"Nice to meet ya, Mat."

Though, truth told it wasn't all that nice a way to meet someone at all. Still, they'd managed to escape so Andrew wasn't going to complain too much. The guy had been drunk after all. That seemed to come with grave consequences for decision making capabilities. Mat muttered that he needed a drink and Andrew raised an eyebrow. He wasn't happy with the havoc he'd wreaked already? Did Mat hate being sober that much? He'd have to work on that if he was going to stay at the Mansion.

"Yeah, I'm a mutant. I work at the Mansion. It's a place for mutants. Part school, part house. School age mutants come there to learn and work on their mutations. They also let adults and such stay too. No fees or rent, no duties to perform. It's a nice place and safe."

Andrew paused to let Mat absorb what he'd said before he carried on.

"Plus it's got an infirmary with a mutant healer that should be able to patch you up easy."

For his part Andrew had been pretty lucky. He hadn't had meet DocProf more than in passing. Somehow though, he thought that might not continue to be the case if things like this kept cropping up. Andrew's thought process was interrupted by Mat's sudden need to get out of the car and it was clear that he wasn't going to wait for the car to stop if need be. Andrew slammed on the brakes as hard as he could without hurling his passenger against the dash.

So Mat's suspicions were spot on, Andrew was a mutant. Every day he was in this city, Mat was less and less surprised that he kept running into them. They were not uncommon in Australia. So why should they be uncommon in the most mutant populated city in the world? Mat wondered what Andrew's mutation was, but refrained from asking. If he wanted to share, he would.

Some mutants were touchy about their mutations.

He answered Mat's question about where they were headed, and for a moment Mat wasn't sure that he heard right. A mansion? The guy was taking Mat to a mansion? A perverse grin grew as he thought about the irony of coming off the streets and into a mansion. Andrew explained further, that the mansion was both a school and a home for mutants, mostly kids.

That was enough to wipe the grin off Mat's face.

A place where wayward mutants could all live together, safe and sound? Mat knew a place like that once. It hadn't been a mansion, but the principle had been the same. A dark expression grew on Mat's face. They had been sure that they were nice and safe too. Confident that nothing could touch them.

Bile began to rise up Mat's throat at the memories that were beginning to bubble up.

When Mat spotted what he was after, and Andrew slammed on the brakes, Mat couldn't get out the car fast enough. He spun around and leant back into the car. “I'll just be a sec.”

He began rushing towards the vagrant he had spotted sitting on the footpath, slumped up against a wall. Familiar brown paper bag in hand. Mat had lost his own drink in the confusion earlier, and was in no state to buy another one from a store. He was too obviously drunk, and besides, he wasn't sure that he could find another provider of alcohol willing to turn a blind eye to an immigrant with no I.D.

But that wasn't to say he couldn't buy one off one of his own.

Rummaging through his pockets, Mat prayed to Gods he didn't particularly believe in that he could find a note of money. As fortune had it, there was a stray $50 in his coat pocket, forgotten until now. Mat stared at it in wonder for a moment. Business must have been better than he thought. Rushing over to the vagrant, Mat crouched down and held the note out.

“Fifty for whatever you're drinking, mate. Help a fellow out.”

The vagrant stared up at Mat, glassy eyed. He took in Mat's attire, the way he carried himself, the desperation in his eyes. Then he looked to the money being offered.

“You do realise you could buy a couple of fresh ones for that,” the hobo said, taking the cash from Mat's hands and checking it was real.

“Buyer's market, mate,” was all Mat said, before snatching the bottle. “Consider it an early Christmas present from a brother on the streets.” With that, Mat stumbled his way back to the car, and hopped in. Anticipating the dirty looks he was probably going to get, Mat gave a mocking grin, and wiped the bottle opening on his shirt. That was one problem solved.

“A mutant school, eh?” He sloshed the liquid in the bottle around and took a deep pull. The liquor burned his throat, and made him cough and splutter. Whiskey. The vagrant was obviously a more hardcore drunk than Mat. “A place where mutants can all live together, eh, nice and safe and sound?” Bitterness was creeping into his voice now, unfiltered with drink. He took another swig, and felt his cheeks begin to flush and burn. “I used to live in a place like that once, y'know.”

Swig.

“Place got burned to the ground, most of us still inside.”

Swig.

More alcohol, of course. Andrew really should have seen that coming. He watched Mat buy something off of a random homeless man. Since it was the standard brown paper bag there was really no debate over what the man had just bought. Why was this man so eager to get drunk and stay that way? Andrew didn't really react to the mocking grin Mat gave when he got back inside the car with his new purchase. It wasn't his affair if the man wanted to drown his reason and sense in an alcoholic stupor. As long as he didn't get them both killed Andrew didn't care too much about a vice like that.

As Mat began to ramble, talking about Andrew's description of the Mansion, Andrew listened carefully. The hard edge of bitterness in his words was unmistakable. He hard lived in a place like the Mansion before huh? His expression turned grave at the mention of the place burning down. Bad enough that that would happen at all, let alone with a good number of people inside. Andrew tried to pick his next words carefully.

"I'm sorry." a pause, "However, I mean no disrespect to you and your friends that were there, I think the Mansion will be just fine. It sees damage on a regular basis because of it's nature and is still standing."

Seeing the man's mood and the alcohol in his system Andrew didn't say his biggest reason for being so confident in the Mansion's survival chances. Sam and the other X-Men weren't about to let anything happen to the Mansion if they could avoid it. Neither would Andrew to be honest. However Andrew probably couldn't even stop a giant blob of bread dough on his own. There was no way he could actually pull off something like saving the Mansion from destruction. Besides, it wasn't as though the place was under immediate threat anyway.

>>> “I'm sorry.”

Mat glanced over to Andrew as he gave his condolences. They seemed genuine, so Mat decided not to yell at the man for not knowing a damn thing about it. Mat could be humble when he needed to be. “Not half as sorry as I am,” Mat muttered, half to himself, half to Andrew.

>>> "However, I mean no disrespect to you and your friends that were there, I think the Mansion will be just fine. It sees damage on a regular basis because of it's nature and is still standing."

So this guy still considered himself safe? That was fine. If he wanted to stay blind to the threats that existed out in the world, that was his problem. Mat had had his eyes opened about a year ago. Had his eyes opened about a lot of things. Like how even being prepared for the worst does not always mean you are prepared for the worst. Like discovering what other people, who wish you and the ones you love harm, are capable of.

What he, himself, was capable of...

The whiskey was quickly filling in the holes the wine and the beers at the bar had missed. The wonderful numbness Mat had sought was spread through his body. Mat's eyes grew drowsy, and for once his body didn't react with terror. His heart wasn't trying to jump through his ribcage. His lungs weren't set to explode. His original plan, it seemed, had been a success.

Mat's head slumped to the side. Face smooshed against the window, bottle tucked under his arm, Mat had passed out. Sleep had come, and for once it hadn't been the usual traumatic experience it always turned out to be.

Pleasant slumber.

A muttered comment greeted his comment followed by silence and Andrew glanced over at his passenger to see that he'd passed out. Unsure whether or not to call that good Andrew simply continued to drive on toward the Mansion in silence. Andrew contemplated Mat's words as he drove. If there were two things he knew it was that the world could be cruel, more than usual to those who qualified as unusual, and that he wasn't prepared for it at all if it did happen. Doing his part against the bread monster at Halloween hadn't prepared him for dealing with a mob. Boxing hadn't prepared him for killing a man.

Andrew's hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white from the tension. Maybe it was his own inexperience talking but Andrew couldn't believe that anything could ever prepare a person for taking a life. Even if the life in question was taken accidentally in defense of another. Was the bitterness with which Mat spoke of the fire due to guilt? That was something Andrew could well relate to. Perhaps not on that scale but he still felt horrible for shooting that man. Yes he'd been a thug and yes he'd almost killed Jorge. In fact he probably would have gone on to kill Andrew as well. It didn't make the action any easier to take.

The lights of the city darted past the windows as the night wore on and the two men came ever closer to the Mansion and safety. Relative safety anyway. A place full of mutants can never be entirely safe. It would be someplace for the other man to bed down for the night anyway. They were soon parking the car at the Mansion. The engine rumbled into well deserved rest as Andrew turned to his passenger. He gave Mat shake.

"We're here."

“This is a really bad idea, you are aware of that, right?”

Trip stared at Mat, his knowing gaze never faltering. There was no judgement in his expression, there never was. Just that look that he always had, the one that made him seem like he had all the answers. If Trip was one thing, he was observant. The Observer, they used to laughingly call him.

“You see any other choice, Dorian?” It was a rare thing for Mat to use Trip's real name, and when he did it was always for a significant reason. “After what they did, how could you possibly want to forgive them?”

Trip's expression darkened, another rare occurrence. It was uncommon that the man had anything but a look of peaceful contentment on his face. “This has nothing to do with forgiveness, and you know that. This is about revenge. And I'm asking you whether or not you are ready to go down that road?”

Mat's steely gaze was all the answer he needed.

“Alright. If you're committed to this, then let's go.” Trip placed a hand on Mat's shoulder. A gesture that said, despite his reservations, despite his wanting nothing to do with what was about to happen, Trip would play his part in this attack. Mat returned the gesture and hoped that his fathomless gratitude would be obvious on his face.

Trip, ever the pacifist. Always loyal.

The small band of now-displaced mutants stood in a line. There was no battle-cry, no words of inspiration. The only sound that could be heard were whispered prayers, muttered curses, and the repetitive slapping of Mat's foot hitting the concrete.

THWACK THWACK.

The door of the mechanic's garage swung open and a lanky man exited the building, cigarette hanging from his lips. He wore a black t-shirt with an emblem of a man, three eyes on the head. A red circle surrounded it, a straight line struck through. Below the 'no mutants' emblem were the words, 'For the good of the nation, end all mutation'. Mat saw Trip furrow his brow in concentration. The man began to look up in the air around him, as though seeing something that wasn't there. His face grew more and more scared. He began to stumble, unable to keep his balance. His shallow breathing became desperate gasps. Within a minute or so, the man had dropped to his knees, a gibbering wreck. Mat tended forget that Trip's powers weren't always fun and games.

Bad trip...

THWACK THWACK

Mat turned to Downpour and gave the woman a nod. Closing her eyes, streams of vapour began float in the air, until her entire body had evaporated into the air. Pockets gave Mat one nod, before opening one of his portals. Like pulling aside a curtain, the air split and revealed a pitch black doorway. A cricket bat slid from Pockets' sleeve and landed into his empty palm. With a short, sharp whistle, he and several others disappeared into thin air, the portal leading them to the other side of the building.

THWACK THWACK

Mat's golems began to pull themselves free from the concrete, four bulky creatures. Mat looked to Trip, the first nagging doubts about what they were about to do creeping up. Trip, in his ever knowing way, gave Mat a reassuring smile.

“We're here. Let's get it done.”

Mat nodded in agreement, and his rage overtook his growing guilt. “We're here...”

>>> “We're here.”

Mat awoke with a start, the dreamt memory lingering in his mind. Someone was shaking him. Andrew. They were here. Where was here? Taking in his surroundings, Mat's alcohol hazed brain began putting the pieces together. Andrew was driving him to a mansion. And apparently, they were here.

A giant building loomed ahead, a palace, a fortress. A mansion. Mat gawked at it for a moment, before remembering the bottle of whiskey tucked under his arm. Taking a deep breath, Mat took a sip and struggled his way out of the car. As he went to stand, his feet decided to give way, causing him to crumple to the ground. He heard a heavy sigh, and soon enough arms were dragging him to his feet. Thankful for the support, Mat clutched his bottle, and made his way inside, Andrew supporting his weight the whole way.

Still half asleep, riddled with booze, Mat paid little attention to his surroundings as they entered the building. He was too busy trying to stop the world from spinning. He found himself in a lounge room of some kind, filled with couches and a television. A Christmas tree was set up and decorated off to the side. The embers of small fire burned in the fireplace. Andrew helped Mat down onto the edge of one of the couches. Mat, drunk as he was, fell backwards onto it, spilling whiskey everywhere. Andrew promptly removed the bottle from the drunk's hands.

Just as Andrew had gotten possession of the bottle and was about to move away, Mat reached up and grabbed the man by the shirt front. Leaning up close, Mat stared into Andrew's honestly innocent face, eyes wide, still affected from his remembered dream. In his drunken state, Mat needed to get the guilt off his chest. Get it out of his system, and let it fester somewhere else, outside of his body.

“Have y--...haaaaave...you ever...killed somebody?”

Too drunk to even talk properly.

Looking at the man who had helped him escape, Mat doubted that Andrew could know the guilt that he was feeling right now. He had taken part in a massacre, in complete and utter mayhem. Not only had he taken part in it, he was largely responsible for it. For organising it. For harnessing the anger, and the hurt, and the sorrow of the commune survivors, and using it all to fuel their revenge.

Righteous? Maybe. Right?

Before Andrew could reply, Mat had fallen back onto the couch. His heavy, sleeping breaths filled the silent stillness of the room.


((Let me know if you want me to change anything. Godmodded with Andrew's permission))

Mat was so far drunk by now that he probably wouldn't remember much of this. That being said he was also too drunk to support himself. Andrew lent the man a hand to get into the house. He got him settled onto a couch in the living room only to have him spill...whiskey all over it. Yes he knew whiskey when he smelled it. Though Andrew had never imbibed his dad had enjoyed whiskey and had a decent enough collection. Gemma wasn't going to like that. Bad enough that he'd brought a drunk back to a Mansion full of kids. He could only hope this wasn't a regular occurrence.

Normally about now they'd be doing the tour and heading to the offices to do the paperwork if Mat had decided to stay after the tour. Mat was in no shape for that. Andrew was just about to turn and leave the room when Mat moved with an alarming quickness and grabbed the front of his shirt. Up close like this Andrew could see all the little details of Mat's face and smell every last bit of the whiskey on his breath. The question was slowed by drink but it eventually made its way out of Mat's mouth to hang in the air. Before Andrew could answer Mat had released his grip, slumped backward onto the couch, and fallen dead asleep.

Andrew rearranged the man so that he was laying full out on the couch instead of just laying where he'd fallen. He went and retrieved a blanket and tossed it over him so that he wouldn't get cold. Straight faced Andrew watched the sleeping man for a moment and then turned to leave the room. The questions he hadn't asked about why Mat sounded so bitter had been answered by Mat's own question. Though he didn't know the circumstances Andrew knew that Mat felt responsible.

"Yeah, I have Mat. See ya in the morning."

He'd skip the baking tonight. Andrew just didn't feel like it.

((Continued in There's No Place Like...Where Am I?))