Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Never have. Never will...*sigh*
Ororo sat quietly in the pre-dawn darkness, hugging her knees. It took a lot for her to respond to the cold, but sitting all night next to a damp phone booth in the middle of a park was enough to do it.
She could still see the pier a few yards away, the light from its lamps gleaming prettily on the still water. Logan had never returned, and as each lonely hour passed, Ororo became more and more convinced that something was dreadfully wrong. No matter how unreasonably she had behaved. . . there was no way that Logan would have walked off and left her, especially if there was the slightest chance that he knew about the pregnancy.
Where could he have gone? The only vehicle she had seen was the black van, and it. . . did that have something to do with his disappearance? Had he been kidnapped? But who would want to kidnap Logan?
She shivered, her heart clenching tight with fear and worry. . . "Let him be okay," she whispered to herself and whatever gods might be listening. "Just let him be okay. . . "
The hum of a motor could be heard, growing steadily louder. . . but it was the fourth motor Ororo had heard since she called the mansion. She lifted her head just enough to watch the car go by. . . but this time, it didn't. Scott's Jeep was pulling into the parking lot, his headlights sweeping over her where she sat. She scrambled stiffly to her feet just as the Jeep parked and the doors on both sides flew open.
"Ororo! Are you okay?" Jean jumped out of the vehicle and ran across the wet grass. "My God, I was so worried!"
"I'm fine."
"Thank God!"
Ororo sighed gratefully, allowing Jean to put a gentle arm around her shoulders and lead her toward Scott, standing beside waiting car. "Thanks for coming to get me. . . I'm sorry I woke you."
Scott smiled. "No problem, 'Ro. Are you sure you're all right?"
She nodded, rubbing her upper arms briskly, her eyes downcast at the gravel-strewn ground.
Scott noted her expression with a carefully blank face. "Can you tell me what happened?" he asked after a moment.
"I. . . "
"Let's get back in the Jeep," Jean interrupted. "Where it's warmer."
Scott opened the rear door and helped Ororo climb inside, and then he and Jean got back in and shut the doors. Jean turned the heat on low as Ororo rubbed her arms for warmth.
"So what happened?" Scott asked, turning to look at Ororo over the back of the seat.
"I. . . I not sure anything happened," Ororo said. She looked at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap. "We had a fight. . . Logan and I. . . and I walked away, you know, to get myself together. When I came back, he was gone. . . but the Mustang was still here."
"How long were you gone?" Jean asked.
"Not long. . . maybe fifteen, twenty minutes. I thought I heard him calling me, once. . . but I'm not sure."
"Where did you leave him?" Scott asked.
Ororo nodded out the window. "At the pier."
Scott looked out the window at the landing, his brow furrowed in thought. Jean looked once, then turned back to Ororo. "Did you find anything strange on the pier?" she asked.
"Just this." Ororo held out her hand, the ring box balanced on her palm. Jean and Scott leaned close curiously. "Logan tried to give it to me, I think," Ororo added, her voice catching a little. "Before I got angry and walked away."
"Well, I'll be damned. . . " Scott said, a rueful smile spreading across his face. He glanced at Ororo. "You got angry? I take it that your answer wasn't 'yes', then."
Ororo looked miserable. "You knew?"
Scott shrugged. "He talked to me about it this afternoon."
Jean looked puzzled. "Knew what?"
Scott nodded toward the box. "It's an engagement ring case, Jean."
Jean's mouth dropped open, then closed, then opened again. . . making her look comically like a fish. "Oh my God!" she said. She looked at Ororo in shock. "And you said no?!"
"I didn't say anything," Ororo said. She plucked at her jeans with nervous fingers. "It all happened so fast. . . and I got upset. . . "
Jean nodded toward the box. "Do you mind. . . ?"
"Go ahead," Ororo said. "It's empty anyway."
"But. . . " Scott looked puzzled. "Where's the ring?"
"I don't know," she murmured. "I never even saw it."
"Okay. . . I'm really confused," Jean said.
Ororo sighed. She didn't want to explain all this. . . but. . . "Logan asked me to marry him," she said quietly. "I thought he was asking me because he knew about the pregnancy. . . and I got angry and wouldn't allow him to explain. And now. . . now I think maybe he was telling me the truth."
She swallowed hard and blinked rapidly, trying to keep her emotions in check. "I was just so sure that he would never ask me on his own, but. . . maybe he really didn't know."
Scott's eyes narrowed. "Hang on a sec. . . did I just hear you correctly?" he asked. "Did you just say you're pregnant?"
It was one question too many. . . Ororo promptly burst into tears.
"I'll take that as a yes," Scott said quietly. He reached into the backseat and took Ororo's hand, holding it tightly, while she covered her face with her free hand and sobbed like a child. "Ororo, honey," he said, trying to ignore the disgusted isn't-that-just-like-a-man look Jean was giving him.
"I'm sorry. . . " Ororo's voice was muffled and choked with tears.
"Aw, God. . . don't be. . . look. . . I talked to Logan this afternoon, before you guys left the mansion, and he told me all about what he had planned, and. . . " He shrugged. "Maybe I'm wrong, but, for what it's worth, I don't think Logan knows. Trust me on this one," he added. "If he asked you to marry him, it was because he wanted to. . . and not because you're pregnant."
"But now Logan is gone, and I don't know where he is," Ororo said, stifling a sob. "And now I've ruined everything. . . "
"Hang on a sec, okay?" Scott said. He squeezed her hand. "First things first. . . we've got to find Logan. Why don't you sit tight here with Jean, and let me go look around a bit, okay?"
She sniffled and nodded, and Scott gave Jean a look. "I'll be right back," he said, and he opened the door and stepped out into the darkness.
The sky was beginning to lighten the slightest bit as he made his way slowly up the narrow walkway, his head down, scanning the ground for any sign. The walkway was maddeningly clear, without even a coating of sand to give him any impressions, but. . . wait.
What was that?
Scott stopped at the edge of the sidewalk and crouched down, his fingers lightly trailing over the patch of dirt that separated the walk from the parking lot. It was still damp from the early evening dew, and he could make out at several sets of footprints clearly etched in its loamy surface. And something else, as well. . . a pair of shallow troughs, spread slightly apart, as if something had been dragged through the soil on its way to. . . where?
He stood back up, shoving his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker as he studied the marks in silence. It wasn't much to go on, but. . . something told him that Logan hadn't left on his own. It just didn't make sense, though. . . who in the hell would want to kidnap Logan?
And why?
He chewed his lip thoughtfully. Time to make a decision, one way or the other. He walked quickly back to the Jeep, opened the door and climbed inside, where Jean and Ororo looked at him expectedly. . . Ororo, thankfully, in a somewhat calmer state of mind.
He gave them a brief look, then reached forward and started the car. "It's time to wake the professor," he said.
"Did you find something?" Jean asked.
"I don't know," Scott replied. "But I think we're going to need Cerebro."
*****
Logan groaned. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and then run over with a tractor trailer. He opened his eyes slowly. . . nothing but darkness, but it was a darkness that could be touched. . . there was a bag or a hood of some sort over his head.
His arms were bound, too. . . secure as hell, from the feel of it. He was sitting up, at least, so that was a plus, but his arms were double-bound with some sort of metal restraints, one set at his wrists and the other slightly higher, keeping his arms immobile and behind his back. He cocked his head slightly, getting his bearing by listening and smelling the air. . . he was in a vehicle, the rumble of its movement on whatever highway it was on mingling with the coughs and shuffles and breathing of the people around him, just as the scent of the vehicle's oil and grease mingled with the scents of guns and men and. . .
. . . Forge. Logan's mouth drew back in a snarl as he swung his head around, facing in the direction from which the familiar scent came.
"He's awake," someone said.
Logan ignored him, and the others he heard rustling in the darkness beyond the hood. "You fuckin' traitor," he ground out, his voice low and deceptively even.
Forge didn't reply, but Logan could sense his nervousness. . . then a sharp boot kicked Logan in the shins.
"Shut up," the other man ordered.
"Fuck you," Logan growled.
There was a sudden shift of movement on the other side of the vehicle space. "Leave him alone," Forge said quietly.
Logan grinned behind the hood, his low chuckle muffled by the fabric. "So you are here," he said. "I'm going to rip you apart, my friend," he continued softly. "One. . . piece. . . at. . . a. . . time."
"I said SHUT UP, mutie!" the first voice shouted. Something slammed into the side of Logan's head. . . he reeled back, blossoms of red bursting in front of his eyes, his head rebounding off the wall behind him with a sickening crack.
"And I said to leave him alone!" Forge bellowed. There was the distinctive sound of a gun being cocked, and an uneasy silence fell over those in the vehicle. "Touch him again, and you answer to me. . . you got that?"
Logan shook his head drunkenly, the pain subsiding to a dull throb. He could hear disgruntled murmurs from all sides. . . then the scent of Forge grew stronger, a rustling of fabric beside him suggesting that Forge had taken a seat close by.
"Are you okay?" Forge said quietly.
Logan spat behind his hood, tasting blood in his mouth. "I'm going to kill you, you know," he snarled quietly.
"I know." Forge sighed. "Look. . . you weren't even supposed to know I was here, okay? This was just supposed to be a simple question-answer gig. . . "
"What the fuck are you talkin' about?" Logan growled.
"A question-answer deal. . . we ask questions, you provide the answers. It wasn't my idea. . . it's the government brass. They read my report. . . "
"What report?"
"I had to make a report, about the Magneto mission we had."
"What the fuck does that have to do with me?"
"I. . . " There was silence, then a distinctive sway to the vehicle as it made a right turn. Logan could hear Forge leaving his side, and when the Cheyenne spoke again his voice came from the far end of the vehicle. "Where are we going?" he asked, his voice sharp with authority. "This isn't the way to the compound."
A new voice that Logan hadn't heard before spoke up calmly from his left. "We're not going to the compound."
"Then where are we going?"
"To a more. . . private. . . establishment," the voice continued, the faintest bit of humor underlying his words. "I have a smaller outpost this way. . . but no worry. It is fully equipped for our needs."
"This was not part of my orders," Forge said evenly. "We need to go to the original destination. . . anywhere else and the professor will have no problem locating us and ending this. . . experiment. . . of yours rather quickly. On whose authority was this changed?"
"My authority," the voice said. The humor was gone now.
"Hey, bub," Logan interrupted. "Why don't you take that authority and stick it up your. . . "
"I've had enough of you," the voice snapped. There was a thump, and the brief sound of something whistling through the air above Logan's head. . . then something slammed into him and once again the world went dark.
*****
Miles away by now, Scott backed the Jeep out of the parking lot and turned off onto the main highway. Ororo was silent in the back seat, her head buried in her hands.
"Jean," Scott said. "Notify the Professor of the situation, please."
Jean smiled a little at the tone of Scott's voice. . . he'd slipped into leader mode already. She closed her eyes then, her fingers poised lightly at her temples, and reached out with her telepathy toward the unmistakable signal of the Professor's mind.
<<Charles?>>
There was a moment of the briefest silence, then, <<I'm here, Jean. What is it?>>
Jean relaxed a little, the familiar, comforting sound of the professor's voice in her head setting her gently at ease. <<It's Logan, professor,>> she said. <<He's missing.>>
<<Missing?>>
<<Yes. He went out with Storm last night, and then disappeared. We're with her now. . . but there's no trace of Logan. It may be nothing, but. . . could you use Cerebro?>>
<<Certainly,>> Xavier replied, without a trace of hesitation. <<Where are you now?>>
<<With Scott and Ororo in the Jeep. . . we're on our way back to the mansion.>>
<<Come find me once you arrive,>> he said.
<<We will.>> She gently broke the connection, then opened her eyes and turned to Scott. "I told him. . . he's going to use Cerebro right now."
"Good. . . that will help." Scott cast a glance in the rearview mirror, frowning a little at Ororo's huddled appearance. "Hey. . . are you going to be okay back there?" he asked her, trying to keep his voice light.
Ororo looked up, then away, brushing her hair away from her face with shaky hands. "I'm fine," she murmured. "I. . . I'm just worried."
"It's going to be all right, 'Ro," Scott said.
Ororo looked out the window, biting her lip. "I shouldn't have left him," she murmured brokenly.
"If you hadn't, someone might have kidnapped both of you," Scott replied. The Jeep's headlights swept over the exit sign for the school, and he slid the vehicle over neatly and cruised to the end of the ramp. "We need you to pull it together, though, Storm. We need you if this does turn out to be a rescue mission."
"Need her?" Jean looked surprised. "She's not going with us, is she?"
"What do you mean, not going with you?" Ororo looked up at Jean, a stern look coming over her face.
"I just thought. . . in your condition. . . " Jean said lamely.
Ororo laughed, bitterly and without humor. "Just try leaving me behind, Jean."
Scott and Jean exchanged glances, then Scott made a right off the exit ramp, the Jeep humming along the short distance down the wooded backroad to the main gate of the school.
*****
Forge climbed out of the van and surveyed his surroundings, the frown on his face deepening considerably. This was wrong. . . this was all wrong. He hadn't liked or approved of this mission from the beginning, but what had started out as a simple interview agenda had turned into something with slightly more sinister overtones.
Santrock climbed out beside him, a overly cheerful smile on his florid face. "Nice place, huh?" he said conversationally. "I'll bet you never guessed there was a place like this here."
"Never," Forge agreed dryly. "I don't like this, Major. I don't like what's going on here. . . this was never what I agreed to."
"I beg your pardon?"
"The violence," Forge replied. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at the smaller man with studied calm. Behind Santrock, a group of four men was busy dragging Logan's limp form out of the van and across the clearing to the door of the main building, and the sinking feeling returned to Forge's stomach. "I agreed to the 'capture' tactics simply because the top brass ordered it, but I told you from the beginning that it wasn't necessary. And this unwarranted bullying of a man locked in restraints. . . "
"May I remind you that you are a member of the United States military?" Santrock asked coldly. He stepped closer to Forge, a stubby finger poised in front of his face. "I've had to listen to your sanctimonious belly-aching ever since this mission began, and frankly, I'm tired of hearing it."
"Major Santrock. . . "
"Where do your loyalties rest, soldier?" Santrock snapped.
Forge kept his anger in check with some difficulty. "With all due respect, Major, may I remind you that I am not an enlisted member of any branch of the U.S. military," Forge replied evenly. "I am in the employ of the U.S. government. . . no more, no less. And if I see fit to question your judgement regarding this mission, then I will."
Santrock's face lost some of its color, but he did not back down. "Stay out of this, Forge," he said softly. "I won't allow you to jeopardize this. . . there's too much at stake."
"Question him and get it over with. . . and let him go home," Forge replied. "I want no part of this anymore."
"Fine," Santrock said. "Just stay out of my way." With that, he stared down Forge a moment longer, then turned crisply on his heel and walked the short distance from the van to the door of the main building. Forge watched him go, a heaviness growing on him as a light morning rain began to fall. This was wrong. . . everything was so wrong here. What had started out as something so simple and harmless was rapidly degenerating into something infinitely more troubling, and the worst part was, Forge felt powerless to stop it.
Should he go find the X-Men? Wait and see what panned out? Forge brought a hand to his forehead and rubbed the tension there. . . but still no answer came. With a resigned sigh, he shoved his hands in his coat pockets and began walking slowly toward the compound, following Santrock and the unconscious Wolverine to whatever fate awaited him.
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