#ecliipsed

Truth be told, Sam's never been much of a costume guy. Uniforms, too, much as he'd known they were protocol while he was still in service. Becoming Captain America comes with its own caveats-- like having to wear red, white, and blue when he's off on his bigger missions-- but there's a certain comfort in just being Sam Wilson, sometimes. He'll never regret picking up the shield, but it's good to return to his roots once in a while: being a normal guy who just wants to help.

And in the moment, it's Sam Wilson driving a van full of mutant kids and their parents north to the Canadian border.

They've occupied and left two safehouses since leaving Atlanta. Though the Avengers don't need to be on the run like they had before, offering lodging to mutants needing refuge is a worthy enough cause to make sure those safehouses are always ready. The last safehouse until the final stretch to Canada is just outside New York state, and by now they're about fifteen minutes away.

"That contact you mentioned," Sam starts, regarding Eclipse in the passenger seat, "what time did you say we had to meet them tomorrow evening?"

He's already thinking about driving schedules in his head, trying to mentally map out routes for them to take. Redwing, ever the dutiful little mech, keeps Sam updated on any potential threats that might be approaching or ahead of them-- they've dodged every bullet so far, though, and he prays that luck only keeps on.

Some people might laugh thinking Captain America's become relegated to the status of personal chauffeur. But as he glances in the rearview mirror, seeing sleeping children leaning against their rightfully paranoid parents, he knows he's doing the right thing.

There's no reason for them to be suffering this. None at all.

In all the time Tristan had been working for Evangeline Whedon, he’d never asked her for anything. He knew the connections she had, he knew the strings she could pull, and he’d never said a word. He’d never needed to. But tonight, he needed it, and she delivered - giving him the current burner number of Marcos Diaz. And despite the fact that it was the middle of the night, and he was driving like a bat out of hell towards... He wasn’t sure yet, but he wanted to at least be heading in the right direction, he called Marcos, murmuring to himself, “C’mon, c’mon. Pick up. Pick up...”

Meanwhile, the sound of sobs could be heard in the background.

Lorna sat on her bed and stared at the far wall of the room she shared with Marcos, one hand resting on her still flat stomach as if to remind herself that while she'd lost a best friend, she still had her baby (a small piece of joy and hope in this dark time), the other rhythmically -and without her really noticing- flipping the medallion her father had sent her over and over in the air next to her and sobbed. It wasn't fair. Sonya wasn't supposed to die before Lorna did. Before any of them did. It just wasn't fair. Sonya was supposed to be here to be the second woman -the third person after her and Marcos (or maybe the fourth after her, Marcos and John)- to hold her baby when it was born. She was supposed to have been the baby's godmother and their aunt Sonya. But now because of one hateful, selfish, evil man, Lorna's best friend was gone from this world and she'd never come back. "WHY, G-d? Why her? Why now? Why would you let this happen? She was one of the best of us. And you let him kill her in cold blood without a second thought or moment's hesitation according to Clarice and the Strucker kids." She whispered in the silence, questions for the G-d that she was not sure she personally believed in anymore, but still respected as the G-d of her forefathers (the G-d of Abraham, Issac and Jacob, her grieving mind quickly thought). Sonya now would never be godmother to Lorna's baby, she would never hold them, would never sing lullabies to them when Lorna or Marcos or John were busy (the baby would have so much family they'd never lack for a set of loving arms to hold them but they wouldn't have their Aunt Sonya), soothe them, be an aunt to them. She knew that even as bad as she was hurting right now, John was hurting worse. Even if the pain of loss and grief couldn't be measured like that, one person's against another's. She'd lost a friend and he'd lost someone who had been more to him than that at one time, someone who he still cared deeply about. Finally (after she's sobbed for what felt like hours but was probably not more than half an hour) as the door opened to admit someone (likely Marcos) to her space and to witness her grief, Lorna quietly said, "May her memory be a blessing. And may her loss and her memory inspire us to fight harder against our enemies." Lorna's tears still ran down her cheeks, she didn't think she could stop them anytime soon. She continued, softer and quieter now, "I kind of want to sit Shiva for Sonya. She was my best friend, the closest thing I had to a sister. Even if I am the only one here who does sit it. It's what we did when my mom's mom died. What I tried to do at Aunt Dane's after my mom and stepdad died. Please talk to John about the idea. It could help everyone, I think."

Sara didn’t know how she’d been ripped from the Waverider, let alone how she ended up in... She wasn’t sure. Another universe, another timeline, another possible future? It didn’t matter. What she did know was that this wasn’t her home. And that she was stuck.

A week had passed, and she’d tried to keep her head down while getting the lay of the land. But it didn’t take long for her to figure out that the mutants were the other here. The feared. The hated. The hunted.

Which was why when she saw a man trying to protect an entire group of people from Sentinel Services agents - presumably mutants like him - with the white hot light that shone from his hands, she didn’t think twice. Her bo staff pulled, she beat the ever-living shit out of each and every one of the agents.

They were all down within a matter of minutes.