An Olive Branch in an Iron Glove (Anna)

[Saladin]

It was early in the afternoon on an uncommonly beautiful Wednesday in Los Santos. The sun was alone in the sky, but air was still cool enough to be palatable, and a fresh breeze from the mountains helped to dispel the murky haze that usually lowered over the inner city neighborhood.

Redencion House was mercifully quiet. Most of its residents were either at school or at work, all of them wishing they could be somewhere else on such a nice day. The house itself still bore the scars of the Tres Onces attack several nights earlier. Bulletholes pocked the siding, and there was a sheet of cardboard taped up over one of the panes in the first-floor bay window.

A dark, '80s model luxury sedan ground gently to a halt in front of the house, the kind of car that looked like any hand-me-down junker but still housed a beast of an engine. Three of the four doors opened, and out stepped a lanky Jamaican, an immense Polynesian, and a tall European with a fierce mane of golden hair and an unmistakable air of authority.

"This is the place, Boss," Boomer said. "The Florence Nightengale Hotel."

"Extraordinary," Saladin replied, studying the large house with the reverence of a devout man in a cathedral. "Right here, in the heart of despair and prejudice, she builds a monument to hope."

Boomer and Geryon exchanged a look. The Boss got like that sometimes.

"I don't think she's gonna go for it, Boss," Geryon said. "She's really big on keepin' it on the straight and narrow.'

"And that's exactly as it should be," Saladin replied. "We do what we do so people like her can exist. The despised Samaritan, taking pity on her neighbor when no one else will."

He lingered a moment longer, then strode up toward the front door with purpose in his step. "Come on, Geryon. It may help her to see a familiar face."

Geryon glanced at Boomer, who just leered at him, and reluctantly followed Saladin to the front step as the leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants knocked on the door.

[Anna Fernandez]

They could hear her through the door before she opened it. "Manténgase fuera del refrigerador, Ronnie, eso es para el postre!" Then the door opened, and Anna, looking a bit flushed, said, "Can I help -"

"You're supposed t' check who it is b'fore you open the door!" called a scared voice from the depths of the house, and Anna shook her head a bit, and then took a better look at who was on her step.

"Noah?" She beamed. "Come in, come in!"

[Saladin]

A hunted look crossed Geryon's face. He hadn't expected to be in the limelight. He glanced at his leader, then back to Anna, but didn't step through the door. "Uh... Hi, Anna. I, uh... brought someone to meet you."

He quickly faded back behind Saladin, removing any question of who had brought whom. The blond man was dwarfed by his companion but still impressive, and he carried himself with the self-assurance that comes from command.

"Anna Fernandez," he said warmly. "I've heard much about you, and it is an honor to finally meet you. My name is Saladin."

[Anna Fernandez]

Anna's smile faded slightly as a police car drove slowly by behind her guests, but she quickly turned her attention to Noah's smaller companion. "I'm not sure what to say... gracias?" She ushered them inside, the big former football player looking more and more uncomfortable as time went on.

Closing the door gently, she said, "Please excuse the mess, we had... we had some neighborhood problems."

[Saladin]

Saladin hadn't been certain whether his reputation had preceded him as far as Los Santos. In some ways, it would be easier this way. He stepped in and followed Anna's gesturing arm into the living room, Geryon shuffling after as though he were afraid he might break something.

"So I've heard," Saladin replied, glancing over the makeshift repairs to the window. It was, he noted with some amusement, immaculately clean around the broken pane.

He deferred to the lady of the house before taking his seat in a wing-backed armchair. Geryon lowered his bulk onto half of the overstuffed sofa.

"In fact, that's part of what brings us here," he went on. "What you're doing here for the mutant family of Los Angeles is extraordinary. It pains me to think that your work could be jeopardized by a few bigoted thugs."

[Anna Fernandez]

Saladin, Saladin... Where had she heard that name before? Anna took a seat gratefully. She was almost through her morning sickness stage, but there were a few weeks of nausea left. Thankfully she hadn't been throwing up, but Jamie was starting to get concerned at how often Anna wasn't 'feeling good' and she'd have to tell her soon.

"Yes, there are always people who can't see past what people look like, or where they came from, or what their gene makeup is." Anna sighed, "There just happen to be a lot around here, matones demasiados."

She looked at Noah Makaha, a big Samoan kid who had stayed at the House some years back. Big was sort of an understatement. He'd been kicked out of the USC football program for being a mutant, and had to drop out of school when his scholarship had been revoked. He'd ended up joining in with the local gang activity, to Anna's dismay, and she'd had to kick him out.

He seemed to be doing well now. And then it clicked, and she remembered where she'd heard the name Saladin before. "The Brotherhood," she said suddenly. "You... are you that Saladin?"

[Saladin]

"I am the Saladin who will not countenance open threats against mutant freedom," he replied. "Threats like those you're facing now. Of course, I can't vouch for everything you might have heard about me. The press is not always charitable to our kind."

He knew very well what she and her family had suffered from the mundane media in the past several weeks.

[Anna Fernandez]

She pinched the bridge of her nose and rubbed her forehead a bit. "Si, it is... difficult to get a fair portrayal in the news. Most of my kids," she mothered them without thought, "do all right in the local high school. But my foster daughter..."

Anna stopped massaging her temples and put her hands in her lap. "I am sorry, you did not come all this way for my complaints, I'm sure. Do you want a tour of the House?" She made as though to stand up, even though the chair felt very comfortable.

[Saladin]

Saladin lifted a staying hand. "We haven't come to impose," he said, "and I'm afraid my time here is limited. So, at the risk of sounding rude, I'll get straight to the point.

"Los Angeles is a flashpoint right now. What you've experienced from the Three Elevens and the local media is only a small taste of the hostility this city holds for our kind. I wish I could tell you that I believed things would get better soon. But they're only going to get worse."

Geryon hadn't said a word since entering, but his face was an open book. He didn't want anything happening to Anna or his erstwhile foster home any more than Saladin did.

Saladin leaned forward in his seat, his face open and earnest. "Your work here is too valuable to risk leaving it to the mercy of mundane law enforcement. That's why I want to offer you the support and protection of the Brotherhood of Mutants."

[Anna Fernandez]

Anna leaned back in her chair, her eyes bright but thoughtful. The teenagers in the kitchen had grown quiet, demasiado tranquilo, no doubt listening to every word being said in the living room.

A tempting offer. No doubt the Brotherhood would and could protect Redención House, but at what cost? "We have always been a neutral place," she said cautiously. "I have housed some from Cullen's Institute, and teens from the lowest streets of Los Angeles."

How to put this? "Noah has probably told you my stance on gang involvement. And... your Brotherhood has sometimes been portrayed as such. No doubt," Anna added hastily, "A spin put on by the mainstream media. But I..."

Her voice trailed off a bit as she fumbled for words. Insulting her powerful guest was certainly not what she wanted to do. Especially when the House desperately needed help.

[Saladin]

"You don't want to politicize your position here," Saladin suggested gracefully. "I respect that. Unfortunately, your enemies do not. And it's not just the Three Elevens. What happens if Mutant Registration passes? What if one of your children refuses to be branded and cataloged? Neutrality won't be an option for you anymore."

[Anna Fernandez]

The Mutant Registration Act was always a hot button subject, but lately the political discussion of it had become as predictable as threatening education and public safety funding when asking for tax increases. Anna did her research, and the federal bill was practically dead in the water. The Senate argued for weeks over it a year ago, several enterprising minority party members threatening to filibuster if the bill was put to a vote before certain amendments to protect the privacy of mutant Americans were included.

No one could reach an agreement, and the bill was ultimately tabled.

Of course, there were a few California legislators who were pushing for a state bill that would basically do the same thing as the federal one. But there were always a few politicians talking about something.

"I don't want to borrow more trouble," Anna replied, aware of her accent beside Saladin's impeccable pronunciation. "If the Fraternidad of Mutants were to 'help,' what would that involve?" She sighed, "I rely on private funding, Saladin, and donations. I do not take state or federal monies, because then they would try to tell me how to run the House. Who I could take in.

"I even have a non-mutant teenager living here now," she added, wondering what the Brotherhood would think of that.

[Saladin]

Saladin smiled and inwardly congratulated Mute for maintaining his cover so expertly.

"I have no intention of dictating how you run things here," he said. "I would rather leave the extent of our involvement up to you. We already have agents operating in Los Angeles gathering information on the state of mutant affairs. We could pass some of that information on to you - put you in contact with potential benefactors, warn you about threats to your house or to your children, give you some avenues to voice your own needs and concerns to the larger mutant community. We could also take a more active role in protecting this place. In the event of another attack, for instance, we could respond much faster than the police, and much more decisively.

"In return, all that I ask is that you share information with us. If someone threatens you, pressures you, gang or government... if you notice strange activities, someone asking too many questions of your teenagers at school, any mysterious disappearances... anything that could represent a threat to the mutant community... you can pass it along to us. We're trying to build a network of contacts that will help us better understand the situation in Los Angeles. The more we know, the more we can do."

[Anna Fernandez]

Anna nodded as he spoke, but her face remained solemn. "I do not want more blood on my hands, Saladin."

She sighed wearily, "Yet I do not want my House to be in danger, either."

[Saladin]

"The only blood on our hands is that which the mundanes force us to shed," Saladin replied. "The struggle for mutant rights can only be a battle or a surrender. My hope is to keep you and your house off the front lines."

He leaned back in his chair and bridged his fingers. "You may not condone our methods, Anna. But you've already benefited from them. In a way, you have us to thank for your foster daughter. Without the intervention of one of my agents, Jamie would never have been rescued from the Jericho facility, and she would never have been placed in your care."

[Anna Fernandez]

"Jamie..." Anna sighed. Why couldn't things be black and white anymore?

She nodded, slowly. "I accept your kind offer, Saladin. I would be most grateful for the assistance. How... how would we get in touch with your... agents?"

[Saladin]

Saladin smiled magnanimously, every inch the gracious benefactor. "I think it only fitting that Geryon should be your liaison with us," he said.

Geryon tried not to look too surprised and chimed in with, "Yeah - here, let me get you my cell phone number."

As he searched his pockets for a pen, he caught a look from Anna and added, a little nervously, "I go by Geryon now. It's from Greek mythology. Cool, huh?"

He knew all too well what Anna thought of gang names. But this was different...

[Vipul Chandrashekar]

A room away, Vipul stopped his work in the kitchen, straining to hear. What he heard disturbed him to his core. Of course, by his nature, what he heard in Los Angeles, he also knew in New York. Three time zones away, he was already pounding on Dragon's office door.

Until now, his time at Rendencion House had been an outreach, an attempt to gather knowledge in one of a myriad ways, for the betterment of the mutant community. He hadn't intended on being at the forefront of cutting off the Brotherhood at the pass.

[Anna Fernandez]

"Geryon..." she said slowly, as though she was tasting the name. "Here, I have a pen." Anna handed Noah a ballpoint, and he quickly scribbled down a local number for her. She smiled at him, even though she was inwardly dismayed at his choice to use an alias.

In her opinion the handles that most mutants chose to go by were just another way for people to hide behind anonymity to avoid taking responsibility for their actions. Most were no better than the names that the gangs used for their members... a way to 'fit in' with the mutants while standing apart from the 'mundanes', as they called them. The Brotherhood was in a fashion no better than the 3-11s, but in these troubled times beggars couldn't be choosers.

And Anna was a beggar. Her brow creased as she took the paper from Noah, her emotions bubbling just under the surface. Saladin was a little too smooth, a little too caballero de brillante armadura.

"I have no choice in this," she said, her voice quavering a bit as she struggled to keep tears from welling up in her eyes. Maldita estas hormonas! "I cannot ... I will not allow this House to become a political touchstone in the Brotherhood's agenda."

[The Brotherhood]

"It won't," Geryon said, visibly distressed at Anna's state. He glanced at Saladin, seemed to draw courage from his leader, and he turned back toward Anna with conviction all over his face. "I promise. Look, I know I screwed up before, joinin' up with the Bones. But the Brotherhood, this is different. We're fightin' for a good cause. And I believe in Saladin. We look after our own. We're family. Just like your family here. We're not gonna let anything happen to you."

Drawing speeches out of the oversized mutant was like pulling water from a stone. He spoke with the finality of a mountain range.

[Anna Fernandez]

Her eyebrows raised a bit at Noah's long monologue, and Anna smiled at him. "We are all family," she said, but left it at that. "I believe you No- Geryon. And I am grateful."

But not stupid, she thought, looking at Saladin. The older man was very hard to read.

[Saladin]

Anna's ambivalence, on the other hand, was all over her face. Saladin had expected her to be hesitant. That's why he'd brought Geryon. He was as imposing a figure as you could imagine, but his 370-pound bulk didn't contain an ounce of guile.

Which was, of course, why Saladin had come in person.

"I'll see to it that Geryon is always close by," he said. "If he can't respond, he'll send someone who can. When you call is entirely up to you, but, please, don't hesitate if you feel threatened. Even it's just a suspicion."

The blond mutant rose from his seat and smiled warmly. "I'm afraid I'm needed elsewhere. It was a pleasure to meet you, Anna. I'm certain it won't be the last time."

[Dragon]

John was shaken out of his stack of mutant ethics essays by a sudden, urgent pounding at his office door. That kind of knock always meant trouble.

"It's unlocked," he said, and the door swung open to admit a grim-faced Vipul, who shut the door immediately behind him.

John rose from his seat. "Vipul - what's the matter?"

[Vipul Chandrashekar]

Vipul didn't waste any time framing the circumstances. He went directly to the gist of it.

"Saladin is in Los Angeles, and if I'm right, he's moving to take control of a free mutant safehouse there."

He didn't really know what else to say, and hoped the X-Men leader had something in mind.

"I'm a room away from him right now."

[Dragon]

This was serious. The X-Men had learned that the Brotherhood was at work in Los Angeles, but until now, there was no sign that it was anything more than their usual procedure of installing new splinter cells. If Saladin was personally involved, there was something more going on. The memory of Kings Cross still burned like ash in the back of John's mind.

One room away... John suddenly wished he had Clarity's gift for speedy travel. "Are you in danger?" he asked.

[Vipul Chandrashekar]

Vipul shook his head.

"I don't think so. He's brought other Brotherhood Mutants, but so far the talk is generally conciliatory. He's trying to gain Anna's, the house leader's, cooperation."

Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, Vipul could hear the meeting wrapping up. He crossed his arms, jawline tensing up. He decided that earshot alone was probably not going to cover this, and reached into the fridge to pilfer a few bottles of Jarritos, on the pretense of bringing Anna and her guests something to drink.

"Figured you guys could use a drink."

With practised sheepishness, Vipul eased the drinks onto the coffee table. He casually noted the Brotherhood members. One was obviously Saladin, another he'd never seen, and another looked familiar.

Back at Cullen's, Vipul confided something else.

"We were attacked in a gang raid here, not too long ago. In the course of the fight, I took one of the gangster's guns. It's tucked in the back of my pants right now."

[Dragon]

Self was a fluid concept with Vipul, It took a moment for John to register what the man was telling him.

"Keep it there," he said firmly. "It wouldn't do you any good. What we need is information. Can you--"

He stopped, reminding himself that the man standing across the room from Saladin thousands of miles away was every bit as much Vipul as the man standing before him in his office.

"I don't want you to take any unnecessary risks," he said. "But anything you can find out about their plans will give us a better chance of stopping them."

[Saladin]

Vipul's arrival stopped Saladin as he was preparing to turn for the door. He had his itinerary, but he wouldn't be Danish if he refused the simple hospitality of a drink among friends. Even if it was carbonated fruit juice.

"Thank you, Brother," he said, smiling. With a casual flick of his fingers, he caught one of the bottles in a wash of green energy and floated it effortlessly into his hand.

[Anna Fernandez]

"Thank you, Vipul," Anna said, grateful that he at least had remembered some common courtesies. "Are the kids still in the garden?"

He nodded, but seemed a little distracted. Anna caught Saladin's eye and added, "We have a large plot of land set aside for vegetable gardening. It is a good after school activity, and helps keep our food costs down as well." She hesitated. "Perhaps some other time, when you are not so busy..."

Anna looked at Noah. "It is much bigger and better organized than the garden you helped plant that one year." She winked.

[Void]

<meta http-equiv="CONTENT-TYPE" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><title></title><meta name="GENERATOR" content="OpenOffice.org 3.1 (Win32)"><style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { margin: 2cm } P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm } --> </style> As Anna Fernandez entertained her guests, a shadow moved across the back of Redencion House. Unseen, Void passed through the house's walls and into the kitchen. He could hear the sound of conversation in the next room, lead by the familiar voice of Saladin. It wasn't the boss he was here to see, however. He phased into the living room and spared the cordial gathering there only a glance before he began up the house's stairs, in search of one of the Brotherhood's own soldiers, Mute.

[Mute]

Mute occupied his bed in one of the rooms on the second floor. He was alone. His roommates had woken him for college but a dream-induced sweat and his natural ghostly pallor saw them off, and in feigning sickness he was afforded a day of some much-needed rest after a long night of wet work.

Now he simply laid amonst a heap of rumpled bedsheets, staring up at the underside of his roommate's bunk, slowly turning a Ka-Bar knife in his hand, its tip dancing on the edge of his index finger.