Thank you, Ratdogtwo for your review at the end of Violence Fetish. Yes, this story is a romantic interlude of sorts. But we promise there will be action. This is just sort of a way to build on the characters and have a little romancing going on. There WILL BE ACTION!!!

kmf's stuff: again, DON'T READ UNLESS YOU'VE READ OUR OTHERS! enjoy!

curt's crap: whee. moving forward.

-----t-h-e---t-r-u-t-h---b-e-h-i-n-d---y-o-u-r---e-y-e-s-----

Prologue

"Marie, honey. You're looking like you're in another realm."

It took a minute for Kimana's smooth, dark voice to register with Marie. She blinked, finally coming back to reality. "I...I just been kinda outta it, y'know?"

Kimana cocked her head, all ears. She was more or less the therapist for the group, and found the role to her liking. She liked to learn how people functioned. She wanted to try and help. "What from, love?"

"You done been hangin' around that Stuart too much," Marie said, allowing a smile to light up her pale face. Kimana also saw that it was a half-hearted attempt to change the subject, but she'd play on with this vein for the moment.

"And you've been hanging around Remy too much. Have you noticed how brawd tha' Southern dra-awl is?" Kimana laughed.

"I can't help it. He's from near where I's from and it's kinda infectious, the way he talks and all."

"So you learning French now? Stuart's learning Tsalagi with me, and I'm pickin' up on his little...'Bristish-isms'."

"Nah, I just listen to whatever he's whisperin' and just think, 'That sounds right nice, I hope it is.' " Marie flashed a secretive smile again. "What's Tsalagi?"

"Cherokee language. Kinda funny I got a Shoshone name, but I speak Cherokee."

"Your name's pretty, no matter what culture it's from. Does it have a meanin' in English?"

"Yeah. 'Butterfly'. A bit to soft to my liking, but you're right, it sounds nice enough. Now, since we've talked all around the original question, Marie, I'm going to ask again: What has you so out of it?"

A shrug. "Losin' everybody like that I guess. Gettin' made a Council member an' all. Worryin' about us all, 'specially John and Remy. What they think a me, and if they're...I don' know, safe for now, I guess."

"You can't control it all, honey. Don't let it get to you." Kimana patted her shoulder comfortingly, excusing herself as she saw Stuart walk in.

The answer was so convincing that Kimana didn't notice that it was a lie. More or less a half-lie, but nevertheless, it was not the whole truth. Marie felt bad at not being honest, but she didn't know if she could be. Kimana might have understood, but Marie knew that Kimana would not have understood how she felt. The truth was: she was pregnant. And she was terrified that meant she'd horribly complicated things. It was bad enough John really didn't think she was all that useful as a mere human. If he found out about this...well, he'd be pissed, she just knew it. That was just John. And Remy. It was his child, but she didn't know how the hell to tell him, either. She wasn't sure how he'd take it. And there were so many other worries...

Marie was terrified what John would say more than anything. So she did the only thing that she knew how to do when she felt she was in over her head.

She ran.

She waited until the night. Remy was asleep. Her little backpack was packed with some of the clothing he had gotten her. He hadn't noticed it, as it had been hidden beneath her cloak. She shouldered the pack, donned her cloak, and then stole from their new home, out into the cold Detroit night. She had some money left from when she had run from Xavier's, and Remy had taught her how to pick pockets if it came down to it. But right now, she bought a bus ticket to somewhere.

And she left.

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The satisfying thunk of the gleaming eight ball sinking into the corner right pocket ended the game. He leaned back and smirked at the blond across from him. She looked down at the table curiously and slung her blond hair over her shoulder.

"How did you do that?" she asked. He shrugged and gestured for her to pay up. The woman slapped a twenty down on the table and sashayed off to the bar. A new song began from the juke box in the corner of the room, just as the door swung open to reveal a young woman behind it. Curly black hair fell to the middle of her back, framing her pretty features and bringing out her pale skin tone. The designer, black, high-heeled boots and denim mini skirt told him that she had never been to that side of town before, as did the black leather jacket covering her black tank top.

He was racking up for a new game when he realized she stood at its end. Looking up, his gaze met with a pair of baby blues that could have made Iceman shiver. Dropping the backpack from her shoulder, onto the floor under the table, she waited for him to speak. Obviously, she was used to people giving into her demands right away. Everything about her screamed that she was on the wrong side of town, and way more than slightly uncomfortable with it.

"Lookin' for somebody?" he asked, looking her over. She lifted one slender eyebrow and nodded, looking uncomfortable under his criticizing gaze. He finally tuned into the song playing in the bar : "She sings the revolution, the dawning of our lives, she brings this liberation, that I just can't define, nothing comes to mind. She's a rebel, she's a saint, she's the salt of the earth, and she's dangerous. She's a rebel, vigilante, missing link on the brink of destruction."

"Allerdyce. Know him?" she asked, her voice quiet and feminine, with a hint of an accent that was so watered down he couldn't put his finger on where it came from.

"Of course," was his answer, his words dripping with sarcasm. She didn't catch on.

"Know where I can find him, then?"

"You're kinda lookin' at him," he answered her. Raising both her eyebrows, she looked him over in much the same way he had only moments before. Already, he could see the doubt in her gaze.

"You? You're the leader of the mutant Resistance?" she asked, her voice incredulous, kept low so only he could hear it. He lifted an eyebrow at her.

"Yeah. You haven't seen the news? My picture's all over the place. And just so you know, this is a bar run by mutants. You ain't gotta be all hush-hush here." She cleared her throat as he spoke, no longer laughing.

"You're serious," she asked, and when he nodded she mumbled, "You certainly don't look like you should be leading a resistance."

"Well, I am. What do you want?" he snapped.

"Can you take me to them?" she asked.

"Looking for a safe haven, or to fight?"

"To fight," she replied.

"Why?" He was all leader, now. No playing around or being sarcastic. He wasn't going to let some chick waltz into headquarters without a damn good reason. Especially if it could get people he cared about killed.

"Because somebody has to."

"There are people out there fighting right now, dying. People that I know and trust. People who are dying for you. So when you say 'because somebody has to', think twice. And when I ask 'why?', I want a straight answer. Now, what do you mean by, 'somebody has to'?" he asked. She shot him a glare that would have killed a concrete wall.

"I mean, there are mutants sitting around on their asses, waiting for something to come along and give them a reason to fight. I don't want to be one of them. I wanna fight. I realized something a while back. If we don't fight, they win. So...somebody has to. Now can you take me to them or not?"

John considered her. Definitely a far cry from Marie's meek manner. She wasn't fucking about -- she meant what she said. He could like her.

"Just maybe. You got a name, Raven?" He chose the epithet on account of her midnight tresses and dark leather.

She smiled, giving him a look. Finally, she acquiesced: "Morrigan."

(The lyric in the page break is from "Won't Back Down" by Fuel.)