Logan awakened slowly, his senses playing a little game of catch-up with his mind as he gradually returned to consciousness. He had been dreaming again...the dreams had the thick and shifting feel of warm oil, mixing in on themselves, breaking apart in small rivers of memory before merging once more. Ororo had been there, and although that dream was the sweetest, it was also the most painful...because Ororo couldn't be here. She was gone, gone with all the other sad and lonely things that hovered in the darkest corners of his mind, waiting until he slept to come back and haunt him again.
He breathed deeply, his nostrils flaring, and opened his eyes. It was shadowy here...at first he could just barely make out the ceiling above him, but then his eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom. Where was he? His brow furrowed a little, trying to remember...and then it slowly came back to him. Santrock...the attempt at escape...Forge, dark regret and guilt mirrored in his eyes as he tried to help him to safety...and...and...Ororo. But that couldn't be right...he was alone, here in the empty barracks room where Forge had hidden him.
Logan turned his head to the side anyway...and his breath caught in his throat. She was there. Ororo was asleep beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, one slender, delicate hand on his chest as her breasts rose and fell in exhausted slumber. He saw that she was wearing her leather uniform...and so it hadn't been a dream after all. She had come...Forge had brought her, Logan seemed to remember dimly, and now she was here with her slim length pressed against his side as if nothing in the world could be wrong.
"'Ro?" he whispered softly. She didn't move, and he didn't repeat himself, preferring to let her sleep as he watched her in contented silence. He was remembering everything now...everything Forge had told him. Everything. Logan gently leaned over, Ororo's head slipping from his shoulder and sinking against the pillow with a soft sigh, and he lowered his face to hers and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Yes, Forge had been telling the truth. Logan was sure of it...and he was mildly surprised with himself for not having figured it out sooner. He was right...her scent had changed, acquiring the soft, delicate overtones of a woman that was with child. He had simply been so caught up with the terror of asking her to marry him that his brain had failed to come up with the answer.
Logan leaned up on one elbow, the blanket covering them slipping off a little and making a crumpled line over his waist. He reached out tentatively, almost afraid...then his hand touched her stomach, sliding softly along the cool leather that covered her flat abdomen. It won't be flat for too much longer, he thought with a small grin...and as he gently caressed her stomach the full weight of the situation hit him like a load of bricks. His child...he was going to be a father, and that was a hell of a big difference from just being a husband. Christ Almighty...but even as his heart sped up a little, he felt something like fear but far better swell up inside him. Something that felt curiously like, what? Joy? Elation? All those things...with a healthy helping of terror on top into the bargain.
Ororo's hand moved. Logan jumped, a little startled as her cool fingers slipped over his, pressing his hand against her stomach gently. He raised his head to see Ororo's eyes on him, the dark brown of the irises lost in the growing shadow. She said nothing, her face gentle but expressionless, as if she were waiting for him to be the one to break the silence...but for a long moment all he could do was look at her, drinking in the beautiful, familiar features of her face that he had thought he might not see again.
So much to say...but no words to say it with. "You should have told me," he said huskily, holding her eyes with his. A small, sweet smile touched her lips, and she pressed his hand.
"I know," she said simply.
Something unspoken and tender seemed to grow in the silence between them...and then Logan laid back down and pulled her into his arms, his mouth seeking out hers with desperate longing. Her arms were around his neck, her hands sinking into his hair as she began to cry, returning his kisses...he was dimly aware of something warm and wet on his cheeks, and then he realized with a shock of gladness that they were tears...his tears, and it felt good to know they were his, it felt good to know that he could still weep and that she was weeping too, and then all he could think about was how wonderful her lips tasted, how wonderful she tasted, and how her body pressed against his as she clung to him, tasting him, whispering sweet words between them that were of love and apology and something else...something like forever.
He wrapped his arms around her tightly, his face buried in the smooth skin of her neck. She continued to press tender kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, her eyes aglow as she carefully searched for any sign of bruising or blood. Nothing. He seemed to be perfectly healed...Logan raised his head curiously, watching with amusement as she ran exploring hands over his chest.
"Everything still there?" he asked.
She looked up at him shyly. "You...you're healed," she said.
"Pretty much."
She took in a deep, shaky breath, then took his face into her hands and kissed him. "I thought...I thought that you might die. I really did."
So did I, Logan thought silently, but he smiled for her and reached up, brushing the tangled locks of her white hair out of her eyes as she leaned over him...but then Ororo looked over at the window in the bathroom and frowned a little. "What?" he asked.
"The light," she said. She studied the sunlight streaming in the window, only slightly different from when she had fallen asleep, then looked down at Logan with a bemused expression. "How did you heal so fast?"
"What do you mean?"
She glanced back at the window. "It looks like only an hour or so has gone by since Forge and I came here, and..." She dropped her eyes and blushed a little. "Since I fell asleep. You were hurt so bad, I thought it would take hours and hours for you to heal again."
Logan considered this, then shrugged. "I guess the ol' healing factor kicked into overdrive." A thought occurred to him, and his brows furrowed a little. "Where are the others?" he asked.
Ororo's face grew serious, and he suddenly saw the tight worry in her eyes. "He has them," she said.
A cold weight settled in the pit of Logan's stomach. "Who?"
"Santrock."
"What?" Logan sat up suddenly, a terrifying expression of rage twisting his face. His eyes locked with hers, then he tore the blanket off them with one swipe of his arm, launching himself out of the bed with a inarticulate growl. "And you let me sleep?! Jesus-jumped-up-fuckin'-Christ..." He snatched his jacket off the floor where Ororo had placed it and began to yank it on viciously. She stood up and came to him quickly, trying to place a gentling hand on his arm.
"Logan, wait..."
"Hand me my boots, 'Ro."
"I'm not handing you anything," she retorted, a flush of matched anger staining her cheeks. "Now stop this. Sit down and listen..."
"Either get out of my way or hand me my goddamn boots," Logan growled. Ororo let go of his arm and stepped away, and he went to the bed without looking at her, sitting down on the edge of the mattress heavily and pulling up his boots with two swift tugs. Ororo still said nothing, but when he looked up again she was standing in front of him, a determined glint in her eye and her hands on her hips.
"Forge has gone to get them," she said.
"Forge?!" Logan stood up, towering over her with an angry scowl, but she didn't back down. "You let me sleep while Forge went to play hero?"
"He saved your life, did he not?" Ororo asked with maddening calm.
Logan scowl grew deeper...yes, Forge had saved his life, but the truth of this statement only pissed him off further. "As much as I'm indebted to him," Logan replied sarcastically. "Forge is the reason we're in this hell hole in the first place...or didn't he tell you that part?"
"He told me. He told all of us," Ororo replied. "But if that sunlight outside the window is any indication, Forge has only been gone an hour at the most. Give him time...you know as well as I do that if anyone can get the others out of here, it's him."
"That's bullshit," Logan said.
"Is it?" Ororo said. "Or is it just that you can't stand the thought of someone else being able to do something you cannot?"
"What in the fuck are you talkin' about, 'Ro?"
"You're still jealous, aren't you?"
Logan opened his mouth, thought better of it and closed it, then opened it once more. "That's not fair," he growled. "And it has nothing to do with what's going on here."
"I don't have time to be fair," Ororo said softly. "I made Forge a promise. I promised I would keep you here until he returned."
His brows lowered dangerously. "I don't care what you promised or why...but I'm not staying in here while Santrock cuts them up."
"Logan, please!" Ororo's calm demeanor fell away, and he finally heard the terror lurking beneath that calm surface, threatening to spill. He stopped and turned back to her, confusion and a little desperation on his face...why is she doing this?...but then she caught one of his hands and pressed it against her stomach, her face pleading. "Santrock almost killed you, and if he finds you again, he will. Trust me, please..." Her eyes began to sparkle with tears. "Trust Forge. I can't run the risk of losing you again. I can't."
He stared at her, conflicting emotions warring over his face. "'Ro..." he began hoarsely.
"Please, my love..."
"But the others...Jean, Cyclops. If Santrock has them..." He took her hands as gently as he could. "We have to help them."
"I know that, my love...but for right now we're staying here, and we're going to trust Forge's judgement."
His expression grew incredulous. "Why?"
"Because he saved your life," Ororo replied. "I know it's his fault we're here, but the fact remains that he risked his own life to save yours...and there was no reason for him to do so. None at all, and you know it." She reached up and took his face between her palms gently, trying to calm the fading anger in his eyes. "We didn't know what had happened to you, Logan, and there's the possibility that we might never have known. Forge tried to get you out, and when he couldn't he came to us even though he knew it would mean admitting to his own betrayal...yet he did it anyway. And that is why I trust him." She held his eyes with her own. "And that is why I think you trusted him, too."
He stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head as if clearing it of her words. "This is bullshit," he muttered again, but he sounded slightly less convinced as he slipped past Ororo and headed once more for the door.
"Logan," she called warningly.
His hand was on the knob, seconds from flipping the latch and snatching the door wide...and a crackling smell filled the air, the scent of hot ozone and...and...something else. He felt the hairs on his neck stir slightly, and when he turned his head to look back at Ororo, he saw a sight that alternately shocked and chilled him...her eyes had turned to white, but she was still holding it in check, her rumbling power humming in the air all around them like tangible static electricity. His forehead wrinkled in disbelief, at the same time that the corner of his mouth drew up in a snarl of which he wasn't even aware.
"What are you doing, 'Ro?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.
"I'm keeping you here."
"At any cost, huh?"
Ororo didn't answer at first, but the charged air seemed to grow thicker around him. "You're not leaving," she said calmly. "I made a promise...and I nearly lost you once. If this is what it takes to get through that thick skull of yours, then so be it."
Logan's hand dropped from the knob as he turned slowly to face her, his face incredulous and still drawn up in that half-snarl as he faced her down. She was serious...he could hear it in her voice, and he was just as sure that she thought she really was doing it for his own good. He took a step toward her, gratified a little to see her take a step back as well, backing into a long, empty desk that poked out at right angles from the wall. She stopped suddenly, pressed against its edge as Logan stalked closer to her, but the white fire in her eyes did not diminish, and neither did the electrified feel to the air surrounding them.
"Don't do this, 'Ro," he said...but there was no fear in his eyes. What she saw reflected there was more like curiosity and...what? Anger, yes, and irritation, but also something that flickered a little like...arousal.
"Don't make me do this, Logan," she said.
Logan cocked his head to the side a little, as if regarding her with great interest, and then his snarl began to tug into a dark smile...although the menacing look never left his face. "You're threatening me, darlin'," he said softly, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He stopped when he reached the space just in front of her, and Ororo saw the look in his eyes change...it began to shift, from anger to a dark, smoldering lust that made her go weak in the knees.
Oh dear Goddess, it's my power, she thought wildly...and with a scary sort of excitement trembling through her. He can feel my power...and it's turning him on. Heaven help me... He reached out and touched her arm, and an even stranger look flitted across his face...he had never touched her like this before, not when she was in that strange in-between place where all her power surged from. The shock of it sent electrical bursts through his fingers and into his hand and arm...she felt like a live wire, the touch of his hand on her arm humming with barely contained energy.
His eyes burned into hers. "Last chance," he growled softly.
"Yes," she whispered. "Last chance."
Abruptly all thoughts of the other X-Men, of Forge and even Santrock dropped away, and Logan had time to wonder a little over this, to feel a brief stab of guilt, but then he heard her words echoing in his mind...Trust me, my love...and he did, unable to help himself or even make a conscious decision as one thought more powerful than all the others came to the fore. This was it...after they left this room, there might not be another chance, and he loved her, he loved her and he wanted her more than anything, and if this was the last time they would be together, then so be it. He would take one last exquisite memory from this room to his grave, if that was what awaited him outside that door.
"Logan?" Ororo breathed, recognizing the look in his eye, understanding it...
"Hush, darlin'," he murmured. Logan buried outside thoughts deep, at least for the moment, under something even more now and infinitely stronger...the wave of inarticulate desire that swept over him. Ororo's head was tilted back, her eyes half-lidded as she looked up at him with those terrible, beautiful eyes, and he could see her losing it a little, shines of thunderous light catching on the loose strands of her hair, and before he knew what he was doing he was sinking his hands in that hair, entwining his fingers in the thick, heavy, crackling length and kissing her hard, bruising her with his mouth. He felt a shock go through his body as their lips touched, slicing through his heart and stomach and into his cock which was now hard and throbbing with an unvoiced want, pressing against the tight line of his jeans, and he needed her, wanted her, and even though they were in this hell and somewhere dimly he remembered this, for one brief moment in time it didn't matter...none of it mattered.
"Now? Here?" she whispered against his mouth.
"Yes, now..."
Ororo was with him...no, not Ororo...this was not Ororo, this goddess of the lightning and the winds that was clinging to him, her fingers slipping into his jacket and scratching a hard, wicked line over the skin of his shoulders and chest...not Ororo but Storm...Storm, her sharp little teeth biting his lips, sucking hungrily at his tongue as he felt his fingers slip down her back, over her hips and thighs, and then he had her in his hands and he was lifting her, seating her on the desk behind her and moving between her long, luscious legs. Their movements were frenzied, the fumbling, breathless gestures of lovers too long apart...he felt his fingers on the zipper to her uniform, jerking it down so hard that he nearly ripped it off, and then he was pushing the black leather off her shoulders, her arms free, then her legs free as he pulled it off and tossed it aside with a growl...her boots came off with it, and then he came back closer and ground his raging erection against the hot place between her legs, those same limbs wrapping themselves around his waist and holding him there, tightly, as she flung back her head and moaned.
Black bra, black panties teased him, and he ripped the latter off with a soft sound of rending cloth, leaving the bra on, oh yes, the black lace hugging the curves of those breasts and making him nearly dizzy with lust. He wanted her now...he wanted Storm, and it wasn't Logan that wanted her but that dark beast known only as the Wolverine, and she wanted him, of that much he was sure, very very sure. He kissed her again, harder, and she was reaching down and unbuckling his belt, unfastening his jeans, her cool, electrified fingers taking his cock into her hands and squeezing it oh-so-gently and rough all at the same time. She was guiding him between her legs, and he forced himself to slow down, one hand on hers as he buried his face in her neck, smelling her sweet scent, his tongue leaving hot trails up her neck's graceful line as he managed to whisper in her ear, his voice coming out like a strangled growl...is it all right? The baby, I mean...can we...? And she was nodding, pulling him closer... yes, yes...for now it will all be okay and yes...take me, Logan...take me take me NOW...
He plunged into her slick, tight heat, and she cried out and would have fallen had it not been for his arms, and now he lowered her to the desk, her upper body stretched out on its smooth, cool surface as he stood between her legs, his hands on her hips as he thrust into her, harder and harder, relishing the way her breasts moved with his thrusts, the dark nipples just visible through the lace. She moved her hands over her head and clutched at the edge of the desk, her head thrown back, her full, sensuous lips open as she panted and fought to keep the wanton screams at bay. Logan's hands were on her hips, pulling her against him, and then he lifted her legs and hooked them over his shoulders, turning his head and nipping at the smooth flesh with a deep, ravishing growl.
Her climax came so suddenly she didn't have time to get ready for it. It slammed into her with all the subtlety of a meteor...she did scream then, but it was breathless as her orgasm rocketed through her...she thought he cried out too, and even as the exploding pleasure thundered through her body she prepared herself for when he would stop, when he would withdraw and she would be left with that softly throbbing but somehow empty feeling she had when it was all over...but Logan did not stop. He let go of her legs, allowing them to slip down his shoulders, and he reached down now, gathering her into his arms and pulling her close against his chest, and when she wrapped her legs around his waist once more he pulled back a little, only to thrust into her again.
"Love you..." he whispered, his breath soft in her ear.
He slowed down then, cradling her gently...and as he began to move against her again, this time it was sweet, and he held her close and made love to her with slow, even, tender strokes. He caught her face in his hands, his eyes tightly closed as he kissed her, his kisses strong and he was Logan again...she was Ororo, and when her second orgasm came it was with him, feeling the powerful shudder of his body as they clung to each other and this second, unexpected bliss rolled over her in heady waves.
"Oh, God...'Ro..." He buried his face in her neck, groaning, the taut muscles of his shoulders and back trembling beneath her hands.
"My love..."
Panting, soft breaths melting together as they clung to each other in silence...her hands crept over his shoulders, and then her fingers were sinking into the crisp waves of his black hair, pulling his head down to hers and resting their foreheads against each other. He was breathing hard, as was she, and for awhile they remained like that, the ebbing sensation of him throbbing within her fading into a deliciously warm numbness. There was no sense of time, and how long they remained like that she did not know.
He stirred after a while. She felt his eyes on her then, and she opened hers to see him regarding her with a bemused, but still achingly wild expression in his dark eyes.
"What is it?"
"What in the hell just happened?" he whispered.
She knew what he meant by that...she could see the guilt creeping into his eyes, slowly, yes, but creeping in nevertheless. My friends are in the hands of the enemy, he was thinking...oh yes, she could read his mind, lovers don't have to be telepaths to do that sort of mind-reading...my friends are in the hands of the enemy, and here I am rutting like a wild animal...
"Don't," she said softly.
"I...I'm sorry..."
She laughed a little at that. "For what? Finding each other again?"
"Were we lost?" Logan asked, what might have sounded like a joke under different circumstances coming out with quiet seriousness. Ororo pulled his head towards hers gently and kissed him, and her heart quickened again as he opened his mouth beneath hers and returned the touch with tender insistence.
"I think we were, for a little while," Ororo murmured against his lips. "But not anymore."
He broke the kiss gently, then lifted his head, his hands leaving hers long enough to start pulling the gold ring off his finger. "I have something for you," he said softly.
She stopped him by wrapping her fingers around his. "No, not now, Logan," she whispered. "Wait until we're out of this place. Wait until we're safe."
He met her eyes steadily. "What if we don't get out of here?" he asked, and Ororo heard the fear in his voice, not fear for himself but fear for her and their unborn child she carried...and that fear that mirrored her own made her heart glad, giving her the strength to meet his haunted eyes and not be afraid anymore.
"Do you have any doubts as to what my answer will be?" she asked him, stroking his stubbled cheek with her thumb, then kissing him again with all tenderness.
He turned his face a little and kissed her fingers...realizing that he did already know her answer. "No," he murmured aloud. "No doubts."
"Then let that be enough for now," she whispered, pulling him close once more.
***
Ororo was right...the light outside the window hadn't changed, but not for the reason she thought. The light had not changed, but the reason why she felt so rested and why Logan's body had somehow miraculously healed in the space of an hour was because she and Logan had slept the clock round...and twenty-four hours after Forge had left her with Logan, at the same time that Ororo was kissing Logan in the afterburn of their sudden lovemaking, Forge was lying on his stomach in the ductwork of the compound, blinking exhaustion out of his eyes as he peered down into the room below him.
He shifted a little, the long hours of waiting in the cramped hull of the air vents beginning to tell on his limbs. The comforting presence of his plasma gun strapped against his leg pressed firmly against him as he eased himself into a more comfortable position, but it did nothing to assuage the anger and growing despair in his heart. The room below was quiet...it had been quiet for some time now, and the slumped and sitting figures of Cyclops and Remy had not moved for at least an hour or more. Remy, at least, was conscious...of that much he was sure, because he could just see the pissed-off glint of the kid's eyes beneath the brown hair hanging over his forehead. They had beat the kid up pretty good...a small trickle of blood had dried in a rusty line from the corner of his mouth down his chin, splashes of more blood were drying in uneven patches over the pale skin of his face, and one eye was blackened and swelled nearly shut...but the kid had bore it all stoically without much more than a grunt, and Santrock had given the order for them to stop shortly after they had begun...after all, only Logan had the healing abilities in this bunch, and killing the LeBeau kid wasn't going to do Santrock or his little project much good.
They had knocked Cyclops around a good bit, too, but one of the soldiers had got a little overzealous and cracked him a good one across the back of the skull with the butt of his pistol...and Cyclops had slipped into dreamland with a dull moan. Santrock, of course, had been furious...but after socking the errant soldier in the face, he had decided that enough was enough for now and had apparently gone off to take a nap or grab a bite to eat or something...giving Forge the opportunity he had waited for patiently all day.
Unfortunately, what he thought was going to be his big break in freeing the X-Men was squashed rather rudely by the sudden realization that, although Santrock had left the room, Myers and three of his men remained behind, talking quietly and roughly amongst themselves while keeping a casual eye on their silent prisoners. Rogue, of course, was still sitting between them...but Santrock had left her alone, for the time being. She was sobbing quietly, her head drooping forward, her tangled hair hanging in her face and obscuring her tears from view...and Forge knew exactly why Santrock had left her untouched. Rogue was dangerously close to the breaking point...and they were far more likely to get something out of her by inflicting all the pain on Remy and Cyclops. Her own pain Rogue could no doubt withstand...what little Forge had seen of her was remarkable, and the girl had an inner strength that so far had remained untouched. Oh yes...her own pain would have been fine, just peachy...but now she had to sit and watch two of her friends get beat to a pulp because of her silence. No doubt about it: Santrock was a monster...but one hell of an interrogator.
So, now what? he mused silently. He hadn't expected it to take this long...Santrock had apparently learned quickly, much to Forge's chagrin, and he had no intention of underestimating the X-Men again. That left Forge pondering in his hiding place, knowing by his internal clock that he had been there for much too long, and also knowing that there was a very good chance that Logan was fully recovered by now...and if he was, that would be three people instead of just one. Three people might stand a chance of overpowering Myers and his men...might, of course, being the operative word. Still, it was more of a chance than he had been given in the past twenty-four hours...and, he realized, it might be the only chance he was likely to get.
Ororo is going to kill me, he thought with a rueful grin as he began to back away down the air shaft. This was what she wanted to do in the first place, but...oh well. No harm, no foul, right? At least Logan had a chance to heal...but he knew that wasn't entirely true. No harm, no foul indeed...there were at least two people in the room below him right now that might disagree with him, but there was nothing he could do about it now but go and find Logan and Ororo...and hope that somehow they could still pull this off with their skins intact.
***
Santrock shut the door to his private apartments and leaned against them, lighting his cigarette as he glanced without concern down either length of the corridor. He was furious, yes...but the dull, ripping rage he had felt when Logan's cold, snarling voice had echoed to him through Smith's comlink had been banked into a steady, calmly collected anger...one that could burn and smolder, but one through which it was still possible to think. And thinking was precisely what he needed to do now...thinking, planning, coming up with some way to squeeze the information he needed out of these freaks of nature without losing a single, precious drop.
They were good, he had to give them that. The men, at least...the redhead was still unconscious, and Santrock had not yet given the order to start in on the girl (although when he did give the order to start in on that foul-mouthed cracker bitch, he was going to enjoy it immensely), but Cyclops and the LeBeau kid had kept their silence as well as any special forces operative or mercenary behind enemy lines. There was no admiration in this thought, however...only a sort of grudging irritation that made him realize he was going to have to change his tactics.
There was a soft, ringing thud from the air vents across the hall, and he glanced up at them briefly. Must be the air trying to come on, he thought, inhaling deeply on his cigarette and starting down the hall...and then a sudden thought came to him that slowed, then stopped him in his tracks. The air shouldn't be coming on...the power had been out since the day before, when all this shit had hit the proverbial fan, and the auxiliary generators were not switched into the heating and cooling system. What had that thud been, then? Big fucking rats?
Santrock had not risen to the rank he had through stupidity, and that instinctive intelligence served him now. Moving cautiously, he removed his pistol from his belt as quietly as possible, then began to slide toward the grate in the upper portion of the wall with a careful, practiced tread. His beady eyes flicked over the grate, then the narrow strip of wall to either side, calculating the width of the vent...when there was another soft, metallic thud behind the wall. Without pausing to consider further, he lifted the pistol with both hands, pulled back the hammer with his thumb, and fired into the wall beside the grate, the plaster exploding from the wall near the ceiling in a measured cloud.
There was a low grunt of pain from the vent, followed by a much louder bang...this time unmistakably the sound of something striking the sides of the metal shaft. Santrock grinned, his lips pulling away from his teeth like a shark, and he kept the pistol trained on the wall with one hand while he fumbled his comlink free from his belt with the other. Gotcha, whoever you are, he thought smugly. I don't think you're Logan, but whoever you are...I think you're going to be my missing piece.
***
Jean blinked her eyes, the tiniest movement of them sending bright spikes of pain through her head. For a moment she was horribly disoriented...her hands were behind her back, and she was lying on a dirty, scuffed wood floor, her ponytail hanging in her face and tickling her nose. There was a stifled sob somewhere behind her...it sounded like Rogue. Jean grimaced as she rolled over slowly, sharp splinters of agony shooting through her wrists and arms, but she managed to get her hands under her and push herself to a sitting position...although the movement made her head explode with a terrific ache.
There was a sharp click behind her, and she turned her head slowly to see the stubbed barrel of a submachine gun pointed in her face, held in the steady grip of one of the soldiers. He stared her down without a flicker of emotion in his eyes...and Jean swallowed hard, her eyes sliding past the guard to fixate on Myers standing behind him.
"Nice to see you up and around," Myers said dryly. He had his rifle trained casually on Cyclops, and Jean had to stifle a cry when she saw Scott's head sagging forward limply, his eyes closed and a swelling, bloodied bruise high on his cheek. Beside him, Rogue was meeting her eyes with a terrified expression, wet tear tracks glistening on her cheeks, and past her Remy was tied to a chair as well, not moving his battered head, but fixing her with one glittering eye from under the tangled fall of his long bangs.
There was movement in front of her, and she slowly turned her head back to see the first guard inch the gun's barrel a little closer to her face. He glanced back at Myers with fleeting nervousness. "This one's the mind-reader, right?" he asked the lieutenant.
"The telepath, correct," Myers replied. He smiled at Jean then, but the smile was utterly devoid of humor or even emotion. "She's telekinetic, too...but we're not going to have to worry about that, are we, Miss Grey?" Jean didn't answer, and Myers' smile faded a little. "One move out of you, Miss Grey...if even a fucking dust bunny moves in this room on its own, I'll kill you. Do you understand?" She remained impassive, staring him down, and he suddenly screamed at her, "Do you understand?!!!"
Jean jumped in shock, the insane light in Myers' eyes giving her a chill. "I...I understand," she said quietly.
Myers looked as if he were going to say something else, but just then the door opened. Myers and the other three guards tensed, but when Santrock came through the door they relaxed...and when Jean saw who Santrock was propelling into the room before him, Jean's heart sank.
It was Forge. Santrock shoved him forward roughly...with his hands tied behind his back he had no way of catching himself, and Jean was too afraid to try to help him. He crashed to the floor with a groan, curled in on himself, a small smear of blood fanning out from his shoulder as he hunched on the floor.
"Forge! Are you okay?" Jean whispered.
"He'll be fine," Santrock snapped, giving Forge a swift kick in the side. Forge made no sound this time, but his black eyes snapped open and glared at the major with an abiding hatred. "It's just a pistol shot to the shoulder...nothing serious," Santrock continued, ignoring the look on Forge's face.
Santrock moved to stand before Cyclops, grabbing a handful of his hair and snatching Cyclops' face back so he could look at it. "Dammit," he spat, almost to himself. "The bastard is still out." He left Cyclops' head sag back, then he glanced at Jean in an almost off-hand fashion. "I see you've decided to join us," he commented with a sarcastic grin.
Jean raised her head and met his stare defiantly. "I suggest you let us go, Santrock...before you get in more trouble."
His grin grew a little wider. "Do you mean when the rest of your mutated friends descend on us? Oh, yes...I know all about your little talent," he said, tapping a hard, dry finger on her forehead and making her recoil in disgust. "I sincerely hope, for your sake, that you haven't already contacted them...because if I hear even one peep from someone else breaking into this compound, I assure you that the only thing they're going to find is a whole heap of trouble...and your very dead body."
Jean said nothing, her eyes blazing with quiet anger, and Santrock chuckled and stepped past her and Cyclops, stopping in front of Rogue. "How we doing, Scarlett?" he teased. "Ready for a little fun?"
Rogue shrank away from him, her eyes wide and petrified. Remy suddenly spoke up, his voice low and more adult than it had ever sounded. "Leave her alone, homme," Remy growled.
Santrock glanced at him. "Glad to see you're still with us, kid," he said, a note of warning under his genial tone.
"Ready whenever you are, mon ami," Remy replied, flipping his hair away from his face with a cocky toss of his head. One eye was swelled almost completely shut, and the blood on his face had dried in eerie, vivid splashes...but the defiant spark in his eye had not faded one whit.
"Yes, I bet you are," Santrock replied. He crouched down in front of Remy, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "You've got guts, kid...I'll give you that. I don't think there's anything we could do to you that would open that trap of yours and give us the information we want."
"'Specially since Remy don' know a damn t'ing," the boy snapped.
"Maybe not," Santrock acknowledged with a shrug. He stood up and went to stand before the door, surveying them with all the calm of a man at a cocktail party. "But one of you knows something...of that I'm very sure. Look, I'm a reasonable man," he continued, folding his arms over his chest. "All I want is Logan...and as soon as one of you spills the beans and tells me where he is, you can go free. I'm certainly not going to keep you here."
A long, tense silence followed. None of the X-Men looked at each other, and no one said a word...and after a moment Santrock sighed and shook his head. "I expected as much," he said. "Myers, take the girl down to the lab."
Rogue began to shake her head violently. "No...please! Leave me alone...!"
Myers moved forward and grabbed Rogue again, and this time Santrock held the door for him as he wrestled her through and into the corridor. Her frantic pleadings began to border on hysteria...Jean watched in horror as Myers and Rogue disappeared, Remy nearly turning his chair over in his effort to get at them.
"Get her set up and then come get the others," Santrock called after him.
"Yes, sir."
"You fuckin' bastard lache salaud ecrevisse...!" Remy snarled incoherently as he strained against his bonds, his dubious English morphing into a gutter French that made Jean's ears burn. "You like to pick on girls, eh? Too big a coward to fight me?"
Santrock paused at the door, giving Remy a raked smile. "There's nothing I'd like better than to rip that tongue right out of your head, kid...but then I don't think you'd be telling me much, would you?" His smile faded as quickly as it had come, and the expression on his face now matched the glassy madness in his eyes. "We'll see how long you keep quiet when we start to work on her."
Remy launched himself forward, and this time the chair did tip over, sending him crashing to the floor in a heap. He threw his head back once he hit the floor, the cords on his neck standing out as he shouted at Santrock's departing back...and then guards were swarming around him, the sound of muffled blows hidden from the view of the others...and Jean took the moment's confusion to close her eyes tightly and send out a mental scream.
<<Ororo!>>
***
Ororo had just finished zipping her uniform back up when Jean's shriek came through. The power of it sent her reeling...she staggered back against the desk, her eyes flying to meet Logan's startled look.
"'Ro? You all right?"
"It...it's Jean," Ororo said. She raised a trembling hand to her forehead. <<Jean! I hear you! Where are you?>>
<<I don't know! He's got us, 'Ro...all of us. You have to...>>
<<But Forge...>>
<<Forge is here! Santrock has all of us, 'Ro! He's...>> The connection was abruptly broken, leaving Ororo filled with a sharp horror.
"Logan," she said shakily. "Santrock...he has them, all of them. Even Forge."
"What?" Logan growled.
"They've all been captured, Logan!"
Logan said nothing, but the I told you so look on his face said all that needed to be said. "C'mon," he growled, and he stormed toward the door, spinning the lock and flinging it open. The pile of rubble outside the door remained untouched, but instead of burrowing his way under it like they had before he began to shove it out of the way with brute strength alone. Ororo watched in astonishment as rocks and debris began to fly out of the pile, then as she collected herself and began to rush to help, he snarled and yanked a steel beam free with a powerful jerk, and the entire pile collapsed, Logan jumping back just in time and flinging the beam aside as a small avalanche of concrete and ruptured tiles boiled into the room.
Logan stumbled and clawed his way over the remaining pile, Ororo struggling up beside him. He grabbed her hand once and pulled her over, and then they were rushing down the corridor, Logan's head low and swinging from side to side as he loped along rapidly.
"Logan, wait! We don't know where we're going!"
"I can still smell 'em, darlin'," Logan growled back briefly. He stopped, turned a corner, jogged up a short flight of stairs and turned another corner...Ororo following behind as quickly as she could. They ran up another short flight, and Ororo had time to marvel at his uncanny ability to sniff out the path...she certainly hadn't been able to find these stairs on her first trip through, and neither had Forge, she was sure...but once they reached the third intersection of the halls and Logan made his choice without a pause, she gave up and decided to trust his nose completely.
There were no soldiers to be seen yet, thank the Goddess, even though they quickly entered the undamaged portion of the north wing. Ororo closed the distance between her and Logan nervously, glancing from side to side as they moved down the halls...and when Logan stopped suddenly at another intersection in the halls, she nearly bumped into his back before she realized he had stopped. Logan raised up to his full height and looked down both side of the crossing corridor, his nose wrinkled as he sniffed the air.
"Why did you stop?" Ororo whispered.
"Ssshh...someone's close by," he said in a soft growl. He lifted one hand, signing for her to be quiet, then he took a few careful steps into the middle of the intersecting halls. Ororo could hear her heart thudding in the sudden silence...Logan peered down the hall, then turned in a slow circle back to face her...and he suddenly looked over her shoulder, his eyes widening.
"'Ro! Look out!"
Someone grabbed her from behind. She was dragged to the floor, the sound of machine gun fire ripping and echoing through the corridor as someone fired at Logan, and then he was down, two soldiers bursting out of a door to the right and attacking him like a pair of linebackers. She was rolled, losing sight of him...her attacker pinned her arms to her sides, and then he was on top of her...a soldier with a sweaty, grimacing face that suddenly grabbed her shoulders and slammed her head against the floor, hard. She saw stars for a brief moment, then with a shriek of rage she brought up her knee and slammed him between the legs as hard as she could. He let go with a rusty scream of pain, and she rolled to her feet, taking on a defensive crouch as she lifted her head and saw two more soldiers coming at her with hands spread.
She spun quickly and kicked out and high...her boot connected with the closest soldier's nose, breaking it with a dull crunch as he reeled back clutching his face, bright blood spurting from between his fingers in liquid gouts. The other had no intention of succumbing that easily...he swung his machine gun out from where it hung at his side and locked in the clip, but Ororo leaped up lightly, catching hold of the fluorescent light fixture over her head and swinging her legs up. Her legs caught the soldier on either side of his head before he even had time to look up from his gun...she gripped with her ankles and wrenched her feet to the side, snapping his neck with a sickening crack.
Logan had seen the machine gun in the soldier's hands a second before he fired, and he ducked, the weight of the other two soldiers slamming into him and ironically pulling him out of range of the machine gun's fire. A flick of his wrists and his claws sang as they sliced out, and with a roar of rage he slammed them into the stomach of the soldier on top of him, twisting them once they were embedded and punching them up into the man's ribcage. The soldier's rank breath hissed into his face, and Logan snarled and launched him off, the soldier striking the floor like a rag doll and sliding to a halt against the wall, his eyes already glassy and dead. Something struck his back...the other soldier was trying to get him in a headlock, and something hot and sharply painful buried itself in Logan's back. Bastard's got a knife, he thought dimly, then he reached over his head and grabbed a handful of the guy's hair, pulling it out by the root in a bloody handful. The soldier shrieked...Logan grunted as the machine gun blatted again, stinging pain in his leg joining the dull agony in his back, but he dropped to his knees and threw the soldier on his back off balance, his hold relaxing enough for Logan to grab him and slam him to the floor. A quick slash of his claws and the soldier's head rolled...and Logan paused long enough to reach around and pull out the knife with a satisfied grunt.
Something rumbled, and he was dimly aware that the light seemed to have grown dimmer in the hall...and then the familiar sound of wind beginning to rush through the narrow corridor, mixed with the sound of a machine gun clip being loaded. Logan looked up and saw three things in one flash...a scared looking soldier that was shoving the round maw of a AK-47 in his face...four more soldiers surrounding them, armed, pissed, and ready to fire...and Ororo standing not two feet away, her hands spread out, eyes white and crackling with energy, as her hair began to whip around her in the building wind. Something rumbled again, and Logan slowly raised his eyes to the ceiling, only mildly surprised to see that it was gone, blotted out by the bizarre image of what appeared to be an encapsulated thunderhead.
Christ almighty, he thought crazily. I didn't know she could do that shit inside! And on the heels of that, as he watched the wind that was now howling around them begin to buffet the soldier's hair in front of him, rocking him on his feet, Didn't her parents teach her not to do that shit in the house? He began to chuckle helplessly, and the soldier's eyes in front of him began to look more than terrified. He looked like he might crap his pants.
"Let him go," Ororo's voice thundered, and one of the soldiers surrounding them broke and ran. The young one holding the gun to Logan's head licked his lips nervously, his eyes squinted against the rising storm as he looked from Ororo to Logan.
"I'll blow his head off!" he yelled at Ororo, then his wild eyes looked at Logan. "Make her stop it, man...make her stop!"
Logan shrugged, still laughing. "What makes you think she's gonna listen to me?"
"You were warned," was all Ororo said, and then she tossed her head back, silently commanding the roaring storm she had created. Logan got one last look at her, thinking she had never looked more terrifying or more beautiful than she did at that moment...and then he ducked and covered his head as the bolts of lightning came screaming down. His ears rang with the blast...he clapped his hands over his ears as the electricity exploded in the hall, blue-white streaks of energy sizzling and baking the air around them as the soldiers were struck almost simultaneously. Three of them exploded completely...the fourth, standing petrified in front of Logan, lost his arms to the shoulder and most of his chest and face as the gun he held in his hands ruptured from the blast, and he sagged first to his knees, then toppled like a bag of wet flour into a crunchy heap at Logan's feet.
The thunder muttered angrily...the wind rose briefly, then sighed away into nothing.
Logan pulled his hands away from his ears carefully and looked around, the light already beginning to brighten again as the storm began to quiet and dissipate. Ororo hopped lightly over one of the corpses and grabbed his upper arms, helping him from his crouch. "Ready?" she asked breathlessly.
"Yeah..." he said slowly. He looked at the still-smoking damage, then slowly began to walk down the right hand corridor.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah." He cast her a look from the corner of his eye as she hurried beside him. "Hey, 'Ro?"
"Yes?" she panted.
"I thought you had this massive respect for life thing going."
She shrugged. "They made me angry."
"Jesus," he muttered. "Remind me to stay the fuck away from you when you're in labor."
Ororo burst out laughing, and Logan quirked a smile as they ran down the hall as fast as they could.
***
The guards didn't bother to right Remy in his chair, and after they had slammed him a few good times with the butts of their rifles in his stomach they left him to wince in pain and pant heavily on the floor. Myers, Santrock, and Rogue were gone, the door closing behind them, and that left exactly four soldiers in the room, their guns trained on each of them with anxious, ready hands.
Remy closed his eyes, allowing his face to go slack. The chair falling over had been a stroke of luck, for it had fallen in such a way that it jammed his left wrist into an awkward position, the hand bent back so that the tips of his fingers were nearly flush with his arm. And these stupide soldiers had neglected to do more than give him a cursory search for weapons when they initially bound him to the chair. The tiny, special package he always carried with him was still safe, and now, thanks to these idiots and a lucky tumble, he was almost...able...to...reach...it...
There! His fingers snagged the tiny pick hidden in the sleeve of his uniform. He'd had to poke it through the lining to keep it secure, and now it was hung up on a thread or something, but he forced himself to relax and be patient. Anyone standing in front of him, like the soldiers were, saw nothing but his stillness, his head slumped against the floor, his eyes closed...but behind the chair, behind his back his fingers worked quickly. Jus' like back home, non? he thought...his fingers gripped the pick tightly, and he rocked it back and forth, once, twice...it came free suddenly, and he flipped it between his fingers dexterously, angling it until it was balanced gently against his thumb. He worked it into the slot in his handcuffs, the one his fingers had already been searching out as soon as they clapped them on his wrists...slowly now, Remy...like in de police station dat time...same damn t'ing...jus'...a little...higher...there was a satisfying click, barely audible, and he opened his eyes a crack to see if the soldiers had heard. Nope...they weren't even looking at him. They were crowded together, the guns trained on the X-Men lazily as they talked quietly among themselves...but Remy kept still, knowing they would be on him in a flash if he so much as twitched.
He eased his hands free of the cuffs and rubbed the wrists, the front of his body still not betraying the slightest of his movements. Now what, Remy? he asked himself. He knew there was no way he could do a thing with all four of those soldiers standing there...but if he could somehow create a diversion or something...wait! Myers would be coming back, to get him and the others and take them to wherever it was they were going to be doing...something...to Rogue. Another flash of hot anger surged over him at the thought...it wasn't that he was madly in love with the girl, heck no (although, deep down inside, he suspected that his heart was already starting to tip in that direction, and it scared the hell out of him)...nor did he think Rogue was incapable of taking care of herself. Something about the possible torture of Rogue, though...the torture of a damned fine pretty girl...pissed Remy's Gallic blood off to no end. He was going to save her. Dat's what Remy gon' to do, he thought, with all the foolish gallantry of youth...
And he was going to start by wasting that damned Lieutenant.
As if on cue, the door opened and Myers stepped in. His eyes roamed over the four of them, coming to rest on Remy. Dat's right, mon ami, Remy thought viciously. Come to papa...but then he realized he didn't know what he was going to do next. Grab the guy? Take him by surprise?
Why not?
Remy opened his eyes all the way and glared at Myers with undisguised hatred, and Myers grinned a little as he crouched down beside him. What did Mr. Summers say, back in de computer room? Remy wondered idly. Dis jus' one more strategic move...like in a chess game, non?
"Ready to go, LeBeau?" Myers said.
"Not unless you comin' wit' me," Remy spat.
Remy's hands flew out from behind the chair, and in a flash he had grabbed Myers and leaped on top of him, slamming them both to the floor. Myers shouted something unintelligible...Remy reared back and slugged him in the face, snapping Myers' head against the tile, and then the lieutenant snarled and grabbed his wrists, rolling him over with an inarticulate snarl. Remy managed to get his leg up in between them, his knee crunched against his chest, and then he pistoned out and Myers was flying across the room, slamming into Forge where he lay on the floor and making them both grunt in pain.
Remy scrambled to his feet and plowed through the open door before the soldiers had time to react. "Get him!" one shouted, and Remy heard this as he skidded around one corner and thudded off down the hall. Don' wanna leave de others, but Remy gotta find Marie, he thought wildly.
"No!" Myers roared. He stumbled to his feet and shoved the soldiers out of the way with a bellow. "Don't shoot! That little bastard's mine!" He barrelled down the hall after Remy, shouting over his shoulder. "Watch those others! Make sure they're secure!"
Myers rounded the corner. The LeBeau kid was running to beat the devil, and Myers paused long enough to unholster his pistol and take aim. He fired...but Remy seemed to sense it and he hooked a right through a door, the bullet whizzing past his head and ricocheting off the wall behind him with a zinging whine. Myers swore lustily and took off after him again.
The room Remy had careened into was dark as pitch. He stumbled over something and went flying...there was the sound of water sloshing, and then he hit the floor and rolled just as Myers ran into the room and hit the lights. Brilliant fluorescents banished the darkness...and Remy saw that he had run into some sort of cleaning supply room. The thing he had tripped over was a industrial-type mop bucket...there were shelves of cleaning liquids to his right, a battalion of more mop buckets in front of him and to the left, brooms and mops and other supplies huddled in a drain just behind him...and, he realized as he looked around and saw Myers' slow grin, there was no way out. He had run into a dead end.
"Checkmate, kid," Myers said. He took a step into the room, his pistol aimed carefully at Remy's chest. "Nowhere to run."
Remy backed up, the wall behind him stopping his retreat, and his hands felt the wall unconsciously as he stared down the barrel of Myers' gun. His hands closed over something...a broom? What in the...? He whipped it out in front of him, his eyes staring at it. It was a mop handle, long and straight and made of wood, and missing the mop that was supposed to go on the end. Kept here just in case someone got too happy doing the floors and broke their mop, he supposed.
Myers saw the handle and burst out laughing. "Whatcha gonna do with that, kid? Brain me with it?"
Remy mulled this over. Sure...why not?
The handle hissed through the air as he swept it up in an arc, suddenly becoming something more like a quarterstaff instead of just a plain old mop handle, and Remy caught Myers totally by surprise as he smashed it against the lieutenant's hand and knocked the pistol free. Myers staggered back in shock, and Remy leaped forward, catching his make-shift staff in both fists and snapping it forward, straight into Myers' chin. Myers went reeling back, stumbling over the mop handle and falling to the floor with a bone-crunching thud, and before he had time to wonder how in the hell this Cajun bastard had got the best of him, Remy was up top of him, straddling his chest with his staff poised inches above Myers throat.
"Checkmate an' check," Remy panted. Like a chess strategy, his mind reeled. But what was that word Mr. Summers used? What was it? And then he had it, and a slow, charming grin split his face. Oui, dat fits. I t'ink I like dat word...
"Kill you, LeBeau!" Myers suddenly shrieked, launching himself upwards when he saw Remy's reverie, trying to catch him off guard. Remy snapped back in a flash, though...and he brought his staff down with a grisly thwack into Myers' neck. A gout of blood spurted abruptly from Myers' mouth...his booted feet beat a tattoo on the floor, and his hands grabbed Remy's legs convulsively...then with a last gasp his head slumped, his eyes staring blankly at the wall.
"Don' call me LeBeau," Remy muttered. He staggered off Myers' corpse and flung the mop handle to the floor with a clatter. "De name is Gambit...an' don' you forget it."
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