Enid's chest couldn't contain her beating heart. Burnt plastic filled her nose as smoke danced on the wind. It wasn't as if she wanted it to happen. The attacks never lasted that long, or generated that much force. They certainly hadn't been witnessed by strangers before. And not only that, Peter was there. His grey eyes surveyed the scene. He didn't say anything else for a while, and that scared Enid even more.

       "It's alright," the tall gentleman said, crouching down to meet Enid's gaze. He reached a tentative hand to console her, which she immediately shied away from. "You don't need to worry about hurting us." 

        Enid's gaze flicked to Peter, who still lacked the composure to do much more than stare around in disbelief.  "Ho-lee shit," he remarked, finally. His eyes glittered. "You blew up a park."

         There was a moment of silence. A warm feeling rose in Enid, tumbling out of her in a stream of awkward laughter. It was in spite of herself, fueled by both fear and relief. "I..I'm sorry, I was expecting you to...to be a little more concerned."

           Peter shrugged. "I've seen a lot of weird today," he said. "But, I must say, this definitely tops the list." 

           "You two know each other?" This was from the stouter man, who crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the two teens from over his tinted sunglasses.

            "Yeah, you could say that," Peter said.

            A strange expression passed over the man's face. He shook his head. "We don't have time for reunions," he said. 

             "We can't just leave her here," the tall man said. "Besides, maybe she could help us. A mutation like hers could be useful."

              Enid frowned and retracted from the group. "I don't like being used, especially not by strange men in strange cars. Why should I help you? For all I know, you could have kidnapped my friend....and brainwashed him or something," she defended. 

           "Because we're just like you," came the voice of the third man. With that, he made a fist with one hand. Slowly, painfully, four sharp bones shredded through his knuckles and spattered the cuff of his button down with red. Enid stared at his hand and couldn't look away. 

           "I--that's...." she couldn't find words. All this time she'd thought the world a small, lonely place and within moments she could see the endless seas crashing against her fences. They were strong, wrought-iron...but even so, the reluctant screech of bending metal echoed through her head. Her eyes locked on Peter's again. "What did you get yourself into, Pete?"

            He shrugged. "They said I could break into the pentagon."

           "Keep your voice down!" The hungover Brit warned.

            "Oh, sorry," he said. "They said I could break into the pentagon!" The familiar glint in his eyes dimmed the light in her chest. Even though she was pissed off he hadn't told her, she knew why he'd kept it a secret. She had done the same thing. It wasn't right to criticize him. Especially since he was her only friend. 

           Enid glanced to the three strange men. "The pentagon?" She hummed. "If Peter's going, he needs his babysitter."

          "Hey!"

          Bone-stick man huffed and motioned to the car. "Well, now that's settled, we'd better get going," he said. "This is rather...time sensitive."

          It didn't occur to her that she didn't know the men's names until she was reaching for the door handle. If these men were trying to break into the pentagon, what kind of people were they? Just because they had mutations didn't mean they were righteous. But Peter was there. She knew him like the back of her hand, and he wouldn't let her get hurt. And she couldn't let him go off with three strangers in a car. She didn't know what Peter could do yet, but she did know her capabilities far outmatched the others. If anything, someone needed to protect him. Her twinkie-loving, pac-man-playing, kleptomaniac best friend. Because without him, what was she?

            Peter noticed the far-away look in Enid's eyes. She looked so sad. He itched to move, but then what? One foot forward, then the other, and before he knew it he was standing in front of her. "I'm sorry," he said, fidgeting with his fingers. He was rarely serious about anything. It felt...weird. "When we get back, we can talk about this over a ping pong rematch, yeah?"

             Enid shoved him in the shoulder. "Sure," she decided. "And I won't let you win this time."

             "Right," he laughed, opening the car door and sliding in. Enid took a deep breath and followed him. She shut the door. The three strangers stood for a moment, stupefied, before joining them in the car. Enid thought it smelled sour, like whiskey and too-strong cologne. She found comfort in how inverse it was to the sterile, alcoholic smell riddling her memories. That didn't stop her from flinching when the doors locked and the ancient motor whirred to life. 

              Peter saw her. The way she sat with her back pressed too hard into the seat, how her shoulders stiffened as they sped up, the way her hands lay in fists upon the upholstery--clenched so tight her skin went white at the knuckles. He grabbed the hand closest to him and held it, gentle but firm. Squeeze, squeeze. I'm here, it said. You're okay. 

            And she believed him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

          The baseball cap was too big. Every other minute, a grumbling Enid adjusted the cap farther up her forehead and out of her eyes. It didn't seem fair. Instead of going with Peter to nick the pay-load (whatever that happened to be), she was stuck navigating the finicky remote controls Hank designed to override the security cameras. Hank was pressing buttons and swearing under his breath. Enid understood the man was smart. No average person could design something so intricate at such short notice. But she also understood that if the remote control didn't start working soon, they'd be in big trouble. Trouble that she couldn't afford. 

           Breathe in, hold. Focus. See the particles moving within you, bouncing off each other and yet never truly touching. See them? Good. Now reach out and grab one. You have it? Feel it moving down, down, into your fingers. 

           It tingles.

           Very good, Enid. Now I want you to make that tingle move past your fingers. Harder. Harder. HARDER!

             With a whimper, the girl raised her hand as if to adjust her hat. No one else noticed the reddish glow swallowing her fingertips. And she pushed. Hard. The red lightning shot into the nearest security camera, which sparked before going limp. Enid smiled to herself. Then the lights started flickering. Shit. Hank looked at the lights, then to his companion. His expression was unreadable.

             "Sorry," she murmured, rubbing her hands together and readjusting the brim of the cap. "It looked like you needed some help."

             He shot her a faint smile then tapped the button on his remote. Enid watched the rest of the security cameras shut down. Impressive. And that meant that it was time to meet the others. While the tour group pressed on down the hallway and into the next room (neither Enid nor Hank had been paying much attention to where they were going), the two slipped away toward the rendezvous point. 

              On their way to the elevator, they converged paths with Logan and Charles. Something close to giddiness rose in Enid's chest as she stood in front of the metal doors, waiting to see Peter's stupid dimples. What she wasn't expecting was an older man clad in white cloth and a deep frown. And she definitely wasn't expecting Charles to leap forward and slug the guy.

                "Jesus," she murmured, then eyed Peter. He looked just as surprised. 

                The two exchanged a few charged words that left Enid even more lost. Apparently, the strange man was what they were supposed to be sneaking out of the pentagon. And that mission was sent...from the future? If Enid didn't know she could decimate entire towns with her hands, she wouldn't have believed a word of it. 

                 As the older men continued on toward what looked like a kitchen, Peter slid in next to Enid and whispered into her ear, "Apparently, that guy can move metal." Then he added: "Oh, and he may or may not have killed the president."

                   Enid's eyebrows raised. "Are you freaking serious? Why on earth would they want to help that guy?" She asked, the edges of her mouth dipping.

                   "Not sure. Something about saving the world," he said casually, then pushed open the kitchen double doors. "Ladies first."

                     "Wow, what a gentleman," Enid rolled her eyes and entered the room. Then she froze. Peter grabbed her by the arm. Three men clad in security uniforms stood opposite them, batons in hand poised to knock someone out if needed. Enid's chest flooded. 

                      Charles interrupted the guards' questions by feigning authority. Holding his hands up in a defensive position, he began, "This is a code red situation. We are evacuating the entire floor so that we--my associates and I--can, uh, secure the prison." That wasn't enough to convince the trained professionals that their ragtag group of wannabe special agents had any valid reasons for being there. Charles stumbled to find the right defense. With how slurred his words were, it was easy to assume he'd indulged himself a bit too much that morning. "We are, er, special operations, CB...FB...CID?" His voice trailed off while he attempted to dig himself out. "Look, perhaps you didn't hear me when I first spoke, but it is imperative that you understand we are in complete lockdown situation. We have to get you to the third floor--"

Enid saw the furrowed brows and subtle nods shared between the security guards. Her hands clenched tightly until she felt the burn of open skin on her palms. Before any of the guards could take action, however, Logan stepped forward. With a few solid punches and novel use of a conveniently located frying pan, all three men were on the ground and out cold. "Oh, I'm sorry," he grumbled, glancing over his shoulder at Charles. "Were you finished?"

Charles disregarded Logan's statement and snagged a key-card from one of the unconscious guards' suit pockets, using it to unlock the door. "I'm sorry, just not very good with violence."

Through the door and at the end of a short hallway was an elevator. That was where Peter was supposed to meet them. Something close to giddiness rose in Enid's chest as she stood in front of the metal doors, waiting to see Peter's stupid dimples. What she wasn't expecting was an older man clad in white cloth and a deep frown. And she definitely wasn't expecting Charles to leap forward and slug the guy.

"Jesus," she murmured, then eyed Peter. He looked just as surprised. "Not good with violence, my ass."

The two exchanged charged words that left Enid even more lost. Apparently, the strange man was what they were supposed to be sneaking out of the pentagon. And it sounded like that might have been a mistake, given how tense the two were.

As the older men continued to bicker, Peter slid in next to Enid and whispered into her ear, "Apparently, that guy can move metal." Then he added, nonchalantly: "Oh, and he may or may not have killed the president." 

Enid's eyebrows raised. "Are you freaking serious? Why on earth would they want to help that guy?" She asked, the edges of her mouth dipping.

"Not sure. Something about saving the world," he said casually, then pushed open the kitchen double doors. "Ladies first."

"Wow, what a gentleman," Enid rolled her eyes and entered the room. Before she could register what was happening, a flurry of activity flooded her senses. A whole squadron of guards now blocked the exit and effectively surrounded them. This time, there were no batons. Six loaded guns were poised at the ready, the metal glittering under the florescent lights. "Nobody move, hold it right there!" One of them demanded.

"Charles?" The escapee said expectantly, cocking his head toward the armed militia. 

"I said don't move! Hands up, or we will shoot!" 

Peter's hand wrapped tightly around Enid's wrist. She knew something like this was bound to happen. It was the damned Pentagon, for Christ's sake. Of course they'd have armed guards at the ready for situations like this. Her eyes drifted to the sterile white walls and the metal tables, and she swore she could taste strawberry candy on her lips. Even if she could escape the Doctor, there was no escaping this. 

"Freeze them, Charles." 

"I can't."

When the prisoner realized his half-drunk companion was incapable of doing anything, his hands stretched wide. Enid watched the muscles in his arms flex as the pots and pans scattered across the kitchen started rattling. Charles shouted, "NO!"

A flurry of gun shots pounded against her ears. For the first time since Wales, Enid prayed to whatever Gods there were. Peter released his grip. She frantically turned around to reach for him, but he was gone. The energy brewing in her chest pulsed and writhed with stress as the bullets whizzed past her ears, only narrowly missing her head. At the sudden thuds and groans across the room, Enid looked up in time to see all the guards knocked out in myriad ways--one punched himself in the face, another suffered a self-induced wedgie and collapsed to the ground, others just fell to the ground with no explanation--while Peter grinned mischievously from across the room. How did he get there so fast?

                        As the group hurried to the door, Enid found herself getting distracted by the growing pain in her chest. She'd been so scared. So sure she was going to die. Before she could register it, Peter was grabbing onto her arm again and dragging her behind him to the front door. It was a blur--the green lawn, flashes of red, the car's black upholstery, the faint sound of music in her ears. She recognized it. Queen. 

                 There's no chance for us. 

                  It's all been decided for us. 

                  The world has only one sweet moment set aside for us.

                  Who

                        Wants

                                     To Live

                                                   Forever.....

Everything felt fuzzy. She couldn't feel her fingers.

            "Hey, are you okay?" It was Logan. Another surprise. Enid's face was going red as he spoke. Fingers twitched, her heart beat unbearably loud in her ears. Breathe, just breathe. But even that reminded her of everything she'd run away from. All of this was too much. 

                "Window," she said, grasping the handle and cycling it as much as she could. Acid burned her throat as she vomited onto the highway. She wiped a sleeve across her mouth. Much better. "I'm fine now, sorry. This is all a bit....overwhelming."

                That seemed to satisfy everyone save the possible killer sitting next to her. His name was Erik Lensherr, she learned. It didn't help she'd heard the name before. His grey eyes were stuck to her sleeve, half rolled up and now stained with drops of red. Because she wasn't fine. Because she definitely wasn't going to live forever. That wasn't the only thing Erik noticed, though. The marks on her arm bore a striking resemblance to his own. 

                  Feeling eyes on her, Enid quickly pulled her sleeve down and leaned against the door. As she watched the yellowing trees blur together, she thought of her mother. Probably sitting by the phone, a cup of coffee her key to keeping composure while she waited for her daughter to return. It wouldn't be the first time Enid ran away. She always came back. 

                Two seats over, Peter was concerned. He knew Enid had nausea spells every once in a while, but recently they'd become more frequent. In the middle of a pac-man game, she'd excuse herself and, though he never approached her about it, he could hear her through the wall. A wretch that made his heart plummet to his stomach. Something was wrong, no matter how often Enid denied it. Now he knew she had been hiding a mutation (which he honestly thought was really cool), he wondered what else she hadn't told him.

                  Sensing the tension in the car, Logan flipped on the radio. The music filled every silence with a tedious, peppy tune that no one seemed to know. They were all too stubborn to turn it off.