually gone insane. Perhaps it’s some deferred euphoric side-effect of the tranquilizer dart, which he seems to have otherwise fully metabolized by now. He’s really not sure; all he knows is that in some demented high-adrenalin way, this chase scene through Paris has stopped seeming quite real; he’s stopped believing it can really kill him. Actually, it takes a certain amount of concentration to avoid deliberately hitting things in order to “roll them up,” and he makes a mental note to stop playing quite so much Katamari Damacy

> " You planned this entire car chase to take us past it, didn't you?"

Warren shakes his head. Nope… I was going to lure you up to the top of it later tonight and see how much of an audience we can attract, but right now it seems that would be a bit – whoops, INCOMING! he realizes his last swerve put him into line with one of the machine pistols a moment before it fires, and ducks Josh’s head with a wing as a bullet flies through the rear windshield and embeds itself in his headres. -- short-lived. How on Earth do police cars end up with non-bullet-proof windshields and bullet-proof headrests? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

> "Are we anywhere near the airport?"

Well, if that’s the Eiffel Tower, then we’re, um… still in Paris? He gives a one-armed shrug. Sorry… I’m pretty much lost. If my PDA has survived the evening, I’ve got a local map installed on it… but you probably want me to keep watching the road, like a boring driver. So, can you take a look?

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

>Nope… I was going to lure you up to the top of it later tonight

Briefly, Josh thinks how incredibly romantic making out on top of the Eiffel Tower would have been. If anything, that’s enough of a reason to take care of these assholes - ruining our date! Their relationship was old enough for him to not be too upset, though - they were past the awkward dating-game stage. I’m not sure we were ever in it - it’s nearly impossible to posture when your boyfriend can figure out what you’re thinking with a bit of effort. And that effort had been steadily decreasing over the past several months. Despite all of that, the love and sincerity that went into planning an evening jaunt to Paris, of all places, still took Josh’s breath away. “Warren, I--”

He gasps as his head is thrown forward, and something thuds into his headrest.

> -- short-lived. How on Earth do police cars end up with non-bullet-proof windshields and bullet-proof headrests? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

Josh’s breathing normalizes once again. Sometimes it was sobering that, despite his fantastic abilities, a single bullet could kill him. “That was a little too close. Thanks for the save…”

> So, can you take a look?

Automatically, Josh finds himself reaching into Warren’s inside jacket pocket. Only after he lifts the PDA free and begins pressing buttons does it occur to him he hadn’t known the location of the item. How did I…? He shakes his head a little. Their telepathic rapport was almost second nature, at this point, but it was the unthinking applications of it that unnerved him a little. On the bright side, its reflexive uses have probably saved us a couple times over tonight.

He flips through the menu to the PDA’s map. Come on, where the hell are we? Josh attempts to match street names as signs flit past. “Rue de Marignon? Got it! Okay…we’re on the north bank of the Seine. To get back to the airport, we’ve gotta cross it at some point and head roughly southeast.” He quickly motions for a turn. “If we kept heading that way, we’d run into the Tuileries Garden and the Lourve… and I think we’ve destroyed enough French property for one evening.” Josh keeps his voice light. Adding the destruction of priceless art is the last thing we need to add to the list…

Josh absently pets Puppy, who had begun growling when the back window had been shot out. The car accelerates as they hit the edge of the bridge, and he feels dread bubble up through him. It’s either that, or the bridge movin…

“Warren? They’re opening the bridge!” Bells begin to go off, and he looks back. The van is firmly on their tail, and Josh ducks into his seat as more bullets fly their way. He tries to collapse another light pole onto the van, but it seems to do little damage.

“What are we going to do? If we turn around, we're finished!” He looks to Warren in fear.


((OOC note - I, unfortunately, have never been to Paris. I'm not sure if there are any drawbridges over the Seine or not, but we wanted to do a jump scene... *handwaves furiously*))

[Warren Worthington III]

> " That was a little too close. Thanks for the save… "

Warren grins. Entirely self-serving, believe me… I’m not done with you yet, and I’ve been to enough funerals this year. Which turns out not to be as funny as he’d intended, as the prospect of more funerals penetrates his current endorphin-fueled manic euphoria, and he’s somewhat more sobered as he follows Josh’s directions to the bridge.

Puppy’s little growl, and the thought of driving a stolen police car through the Louvre, both elicit a chuckle, raising his spirits somewhat as he continues to dodge gunfire. It’s becoming almost second nature, and he resolves privately to set up some bullet-dodging practice in the Danger Room… the trick seems to be not to think about it; the same part of his mind that works out flight-paths for him seems adept at processing all the bullets and guns and obstacles and presenting him with a safe path. (Of course, the car is Swiss-cheesed with bullet-holes at this point, but thus far he’s kept the tires and the passengers safe, which is what matters.)

He’s aware of their odd change in altitude a moment before Josh’s cry, and it takes him less than a second to confirm that yes, the bridge will have opened by the time they reach its centerpoint. It seems an absurd coincidence, the sort of thing that happens only in movies, before he realizes it probably isn’t a coincidence at all.

> " What are we going to do? If we turn around, we're finished!"

Sometimes the only way out is through, he thinks a little grimly, and winces mentally when he realizes he’s quoting his father. Well, it makes some sense… say what you will about Warren Jr., he’s always had a talent for getting through difficult situations. Admittedly, those situations tended more towards bankrupt debtors and hostile takeovers than gunfire and anti-aircraft missiles… but some principles are universal. Bet you never had a takeover this hostile, though… huh Dad?

His father was also fond of pointing out that when you only have one choice you have to take it, and that seems apropos as well. He’s pretty sure he can’t lift a car, and he’s not sure whether Josh can, but maybe between them they can at least clear the gap? It’s a better plan than stopping or turning around, anyway, so he shifts gear and floors the accelerator and prays, furling a wing around Josh’s shoulders almost instinctively.

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

> Entirely self-serving, believe me… I’m not done with you yet, and I’ve been to enough funerals this year.

Warren’s humor is slightly infectious, given their link, but quickly crumples as he realizes the implications of his words. Josh briefly reflects on the inordinate number of memorial services he’d been to… culminating in the final one, for his mentor. Former mentor, he corrects himself automatically. While Jake could never replace Jean Grey, he was quirky and fun in his own endearing way.

All of this flashes through his mind in a nanosecond, leaving the two of them back at the very real bridge that was being raised right under them.

>Sometimes the only way out is through

"We’re jumping it? Can we even do that? Wait… I’d honestly rather not know." As Warren’s wing curls around him, Josh automatically pushes in closer to the other boy. After a second, he reaches out with his powers to the machinery below the bridge. Maybe I can bind up the works…

The machinery is much more complex than he’d imagined. For a few moments Josh is able to slow down the turn of the gears, but stress builds up in the workings and he ceases, in fear of dropping the entire assembly into the Seine.

The police car is revving disturbingly beneath them, and as they make it to the end of their bridge section, Josh attempts to wrap his entire ‘hand’ around the body of the car. The vehicle leaves the relative safety of the bridge, and sails through the air. At the apex of the jump, he throws all of his energy into propelling the car forward. He looks over at Warren, and sees the fear, determination, and concentration on his face. Please… I don’t want to die yet.

With a hideous screech, the car throws up a cascade of sparks as it touches down, barely on all four tires. The vehicle weaves dangerously until Warren reestablishes control over it.

“Oh my god, we’re not dead!” Josh lets out a whoop and plants a badly aimed kiss on the corner of Warren’s mouth. “You’re the most amazing driver I’ve ever seen! And you’re all mine!” Am I channeling Toni? Puppy is barking madly at all the excitement, and Josh puts a hand behind Warren’s head, kissing him again with better precision. After a second, he glances in the rearview mirror and…

“What the hell? They made it. Incredible...” His jaw drops as he sees the van hit the pavement behind them. At the very least, the bridge move has given them a bit more breathing room. After a few moments, the gunfire starts up again, though with less accuracy because of the distance.

He shakes off the shock of their pursuers' impossible feat and pulls the PDA back out of his pocket.“Right… now, basically just take this road until you hit Rue de…” Josh begins to describe their path to the airport.