Deep within the jungles of Colombia, near the foot of the Andes Mountains in the fertile Magdalene Valley, Juan Jose Colin Arciniega was busy gathering coca leaf into a bag wrapped around his left shoulder. The work was hard in the rain but it had to be done. He had deadlines to keep and children to feed and his contacts could not be kept waiting until the rainy season was over! He harvested as quickly as possible, his four compadres in the distance using machetes just as he was to cut the leaves from the plants, the brim of his white hat almost flopping it was so saturated from the torrential downpour!
Thunder sounded in the distance, and Juan looked up in surprise. This kind of storm usually did not have the accompanying effects of thunder and lightning; it was usually just an endless tide of rain. How could this be? That was when a sleek, black jet came peeling through the low-lying clouds, surprising him and his crew as it shot overhead, its left hand engine aflame and the right one sounding none too stable either!
"¡Madre de Dios!" he exclaimed, lowering his machete to cross himself as the plane shot overhead, clipping the trees and heading for the distant, swollen Magdalena River. He watched it hurtle on, feeling his heart in his throat as he forgot about the plants he was supposed to be harvesting. "Muchachos, mirada!" he cried and pointed toward the water with his blade.
He did not need to alert his compatriots for when he glanced in their direction they had already stopped what they were doing, and some were loosening their rifles and heading toward the river. Juan did not hesitate, but sheathed his machete and joined his friends in a dash for the river. There was a sound of a crash intermingled with the splash of water so loud that the wildlife in the region reacted with varying shrieks, and jungle birds took to flight. Even Juan stopped momentarily as he beheld a cloud of vapor rise just above the trees; his dark brown eyes round as saucers as he looked skyward before exchanging glances with his friends.
Together the five men ran down the incline, picking their steps as carefully as they could through rivulets of mud and a tangle of foliage. Juan took the lead as the growth grew thicker ahead of them and used his machete to hack a path toward the Magdalena. He could hear the hiss of escaping steam and smell the jet fuel that was more than likely pouring from the stricken craft. He knew there was a distinct possibility that the aircraft would ignite, and they had a minimal amount of time to reach the pilot. It had looked like a military aircraft, he assessed as he ran, and that meant munitions for the cause, but also possibly a very dangerous and very big explosion.
"¡Más rápido! ¡Más rápido!" one of his friends shouted from behind, and Juan could see that two of his companions had flanked him and were likewise cutting their own paths through the overgrowth! Juan cursed, realizing that this would be a race to the spoils, and renewed his efforts as the banks of the river came into view and he could see the beginnings of the black hulk. One last swing and he stumbled through to the shores of the Magdalena to stop short at the sight before him.
The plane was huge and upside – down! Over thirty meters long and half again as wide, it was acting like a partial dam against the swollen river, its ebony body in sharp contrast to the hues of green through out the jungle. The water lapped over the right turbine, sending up a cloud of steam, but the left still burned in spite of the rain, kicking up a plume of smoke as black as its mother's body. If there were anyone in there still alive they would have to get them out soon.
One of Juan's friends had already leapt into the water, holding onto the wing of the aircraft to keep himself moored in the face of the rushing waters. He chewed his lower lip as he looked toward the belly hatch and watched his friend clamber onto the hull. Another man was taking a rope and tying it to a tree before entering the river to swim carefully toward the cockpit window; and that is when he decided to join his other companion on the top. He did not trust the currents so easily, and perhaps with luck they could force the hatch open, but as he climbed onto the belly of the ship the heat of the left engine fire almost made him turn back.
"!Jefe, venga en!" his friend called, waving him on.
Juan muttered to himself as he tried to negotiate the slick surface of the plane, holding his arms tentatively akimbo to keep his balance as he watched his companion pry at the hatch. "Busque una liberación, Carlos," ( "Find the release, Carlos.") he shouted over the rushing water and the snap of the flames and stabbed a finger toward the hatch control embedded next to the door. "¡Allí! ¡La palanca es correcta al lado de usted!"("There! The correct lever is next to you!)
Carlos stopped with his blade and let his eyes follow Juan's finger to behold the round indentation with the emergency hatch release inside it. He rolled his eyes and slammed a palm against his forehead; "¡Soy estúpido! ¡Usted tiene razón! ¡Lo veo!" ("I am stupid! You are right! I see it!") Sheathing the useless machete, and wincing against the combination of flaming jet fuel and steady rain, Carlos snuck his fingers around the control and pulled with all his might.
Juan watched as the hatch opened in response to the control, except, to his dismay, the stairwell emerged, but inverted! He could hear the emergency klaxons sounding within the craft and clucked his tongue as he followed Carlos down a precarious path into the plane. He paused only long enough to shout back to the others that remained, "¡Amigos! ¡este camino! ¡Rápidamente!" ("Friends! This way! Quickly!"). Then he disappeared into the ship.
Water was rapidly filling the interior of the ship toward the front, and the smell of ionized air was pungent in Juan's nostrils as he made his way after Carlos. The perspective was dizzying as he looked up at the empty passenger chairs and the control consoles overhead. Using the seat harnesses, he entered the cockpit area, which was knee - deep in water to find the other man who had chosen the cockpit route, struggling through the shattered plate glass window with Carlos' assistance. That was the only reason Juan saw her first lying on her side in the water, her long golden hair spread around her bloodied face, dressed in a form-fitting unitard of deep blue with a gold belt around her waist and boots on her legs. He moved quickly at the sight of the stricken woman and pulled her up out of the water into his arms, rising to glance up and see the pilot still strapped upside – down in his chair. That was when Juan cried out in a religious terror, "¡Madre de Dios! ¡Un demonio!"
Carlos looked from where he was assisting his friend through the window, and nearly dropped him at the sight of the indigo-blue, pointed eared man harnessed in the flight chair, the tail dangling as limply as his arms over his head. "¡Ah mi Dios!" he murmured, then renewed his effort to pull their companion into the cockpit. "Venga en, Miguel. ¡Tenemos que salir aquí antes de que este avión a reacción explote!" (" Come on, Miguel! We have to get out of here before the plane explodes!")
Miguel heaved himself into the cockpit, his hand impacting with the glass and making a deep gash into his palm. He drew a sharp breath and plunged the bleeding member into the cool waters only to see the three - fingered hands before him. He looked up and his eyes went round, "¿Un diablo azul? Santa Maria!" He scrambled to his feet and moved as quickly as he could from the unusual sight in the pilot's chair, looking from Carlos to Juan to the creature that looked like a man before him. "¿Hacen los ... lo rescatamos?" ("Do…do we rescue him?) he stammered.
Juan shook his head negatively,"¡No! ¡Tome lo que usted puede encontrar y salir aquí!" ("No! Take what you can find and get out of here!")He settled the weight of the woman in his arms and looked down at her face to see the huge gash in her forehead, and her unearthly beauty. "Ai! ¡Ella parece a un ángel! ¡Venga, muchachos! ¡Ayúdeme a conseguirla de aquí!"("She looks like an angel! Come on, boys! Help me get her out of here!")
Carlos watched Juan Jose leave with the woman, heading back for the hatchway, and he shook his head. He glanced one more time at the demon strapped into the seat, and the strange outfit he wore with its red and black hue and the white gloves and boots. Something in his mind was being triggered in his memory at the outlandish garb the man wore. Something he had seen on television a long time ago; but how often did you get to see television in the jungles of Colombia? Shrugging off the vague memory, Carlos helped Miguel to his feet, and spied a single duffel bag half – submerged in the rising water. He grabbed the duffel and pulled his friend toward the hatch.
"Uno momento, Carlos, " Miguel said and undid the rope around his waist. "¿Y él?" he asked and jerked his head toward the pilot.
"¿Y él? ¡Él está muerto ya! ¡Venga en!" (What about him? He is already dead! Come on!") Carlos retorted, shuddering as he looked again at the demonic man. There was no way on earth or in heaven that he was going to touch him! Instead Carlos toted the duffel along with his cache of coca to the hatch, leaving Miguel behind.
Miguel stared at the unusual features of the man upside – down in the pilot's chair and reached out with a tentative hand to almost touch the upswept ear. Changing his mind quickly when he saw the rise and fall of the muscular chest, he drew his pistol and took aim.
"Miguel! ¡Ahora!"
Startled, the shot went wide, and instead of catching him in the chest, the bullet hit the blue man's arm near the shoulder joint, and Miguel leapt back when he heard the man gasp even in his unconscious state. The coca – harvester left then, scampering as fast as he could to follow his friends, leaving behind the now doubly stricken pilot.
Two pairs of hands hoisted the golden-haired woman through the hatch and outside as Juan Jose climbed up and out of the interior of the plane. He looked back down to take the proffered bag from Carlos and set it aside before helping his friend out of the jet. Together they reached down to heave Miguel to the surface, then the five men took their booty, and their hostage off the plane and into the jungle leaving behind the still burning plane and its demonic – looking pilot.
"Idiota! ¿por qué tuvo que usted ir y pegar un tiro a él?" ("Idiot! Why did you have to go and shot him for?") Carlos' voice receded in the distance as the fires on the SR – 71 Blackbird continued to sputter in the afternoon air.
Pain. Dull, throbbing pain and the splash of cold water woke a reluctant Nightcrawler to the land of the living. He opened his eyes to see water beneath him; blood running from his numb left shoulder stained it red as it lapped over his hands then receded. Slowly and through monumental force of will, he raised his right hand up to the harness release and punched the button only to tumble into the brownish – green water and land hard on the ceiling of the cockpit beneath the surface. He pushed up quickly, his head throbbing from the blood that had rushed to it for so long, and clutched the paralyzed arm to his side to examine the wound. His yellow/gold eyes went round as he realized he had been shot; but how? He shivered in the chill of the water, glancing toward the cockpit window to see it was dark, and the water continued inside at a slow trickle meaning the Blackbird was resting in shallows.
That was when his sluggish brain remembered how he had gotten here, and who had been with him. Adrenaline surged momentarily as his eyes darted around the partially submerged cabin; "Elissa? Liebchen? Where are you?"
Panic began to ensue then when there was no immediate response, and he suddenly became aware of a world of pain as the blood flowed to his members. Wincing against the headache and the ache in his shattered shoulder joint, Kurt took in a deep breath and sunk beneath the surface of the water to peer for some sign of his wife. He pushed himself along the bottom, looking to the right and to the left, but there was nothing there, not even their duffel bag! He rose quickly and looked around the cabin, his eyes wild with fear as he realized she was even gone in the subliminal sense of the Binding. Forcing himself to walk, he headed for the rear of the jet to see that the emergency hatch was open, but nowhere in the plane itself was StarChild.
"Elissa?" he called, pushing his legs forward, his teeth chattering and his heart racing as he moved toward the cargo bay. Why could he not feel her in the Binding? Why? How was that possible? Unless she was – was – NO! He stopped those thoughts then and there! If she were dead, then where was her body? Why was it not here? "Elissa!" the cry was more strident now, the panic more acute and drove his leaden legs to new levels of exertion as he scanned the spacious cargo bay of the upside – down fighter. He could smell the fire, or the remnants of one, and thanked God that the Blackbird had not exploded as he ripped a medical kit from the wall of the hold and staggered back to the open ramp. He was alone in the ship, of that much he was certain, and terrifyingly alone in his mind and heart, which was a condition he had not known for close to two years now. Where was his wife?
Nightcrawler stopped beneath the open ramp and gazed out into a starlit sky, the world above swimming dizzily in his field of vision. He held the first aid kit beneath his right arm, the non - responsive left arm hanging limp at his side. He might have just enough strength to attempt it, he thought, and took a step forward physically while willing himself into a 'port. It was just a short hop to the surface of the plane, but when he materialized, he felt as if he was weak as a baby. He dropped to his knees onto the hull of the Blackbird, his breath coming in heaves as though he had been running, and he felt the world going grey as the medical kit fell beside him. Sinking onto the surface, he stared at the alien constellations, and struggled to recall how they had gotten here.
Three days ago they had left for Lima, Peru with Professor Xavier, Storm, Cyclops and Emma Frost at the request of the Peruvian government to deal with a band of local mutants that were causing problems. It had started out as an aggressive undertaking to restrain the band of renegades, and ended up being more of a mission of mercy where the X-Men had remained to work with the government and the renegades to bring a new comprehension of mutants and their place in the Peruvian society. Nightcrawler and StarChild had opted to leave early for the sake of Stefan, their infant son, back in the mansion near Salem Center, so with a promise to return in several days to pick up the team, they had taken off with the Blackbird to return to New York. That was when the bomb had exploded in the left engine, and Elissa had been propelled across the cabin to collide with a console. He had been strapped in, but with the jet mortally wounded he had his hands full in trying to maneuver the craft. He could recall the Andes Mountain range dead ahead, the way her body had rolled limp and lifeless, and his frustration in being unable to get to her. They had clipped the mountains, and dove towards the valley, his flaps useless and hydraulic pressure all but gone, then the trees, the water, the blackness that overtook him and nothing. Now he was here and she was not, and all he did truly possess was the agony of his own body and a useless left arm.
Tears welled up unbidden to his eyes as he fought against the agony of body and soul. "Elissa,' he whispered, and let himself fall into blackness.
She woke to a dull ache in her head that made her nauseous, and her body felt leaden beneath the weight of several blankets. The room was dark and foreign to her, filled with vague shapes and aromas that did little to settle her emotions. She sat up too quickly and the world swam, forcing her to fall back onto the hard bed and feather-filled pillow. Reaching up tentatively, she could feel the mass of cloth bandages the swathed her forehead, and the dampness of what must have been blood, or at least she thought it was, and that did nothing to soothe her fear.
"H-hello?" She called into the darkness, and let her eyes fall to the only window in the room, and the starlight that shone through. Somehow it reminded her of something, something on the edge of her perceptions, but which remained oddly elusive. Something was calling to her, stirring her in the strangest of ways. Frightened, she drew the weight of the blankets over her shoulders, and pressed in deeper into the hard mattress to wait for the morning.
The sunlight was warm, heating the dark colors of his uniform and his indigo flesh, but doing nothing to soothe the aches of his body from the impact of the shoulder harness, or the intrusion of the bullet. Kurt Wagner blinked against the morning sun, his left arm still unresponsive, and sat up to find himself on the hull of the inverted Blackbird in the middle of a jungle that smelled of wet loam and foliage. Around him was a river that he knew must be the Magdalena, its banks overrun with floodwaters from the recent rains it had endured. Birds of varying voices sung in the distance, and he could swear he saw caimans in the river swimming against the current and on the opposite bank basking in the sun. He would have to be very careful, he decided as he opened the medical kit to extract a packet with two coated aspirin tabs inside of it. Tearing it open with his teeth, he popped the pills into his mouth as far back as he could and swallowed, nearly gagging because of how dehydrated he was.
Within the Blackbird were survival rations, and, with those in mind, he dropped back down into the recesses of the ship, to land in a crouch, and winced as the pain reverberated through his head. Straightening up, he moved to a wall of storage lockers along the wall and stretched up to open one. Within were several prepacked, waterproof khaki backpacks which were replenished periodically with non – perishables and fresh water. Grabbing one of these, he placed it around his uninjured shoulder and teleported back to the surface of the Blackbird to stagger from momentary dizziness as he reappeared. Blood loss; it had to be from the blood loss! That was why he was so weak!
He sat down on the hot metal, resting the backpack between his knees, and used his right hand to open it. He found the water bottle and opened it up using his teeth, dropping the cap in his lap, and took a long and welcome drink. His mind turned to Elissa as he lowered the bottle, and he worried as to whether or not she had water, if she was safe, and or if she were even alive. The fine muscle along his jaw twitched at the mere thought of that as he fastened the cap of the bottle back into place and moved methodically to the next thing he had to deal with, which was his shoulder.
Within the medical kit were a pair of scissors and a bottle of alcohol, and it was with great disdain that he withdrew that particular item. He looked at his shoulder and the dried blood, realizing that the bullet was probably blocking the flow of blood by now, and heaved a sigh as he began to cut through his uniform. There were forceps within the kit, but he felt a tad uncomfortable about extracting the slug by himself. What if he buried it only deeper?
The indigo flesh around the wound was purple and black and hot to the touch, and he scowled as he contemplated infection setting in. The fabric of his uniform stuck momentarily, and, when it was pulled free, a fresh excretion of fluid began from the torn capillaries. Setting aside the scissors on the open lid of the kit, he got out a sterile pad, unwrapped it, and used his teeth once again to carefully open the alcohol bottle. He found himself glad the arm was numb as he saturated the pad and applied it to the surface, only to gasp at the reaction of his nerves to the astringent. He rolled his eyes and breathed through his nostrils as he gritted his teeth, and counted his blessings that it was at least a sign that there was hope for full restoration of his arm. There would be more hope if Elissa were here! Her healing abilities would have had him as good as new within hours! He dismissed those thoughts as quickly as they had come, dropping the pad to fumble in the box for the forceps. Now it was time for old-fashioned medicine and his body's own recuperative abilities until he could find her.
"God," he lifted his eyes heavenward in a brief, heartfelt prayer, "let me find her."
He focused then on his hand and the need to keep it steady, and slowly and carefully inserted the forceps into the small hole in his shoulder. Perspiration beaded his brow at the sensation of discomfort as tissue had to be teased and pushed in order to find the bullet. Blood responded to the intrusion of the foreign device, welling up again to stain the velvet of his skin. This was definitely harder than it looked in the movies, he decided, with a fragile attempt at humor. He fought against a wave of vertigo, the forceps pushed up and to the left, and he hissed at the brief, dull stab of pain. The blood was flowing freely again, and his chest rose and fell now more out of anxiety than exertion as he dropped the forceps onto the bloody gauze and reached reluctantly for the bottle of alcohol. His hand trembled as he anticipated what would happen next as he tipped the bottle over the oozing wound.
The cry that echoed in the immediate vicinity made the caimans dive into the water and paused several animals in their tracks.
She sat up with a shriek, the blankets falling aside and her body bathed in perspiration. She laid a hand on her left shoulder where fire burned without flames present, her chest heaving and eyes wild as she looked around the brick - walled room in utter confusion. The furnishings were slightly old and in need of a dusting. An antique bureau occupied the far corner covered with a child's toys that were obviously handmade, and a wicker chair filled the other with a hand-woven, multicolored blanket over it. Candles were on the windowsill that looked out onto a lush jungle setting that was so close she could reach out and touch the frond of a tree. That was when she looked down and noticed the linen nightdress she was wearing and her bare feet, and it seemed wrong somehow; as though she should be wearing something else.
The door burst open then, and she spun about to see an older woman with bronzed skin dressed in a black skirt and a white, short-sleeved shirt dulled by frequent washings. She ran a hand through thick black hair shot with grey that was tied in a loose knot on top her head, and examined her with worried brown eyes. "¿Señora, son usted bien? ¡Oí que usted gritaba!" ("Madame, are you all right? I heard you scream!) she said, and reached out to lay a hand on her arm.
She frowned, stepping back as she felt an inexplicable wave of dizziness, accompanied by a strong sense of concern that had not been part of her emotional experience before. She extracted her arm from the woman's grasp, finding the emotional influx abating but not the dizziness. Stumbling back to the bed, she sat down heavily, touching the weight of the bandages around her head, and still aware of the dull ache in her shoulder. She was confused; where was she? How did she get here? Why was she wearing these bandages? She slipped her fingers under the improvised dressing, pulling it off to stare mutely at the dried brown stain.
"¡Señora, no haga ...! ¡Madre de Dios! ¡Su cabeza ... la herida! ¡Es ido!"(Madame no don't…! Mother of God! Your head…the wound! It is gone!" the Spanish matron gasped, and made the sign of the cross as she backed away toward the door. "¡Juan! ¡Juan! ¡Venga rápidamente! ¡Es mágico! ¡Magia negra!" ("Juan! Juan! Come quickly! It's magic! Black magic!") she cried as she opened the door and fled.
She dropped the bandage to the floor when she noticed the sun reflecting off the star-shaped diamond ring on her left hand, fascinated by the glitter of blue, purple and yellow/gold in the light. She sunk back into the bed, the fatigue almost overwhelming her, and let her aching left arm fall limply to her chest.
The door to the room opened again and she glanced listlessly at the new arrivals, feeling detached as though she were barely conscious, yet at the same time curiously awake. A man entered followed by the matron, average of height with a thick, rough-cut mass of brown hair dressed in khaki slacks and a loose-fitting white shirt. They were rambling back and forth in that strange language with the woman gesticulating towards her wildly. The man listened in an effort to placate her, but the expression in his dark eyes when he looked at her was one of worry. She tried to sit up, but the dull throb in her unblemished shoulder kept her from lifting herself, forcing her to settle back and simply stare.
Juan Jose approached the bed and looked down at the slender woman clothed in the simple, ivory-colored nightdress and felt his eyes widen at the unusual purple hue of the eyes that met his, like the finest of amethysts. Her long golden hair was matted at the temple from the blood she had shed, and she looked pale, apathetic, almost like she was lost in another world. He sat down on the edge of the bed, watching as she drew long legs away to make him room, and licked his lips at the feeling that he was somehow being improper in doing this, but he had to get close enough to see the headwound.
"¡Anciana, usted tiene razón! ¡Es ido! ¡No una señal! ¿Pero cómo?" ("Old woman, you are right! It is gone! Not a mark! But how?") Juan peered hard at the alabaster flesh, almost reaching out to touch her forehead, but saw how she flinched and tried to withdraw. He let his hand fall to his side, "Señora, how is this possible? You had a horrible cut to your forehead! To the very bone! And now there is nothing?"
She tried to speak, her brow furrowing as she attempted to explain but could find no answer for the stranger. Tears of frustration clouded her eyes, "I…I don't know. S-should I?"
That was when Juan sat back and realized what he was dealing with. He looked back at the older woman who was watching from the doorway; "Amnesia, Mamá." He looked back at the woman, and saw the confusion in her expression, and choose his most gentle tone; "¿Señora, cómo se llama? What is your name?"
She began to tremble then as she heard the question but as she searched her mind could find nothing. There were no memories! Only of waking up in the middle of the night, and the sensation of calling, then the pain this morning to find herself here. Full lips quivered, and her forehead wrinkling as she fought for a reference point, and she looked up at the man in fear. "I…I don't know my name. I…," she faltered then, and shrunk away from him, curling into a ball to face the window.
Juan Jose looked at the woman he called mother, and rose to cover the quaking female with the blankets before rising. He shook his head, and escorted the old woman out of the room, whispering to her in Spanish and explaining the situation. Juan's mother glanced back at the stranger and crossed herself again as he closed the door behind them.
Alone now, she let the tears stream freely down her face as she stared at the star-shaped diamond and the reflections of purple blue and gold. There was something significant about the ring, she knew it; but the more she tried to grasp the memory, the further it eluded her.
It was with a monumental gasp that the slug finally came free, and Nightcrawler regarded it through pain - slit eyes like it was some archnemesis on par to Magneto himself. He discarded it on one of the several pads he had used to staunch the flow of blood, and used water instead of alcohol this time to cleanse the wound. Taking another pad, he applied it over the hole and laid back on the surface of the Blackbird in sheer exhaustion.
He would have to go back into the jet and retrieve another backpack. He was going to need the supplies for a sustained march, and he did not know what condition Elissa was in. The link they shared was a symbiosis of their minds, bodies and spirits, and he found it disconcerting that the Binding, as it was called amongst her people, was no longer functional. Not only was it frightening after dwelling in this state for two years now, but it was going to make finding her all that much more difficult. He licked his lips and looked at the already saturated pad, and forced himself to sit up and change the dressing. He applied antibiotic ointment this time and another pad, then wrapped it carefully with gauze to keep it in place. Methodically ripping tape with the teeth again, he fixed it into place, only to hear the grinding of broken bones and feel the odd, disjointed sensation in his shoulder. The arm was virtually lifeless thanks to where the bullet had hit, he could not force it to do anything other than hang there. He rummaged in the medical kit to find a wider roll of gauze and fashioned a sling, and then carefully drew his arm against his chest.
Kurt stood carefully, swaying for only a moment as he surveyed the lay of the land around him. The jungle was dense, and reeked of humidity as though he was in a terrarium rather than outside in the wild world. Overhead, the sun was beginning its slow arc down the heavens, and the sky was striped with grey-tinged clouds. The Blackbird rested close to the shore while the river continued another fifteen meters to the west, its left wing a charred and melted mass of metal, but to the east he could see something that caused hope to stir in his breast. The underbrush had been cut away, and that could mean only one thing: someone had come to the jet after the crash, and had taken his wife, and most likely shot him.
The arm was beginning to ache more now that the bullet had been removed, and he debated about a pain reliever. He could not take a chance with the pain becoming incapacitating, especially since he could picture an extended hike. Stooping back to the kit, he found a prepackaged syringe and a small vial of morphine. Kurt snorted in amusement as he wondered at how a one - armed man was going to draw a solution from a vial! Getting the syringe free was effortless, but this was when a tail became invaluable. Wrapping the spade of the unusual fifth appendage around the little bottle, he had to smile at his own ingenuity as he plunged the needle in to extract the clear fluid. He administered it into his arm through the fabric of his uniform, then dropped back into the jet to get another backpack from the storage lockers.
This time when he teleported to the surface, he did not feel as weak. Determination was giving him a reserve of strength he had not possessed before. Hopelessness had been replaced with anticipation at the revelation of the path in the jungle. He stuffed as much of the medical kit's essentials into the first pack, then, shouldering both, he slid off the top of the SR – 71 fighter and landed feet first in the water. The world swam momentarily, but he fought against the weakness and waded in calf – deep water to the shore, scanning the ground for footprints.
The rain had been successful in only partially wiping away the hints of his quarry. He could discern at least four sets of differing footprints, which did not mean there was more, and they went off into the jungle in the opposite direction of the course the Blackbird had taken when it first crashed. The trek through the twisted overgrowth was not going to be an easy one, and he found himself wishing for the duffel bag that had held changes of clothing for himself and Elissa as well as one special item, an ancient blade from another world that they had brought back when he and Wolverine had assisted in rescuing a small portion of StarChild's people. That sword would have been invaluable now for this journey. He only hoped that whomever had it as well as his wife treated both as the treasures they were. Features cast in stone; the weight of two packs on one shoulder, Nightcrawler stepped into the Colombian jungle, and kept his eyes on the path ahead.
Juan Jose studied the sword on the table carefully, admiring the filigree of the blade and the strange symbols that somehow looked like a language, but one he had never seen before. He sipped at his drink and glanced up to look out the window. His mother had taken the woman outside to the vegetable garden, and was showing her the plants and trying to teach her some Spanish terms. She was dressed in a white skirt embroidered at the bottom with flowers and a white shirt from his own clothing. She was taller than the women in his household, yet slender enough so that the skirt fit, even if it did end just below her calf! She still looked confused, lost somehow, though she listened politely to his mother, and followed her attentively. At least it gave her something to do, and Juan found her vulnerability and angelic beauty endearing.
"¿Juan, qué va usted a hacer con ella? ¡Usted no puede guardarla aquí para siempre! Pienso que ella es uno de aquellos superhéroes americanos." ("Juan, what are you going to do with her? You can't keep her here forever! I think she is one of those American super-heroes.")
Carlos' gruff voice drew him from his speculations, and he turned his head to look at his friend. "¿Qué le hace decir esto, Carlos? ¿Por qué piensa usted que ella es un superhéroe?" ("What makes you say that, Carlos? Why do you think she is a superhero?") He took another swallow of the tepid Coca – cola, wishing instead for a beer as he leveled his best authoritative gaze on his junior. "¡Ella es una mujer! ¡Y ahora ella es mi mujer! ¡Bajo mi casa y mi protección!" ("She is a woman! And now she is my woman! Under my household and my protection!")
Carlos looked out the window at the two females as they moved along the rows of plants doing what came naturally to women. He watched the way her hair floated on the wind, and the manner in which the dress clung to her form, and he found himself envying Juan. Golden – haired women were scant to non – existent here; he snorted at his own thoughts, then! Women were non – existent here this far into the jungle! The nearest city was fourteen hours away by car, and that was if you were lucky with the trails! He turned his attention to the sword instead, fingering it carefully as he sipped at the warm beer; "¿Y esta cosa? ¡Esto probablemente vale el rescate de un rey! ¡No sé cual el material es, pero parece antiguo! ¿Qué va usted a hacer con ello, jefe?" ("And this thing? It is probably worth a king's ransom! I do not know what the material is, but it looks ancient! What are you going to do with it, boss?")
Juan tapped at his friend's hand, and pulled the tassled sword away from him towards his side of the table. He smiled at Carlos dangerously; "Lo guardo, como la guardo. ¿Traspasa, entender?" ("I keep it, like I keep her. Hands off, understand?")
Carlos laughed as he drank, sputtering back his beer, and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He met Juan's eyes across the table, and leaned forward to point a finger at him; "¿Y qué hace usted cuándo ella comienza a recordar, ¡eh? ¡Aquella espada estaba en su bolso junto con la ropa de un hombre! ¿Y si ella vea y recuerde? ¡Es un anillo de boda, Juan! ¡Alguien vendrá buscándola!" ("And what do you do when she starts to remember, huh? That sword was in her bag along with a man's clothing! What if she sees and remembers? That is a wedding ring, Juan! Someone will come looking for her!") He sat back in satisfaction that he had made his point, and let his attention go back to the garden to openly admire the new female.
Juan sat back in his chair, and let himself worry; Carlos had just made very good sense. He decided that asserting himself again was the only way to regain control of the conversation, and tapped an insistent finger on the tabletop to get his comrade's attention back to him. "¡Hay siempre los armas, Carlos, y soy responsable aquí! ¡No usted!" ("There are always guns, Carlos, and I am in charge here! Not you!")
He stood rapidly, taking the sword in hand and went to a locked chest in another room. Setting the blade on the floor, he stooped to remove a set of keys from his pant's pocket and undid the padlock. Within the chest was the duffel bag from the jet resting on top of other clothing and family memorabilia. He opened it quickly and withdrew the leather scabbard to sheathe the ancient blade and place it back inside the bag. Carlos's attitude was not instilling trust in him, and he realized he would be fighting two if not three fronts when he chose to rescue the female yesterday. He locked the chest and stood, making sure the keys were in his pocket by patting his pants. His thoughts also strayed to the blue devil-like man they had left behind, and he found himself wondering if he had lived or died. Surely the burning craft had exploded! It would be the last time he saw that monstrous face again, thank God!
That monstrous face was marching in grim determination through the jungle, his eyes on the ground, and the elegant ears paying heed to every sound. The rains had been a blessing in disguise, helping the men's footprints to become indelibly imprinted in the loamy soil. It was a short time before he came upon the coca field fifteen hundred meters from the crash site stretching as far as his eye could see, and suddenly everything made more sense. These men were criminals and probably affiliated with underworld channels; and they had Elissa. Glad of only one thing, that his trek was not going to be as endless as he had first believed, Nightcrawler settled the backpacks more comfortably on his shoulder and cut a path through the green field following the footprints.
The coca plants themselves with their leaves and berries were carefully concealed by lush rubber trees interspersed throughout the fields in long rows, and their leaves concealing the genuine cash crop beneath from prying eyes overhead. The aromas of the differing plants struck his senses as he picked his way through the plants, his attention still focused on the ground so as not to lose the spoor he was pursuing. He did not know how long he would be able to continue, though; the morphine was affecting him and the heat and humidity were doing little to improve his situation. Night was indeed more his element, but when the evening came then the predators would emerge. The thought of that caused his jaw to set all the harder, and he forced his body forward with renewed determination. They couldn't have gone far! Not with…
That is when he saw a distant brown line ahead of him, far ahead of him! He came to the sickening realization that the strangers had a vehicle of some kind, and what lied ahead was a road wafting its ways through the jungles of the Magdalene valley. It took a monumental effort of will not to drop both backpacks and simply sit down in sheer frustration. Drawing in a heavy sigh, he plodded on through the fields, following his trail towards the distant road.
Night had come, along with the reign of a thousand stars like a hazy cloud against the black heavens. Flowers filled the air with a fragrance like unto that she had never known, and she inhaled deeply as she drew the heavy blanket around her shoulders and stared skyward. Emotions played through her mind and body as she gazed upwards, some that were her own and others that she found alien, almost as though they came from without herself, yet were part of her experience. There was sadness, exhaustion, and a pain of body and soul that came from an exertion she had no experience of, and it confused her. The stars made her strangely reminiscent, but of what she did not know. Something ached to express itself within her, and it was layered with a desperation and loneliness that stirred a need to console within her. But console whom? Where were these feelings coming from? Her day with Juan and Maria, his mother, had been uneventful, and she had slept much. Why was she feeling this way?
The door of the sprawling wooden house opened and light spilled outside across the ground. She turned to see Juan silhouetted against the light, his hands on the threshold of the door, and the outline of his body visible through the white shirt. "¿Señora? Come inside. The night is chill, and supper is waiting," he beckoned her, his voice its warm and reassuring tenor.
She smiled introspectively, grateful that Juan and his mother had never forced her to remember, nor prodded her to find her name; they were quite content in calling her madam, and she was happy with the formality. She moved toward the house, the inviting smells of cooking and the pungent spices stirring her appetite. She found herself enjoying the South American cuisine, it…a rustling in the underbrush from behind her made her stop and turn. Her eyes narrowed as she peered into the dense undergrowth, seeing a low, black form moving against the shadowy green. Curious, she stepped closer, the blanket slipping from her shoulders to the ground, and that was when yellow eyes met hers from the bush. She gasped as though a sudden pain had hit her, stumbling backwards as a memory and a name came to the forefront of her perceptions.
"K-Kurt?" she murmured in confusion, only to be answered by a growl as a black jaguar slunk from the bush.
Juan's eyes went wide, his instincts moving him as he gripped the rifle resting alongside the door and quickly took aim at the beast. One shot was all it took, the recoil from the weapon reverberating along his arm as the bullet hit the jaguar, propelling it backwards and the woman screamed. He was aware of his mother coming up behind him as he dropped the rifle and moved quickly outside.
She stared at the body of the jaguar, its golden eyes hazing over in death, the fine black, mottled pelt stained with blood from the terrible wound, and there were tears streaming down her face. She dropped to her knees, and with a trembling hand, and she touched the fine velvet of the fur, a memory pushing to the forefront of her mind, and along with it a vision. There was something she knew now, but it was befuddling her, for the memories were not her own, yet they called to her with a potency like that of strong wine.
Juan gripped her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet, turning her around to face him; "¿Señora, son usted ...? ¡Madre de Dios!" That was when he let her go, hastily stepping back to run into his mother, his heart pounding in his chest. The pupils of her amethyst eyes were filled with white fire, casting an unearthly glow on the planes of her face. He watched as she turned like a somnambulist, stepping over the dead body of the jaguar to move into the jungle, heading west.
Kurt Wagner sat bolt upright at the sound of the distant gunshot, pain lancing through the wounded left arm and his head pounding. The jungle floor had proven to be a hard mattress, adding discomfort to his back along with his numerous woes, but that was quickly forgotten at the sensations that were beginning to slowly flood back into his mind. A small smile grew on his lips as he fumbled for the straps of the backpacks, and stumbled to his feet, gazing to the east. There was confusion there in the recesses of his consciousness, but a dawning awareness and a fear that tore at him, motivated him to move his leaden legs into action. He dove into the jungle, following a soft strand of golden fire that he had believed all but gone.
The sound of the rifle had not been that far away, or so he hoped, as he stooped low to avoid the tree limbs. Instead of keeping his eyes down, this time they were forward as he looked and felt with his heart. The sensations of fear and confusion were drawing him on, and he clung to them like the lifeline they were. It was so dark in the jungle, so unbelievably black that it was almost a relief to see the distant glow of habitations just on the horizon. He pushed aside the fronds of a tree and saw a form moving towards him, a wonderfully familiar and slender form with softly glowing eyes.
"Elissa? Mein Gott…Elissa!" The backpacks were forgotten, dropped to the ground, as he rushed forward with a renewed vigor to the woman he loved.
She stopped when she heard the warm, accented voice, hearing the breaking of foliage, seeing the vibrant glow of the yellow eyes, and the shape of a man with a pointed tail heading towards her. Her breath came fast, as fast as the memories to her mind, as fast as the right arm that caught her around her waist and pulled her against a warm, velvet body that became achingly familiar.
"Oh, God! Oh, God!" She could hear the torment and the tears in his voice as her hands rested along his back. She inhaled the perspiration, the blood, the smells of trek and battle as she felt his relief and his lips on the base of her neck. She framed his face in her hands, stepping out of the ferocity of his embrace, experiencing the cascade of his emotions, his pain, his exhaustion as she met the yellow/gold eyes.
Kurt could feel her confusion like blocks of a puzzle slowly being assembled. He saw her lips form his name, and suddenly realized what had happened, and did the only thing he could think of doing; the only thing he wanted to do right now. His mouth pressed down on hers with all the power at his command, his good arm pulling her firmly against him as he felt her arms go around his waist. The Binding, with all its intimacy and all its passion, righted itself just then, and when he released her, there were tears staining both their faces.
"You're hurt," she exclaimed, touching the useless arm in its sling and a hand on the small of his back to balance herself. The healing empathy was welling up within her along with a myriad of other emotions that were mostly coming from him. "They shot you," she said, glancing back briefly toward the house. "It had to have been them! Oh, Kurt…!"
He kissed her face repeatedly, pressing his cheek to hers, only to be interrupted by a gunshot that peeled through the forest, causing them both to jump and look back. He let her go, his hand sliding down her arm to find her hand as he scanned the area behind them. Nightcrawler could discern two shapes charging towards them in the darkness, and a flashlight's beam was suddenly ignited, probing, and slicing through the shadows "Later, Liebchen! We have to get out of here! Come on!"
He led her back through the brush to where the backpacks lay, releasing her to stoop and grab one at first, only to see her alabaster hand snatch up the other one. Kurt looked up to offer her a sideways grin, wishing there were more time for a proper greeting, and beheld the same sentiments in her expression as well. He rose smoothly, wincing against the numerous aches as the flashlight carved a swathe across their bodies, and a shot rang out.
Elissa cried out, dropping her backpack to clutch at her opposite arm, her face screwed up in pain. She felt herself sagging, and an arm come around her waist, then there was a moment of light, a rending of body and spirit, and when she next could see, they were on a dirt road with coca fields stretching on in the distance seemingly forever. She heard Kurt's howl of pain as she fought off her own reaction to the distant 'port, saw him crumple from the corner of her eye as she, too, fell at his side, muscles cramping everywhere. She peeled back her hand to look at the graze across her shoulder and the blood, her eyes rolling back as she lost consciousness.
The moon bathed the two bodies lying side-by-side on the dirt road in pale shades of silver light as a cloud of black, brimstone–scented smoke dissipated in the night breeze.
The healing process kicked in on the subliminal level, as it always had and it always would. Kurt found himself in that wondrous place of mist, that other plane of the psyche, where the world was scented of sweet roses and woods; the signatures of their lives bound together. Here he felt at peace, without pain, as his consciousness was stretched beyond the physical and into the spiritual in this realm of the mind. He looked down at himself, clad in simple white, a tunic and loose fitting pants, his feet unencumbered even by the boots of his uniform, and flexed a left arm that was whole, uninjured. He moved aside the silk of the tunic and studied the area of his shoulder where the bullet had penetrated, and smiled softly at his unblemished skin. This was the realm of the mind; he knew that, but everything seemed so real.
"Kurt…beloved…"
Her voice sent shivers along his body, and his tail almost involuntarily arced in a feline question mark as he turned to behold her. She, too, was clothed in white, her alabaster shoulders bare, and her golden hair cascading in rich waves. She extended her arms to him, the mandarin sleeves of her gown like butterfly wings, and her amethyst eyes glowing a warm welcome. The tears started again, spontaneously; so glad was he to see her! He rushed towards her, catching her slender form in his arms and lifting her off the ground.
Elissa laughed, circling his broad shoulders with one arm and the other hand resting in the thick mass of his blue-black curls. "Did you miss me that much?" she teased.
He set her on the ground as carefully as someone would a treasured china doll or fine antique, his arms firmly locked about her waist, and pulling her as close as he possibly could. His voice was husky as he struggled with the flood of emotions, the relief, the fear, the last vestiges of his loneliness without her; they all wanted to emerge at once. "I thought you were…were dead, Liebchen! I…I never want to feel this way again!"
She stared into the yellow eyes that some would dare to call less than human, and beheld the vulnerability there. She felt the tangle of emotions and read his memories as she stroked his hair, and her chin quivered in empathy for what he had endured. She drew his head down in a gentle kiss that lingered for a long, long time, and when their lips parted, their contact remained, forehead-to-forehead as they stared into each other's eyes. " I cannot take away the hurt you endured, my love. The physical…yes! That is mending even now! But here in the spiritual, I cannot touch the physical in another aspect I would love to give to you so much now."
He smiled and heaved a rattling sigh, releasing one hand to wipe the tears from his eyes, before allowing his brow to touch her's again. "Then love me in that way that is truly our own, StarChild. Weave our souls together…"
Her fingers danced through the length of his hair, her eyes glowing white with fervent light; "In an ecstasy that no one could know, Nightcrawler…an ecstasy no one will ever know but we two."
Their lips met tenderly, but what actually occurred happened beyond this facsimile of the physical as their minds and their spirits became one in a union that went beyond all the physical plane could conceive of. Even then, in that infinite span of oneness, the loneliness, the fear, and the pain melted away.
Kurt groaned, feeling the insistent shaking, but wanting, no, needing to stay in that safe, quiet place of the mind. He sought the depths of the velvet blackness when the shaking stopped, only to experience instead a fire-like poke in the core of his mind that jolted him awake to a world of overcast skies and sunlight. He blinked and moaned, his arm still throbbing as a worried but familiar face hovered over him, a syringe in her hand and concern in her wide eyes.
"Don't move just yet, Kurt," Elissa dissuaded him, as she cleansed his arm with an alcohol pad. She carefully administered the morphine injection as he complied, then tossed the needle away into the coca fields. "We've been out for six hours, and that is insufficient time to heal the wound completely, but we can't stay here."
He sat up slowly, her hands coming under his shoulders to assist him onto her lap as he eyed the red weal across her shoulder evilly, "I think I owe your friends several times over for what they have put us through, Elissa. How are you feeling?"
She gazed at him in exasperation, moving her hair over one ear to lean over and kiss his forehead, "I told you not to move just yet." She sat back, stroking his hair with her good hand, and gazed out over the endless fields. "I hurt, but I will heal. You are going to require a more concentrated effort, and this place is too open."
Kurt sighed, reaching up with his right hand to touch her thigh, and stare up at the lovely face, "This is their field, Liebchen, and they will come looking for us soon. Back into the jungle, I am afraid, though I preferred the place of the heart."
She regarded him with a wistful smile, her fingertips probing the torn uniform, grazing across the visible bruising of the indigo flesh beyond the edges of his rough dressing. There was a fine sheen of oil in the velvet, and his curls were starting to fall flat; he needed a bath and sleep, much sleep. She tried to conceal her worry as she spoke, "As do I, but we cannot dream forever, can we? Stand for me slowly."
There was the morning birdsong here, but the voices that formed a backdrop to this day were exotic, and the air was scented with the plants around them. If it had not been for the severity of their situation, she would have savored the beginning of this day. She helped him as best she could to his feet, feeling the exhaustion, his aches and pains echoing throughout her body along with her own. He was trying valiantly to stand on his own, but he still leaned on her, his right arm around her shoulders in a momentary embrace.
"I am going to have to rest soon, Elissa," he whispered in her ear, swaying like he was intoxicated.
Shock; the word reverberated in her mind, and she knew he was assessing himself and she was merely hearing him, but she knew he was right. He had been running on adrenaline alone for the last thirty-six hours, and now everything in him was reacting with an instinctual need for release. She stooped as she held onto him, fumbling for the shoulder strap of the backpack, and gritted her teeth against the pain as she lifted it onto her compromised arm. The positions were reversed now, and she knew she would have to get him somewhere secluded to spend the time in an effective healing.
"Come, my love. Let's go find a quiet place for you to rest a bit," she encouraged him, and turned them back towards the river.
Nightcrawler shook his head, stopping her by shifting his weight back in the direction they had come from. "Nein, Liebchen. We h-have to go back to their hacienda. They…they have the duffel, and we will need the other backpack with the supplies." He gave a crooked smile, snorting slightly to regard her through narrowed, bleary eyes; "Besides, they have my broadsword. That is a no-no!"
She felt him lurch back toward the ranch where they had left behind Juan and the others, and moved with him to keep him balanced, slipping her other arm into the strap and settling the weight of the pack onto her back. It took an effort of will not to succumb to his exhaustion with their physical contact, but she recognized his determination. "Are you sure that's wise, Kurt? You need…"
He looked into her eyes, pausing in his tracks for emphasis; "I have all I need right now, woman. I just don't have my sword…"
Elissa laughed softly, wrinkling her nose at the male aroma in an attempt at humor, "Or a change of clothes, or a bath…"
Kurt smirked at her, touching his forehead to her's, "Ha, ha. Smell or not, beloved, till death do us part…"
Something in what he said made panic stir in her breast; a fear she lived with every day, and sublimated with all her might. She framed his face in her hands, drinking in every angle, every hue, the feel, and the texture of his flesh with a severity she had never known before. Elissa realized with a sickening force just how close they had come to that eventuality, and that was thanks to the memories she shared with him. "Kurt Wagner, don't say such things…do not!" She brushed her lips across his, her heart aching as she drank in his presence, his pain, and his persona. "I love you."
Her face was so close, her breath like warm honey, and his head tilted to one side as he studied her features and saw the tears she was fighting. He tightened his grip on her waist, and smiled gently, "And I you, Liebchen…dearest one."
She kissed him briefly, nuzzling against his breast before turning to lead him toward Juan's abode. "Come on, hero! Or we're going to be paying Alena massive babysitting overtime!"
This time when he leaned on her, it was more for the need of closeness then support as he realized just how much there was to live for!
In the mansion outside Sale Center, New York, a golden-eyed fury from another planet was confronting a man nearly three times her weight and muscle mass, and feeling quite vindicated in doing so! Alena bounced the tiny bundle in her arms as she stared hard into the blue eyes of Henry McCoy, not bothering to restrain herself from projecting her irritation. The only problem with that was the fact that little Stefan was picking up on it as well, and was not settling into sleep. Jaketh was at her side, her three and a half year old son clinging to her pantleg with one hand and a thumb grazing near his mouth. "I tell you, Dr. McCoy, something is wrong! I can feel it, Jaketh can, too. And Stefan? The baby is so unsettled it is incredible! I have to use my nurturing abilities constantly, or else we'll have portals opening inadvertently everywhere!"
Henry McCoy ran a hand through his thick indigo hair, and heaved a long-suffering sigh. He studied the ten-month-old infant in his star-flecked sleeper with a raised eyebrow; "Why, oh why can't the N'hilrain be like other mutants? At least our powers do not manifest until puberty!"
Alena blew back a lock of chestnut-colored hair that fell in front of her golden eyes and smirked at the bulky felinoid, "That is because we are not of earth, and even though Stefan is half human, he is still of the StarClan, and we live by the Binding!"
Beast waved her off from where he sat before the computer console in the mansion's control center, her anger as palpable as his own indigestion at the moment. He saw the blaze of white incandescence and knew if he did not placate the slim woman, all hell would break loose, quite literally! "All right! All right, Alena! It was a rhetorical question! You're projecting, do you realize that?"
Stefan stirred in Alena's arms, the pastel blue face screwing up as he began to whimper, his little five-fingered hands curling into fists, and she immediately began to sing a lullaby in the Kanaran language while looking at Henry from beneath lowered brows. She turned on her heel and left, taking her son by his hand and exuding a veritable halo of disapproval.
Henry McCoy released an explosive sigh as he reclined in his chair. The air was literally beginning to clear after she left, and he was glad that her temper was not as literally explosive as StarChild's could be. There was something incredibly volatile about a telempath gifted with a telekinetic ability. He tapped a fingernail on the desk pensively, and had to inwardly agree that the Blackbird was overdue. The last transmission he had received was over forty-three hours ago, and Nightcrawler had said they were on their way back to Salem Center. He had been so preoccupied with his own duties that he had never considered the fact that something could have happened to the jet. Kurt was a qualified pilot; he knew precisely what to do in an emergency, but…
Henry turned to the console and began to tap in several commands and codes, and waited as the screen did a series of dances then settled on a map of Colombia. He leaned forward, his eyes getting wider and wider as the screen shrunk down to focus on a flashing red blip on the eastern side of the Andes mountain range. He felt himself going cold inside; "Holy..sh…expletive!" His finger fumbled at first, then found and stabbed the intercom control, but his eyes never left the screen; "Logan…get up here now! We have an emergency!"
She watched over him as he slept fitfully, wishing for a blanket to keep him warm even in the late afternoon sun as he shivered in her lap. The microorganisms that had caused the infection in the bullet wound were proving to be a nuisance in that they had moved into his bloodstream, and it would require a great deal of concentration to pinpoint them and neutralize their effect. The shoulder itself was a gentle reassembling of bone, vascular and lymphatic tissue, and when you combined that intricacy with the task of abolishing the infection, she found herself tiring. They were perhaps a half-hour from the low-slung building and compound the coca harvesters called home, and she marveled at the length of Kurt's jump. It had taken them almost an hour of walking just to get to this densely overgrown area to find a place of rest, and he had quite literally collapsed when they got here. What ensued now were a careful tracking of cellular entities that were not indigenous to his body and a methodical annihilation of their presence in his bloodstream, while slowly reprocessing his shoulder.
She leaned with her back against the bole of an old tree, and softly sang in the vowel-heavy Kanaran language in much the same way she knew Alena sang to her baby now. A shudder passed along the length of Nightcrawler's athletic form, and he curled into a ball, his hands clutching at her leg as he dreamt, muttering to himself. Elissa frowned and intensified her labors, raising a single golden eyebrow as she tried to tame the effects of the infection, and caught the wisps of his subconscious mind.
He moved along the sewer system using the conduiting on the ceiling and enduring the aromas coming from the fetid water below him where Wolverine strode, a miniflash in one hand, ankle-deep in the filth. He empathized with his comrade, feeling a little selfish that his unique wall-crawling abilities, thanks to his incredibly strong hands and bird-like feet, spared him the unpleasant foot-washing Logan was experiencing. He had to smile to himself as he thought of just how many predicaments throughout his lifetime his unique gifting had saved him from.
"Water's risin', Nightcrawler," Wolverine observed, his irritation echoing in the storm sewer. "We got much farther ta' go?"
He spared Logan a glance with a small sideways smirk before turning his attention to the scanner in his left hand as he clung momentarily to the pipes. He read the indicator blips and judged the data carefully before responding, "My scanner says we're almost there, Wolverine." He clipped the sensitive piece of equipment to the fabric of his uniform before sidling along the network of pipes a little further, "These power and communication cables all service the Hellfire Club. That place uses as much electricity as a skyscraper – I wonder why?"
Wolverine extended the claws from his left hand, looking speculatively at the conduiting to his right, "Beats me, Elf. But these cables give me an idea."
Kurt looked down in surprise, catching the scanner as it slipped with his sudden movement before it fell into the sewage below. The flash of Logan's claws riveted his attention to his companion as he slashed the cables, sending sparks flying, and briefly illuminating the darkness. "Wolverine!" His accented voice reverberated hollowly in the tunnel, so surprised was he at this wanton destruction of public property. "What?"
Logan's smile was that of the rogue, confident in his own prowess," Relax, Elf. All I did was strip the insulation off these power lines. When the water hits 'em, they'll short out – probably blow every light in the club." Logan's attitude was one of insufferable pride, "If something goes wrong tonight, a surprise blackout could come in handy."
Nightcrawler snorted, the surprise at Logan's actions replaced rapidly with a sneaking admiration! Sometimes he played by the rules so much he missed the obvious inspirations his friend had in being fast and loose, and that contrast made him appreciate Wolverine all the more. He refastened the scanner to his costume, and reached for the transponder hidden in the collar of his uniform, a grin on his carved features; "Very nice, mein Freund. Very sneaky."
Wolverine looked up at him with an equally wicked grin, "I do my best, bub."
Kurt shook his head in frank admiration before speaking to someone else a mile above ground, warmer, drier and cleaner than they were, "Nightcrawler to Cyclops – we are in position and ready to make our move. Over."
"Roger, Nightcrawler," came the muted, yet audible response. "Thanks to Angel, we four have invitations to this bash under false names. The White Queen's allies – whoever they are – should have no idea we're coming."
Scott began talking to Professor Xavier, switching off his connection to the two covert operatives in the culvert, and Nightcrawler switched off his transponder with a diplomatic shrug. That was Cyclops; all business and no pleasure, but this was a mission, and he and Wolverine had the literal dirty end of the stick. He continued on down the tunnel, concentrating on his grips and enjoying the resistance of his muscles as he progressed in his own unique way. He had to smile as he heard Logan grumble below him as a rat scurried along the lower slope of a wall and disappear down a smaller side branch. He, Logan and that vermin suddenly had much in common.
It had taken them almost a half-hour to reach the egress point, and oddly enough, Kurt found himself feeling hot, as though fevered, agitated, knowing inexplicably what was going to happen next; but how was that possible? He let Wolverine take over then, using those razor-sharp adamantium claws to dig them a path up through the floor and into the basement of the Hellfire Club. His diminutive Canadian friend gave him the boost he needed to leap up with a cat's agility into the musty, box-strewn storage area. Kurt assessed their surroundings quickly, finding the storm cellar stairs past an arrangement of crates, and crept forward as Wolverine climbed out behind him.
"We're in, mein Freund. So far, so good, " he commented, aloud, fairly confident they had maintained their anonymity.
Wolverine's voice came from behind him as he struggled out of the hole; "Yeah, this caper's going down easy – too easy. I've been feeling antsy all evenin'! Any more news from Cyke or Jeannie?"
Kurt moved carefully, purposefully towards the stairs, keeping his tone restrained, "Nein. Like you, I am beginning to get worried. Could be nothing, though, as the old saying goes: 'No news is good news'."
That was when a grip like a steel vise caught him around his throat and lifted him off his feet, and electricity arced along his body, minimal enough to throw off his concentration to teleport, but when combined with the choke hold, maximum enough to make him panic. A voice rang out triumphantly, and Kurt could perceive from the corner of his eye, a man with wheat-colored hair, bound in a ponytail, and dressed in a burgundy-colored suitcoat holding him aloft like a ragdoll. "In your case, goblin, your lack of news could have fatal consequences."
He gasped, struggling in vain to get free, wanting to teleport so badly that it became a litany to his fevered mind as the hold on his throat tightened…tightened…
She gasped, her eyes going wide, and her power vainly trying to compensate against the strength of Kurt Wagner's will to be free, to wrest back her own individuality from the vivid dream, enhanced by his fevered state. She could feel the pain of Donald Pierce's cybernetic grip on her own throat, partake of Nightcrawler's terror as he strove in vain to get free, then, suddenly, one moment he was there, and the next he was…gone!
Elissa heaved a breath, choking on the brimstone-scented smoke, and staring, dumbfounded at her empty lap. She rose quickly, scanning the surrounding area physically as she reached for the backpack, realizing that he could not have gotten far in his present condition. That was when she reached instead through the Binding, through the eyes of her heart, and turned in shocked surprise toward the compound. "My God! The subconscious…he is moving all along the subconscious…"
She ran then, as fast as she could through the overgrowth, realizing that he could do anything in his present state of mind. Hopefully he would have the common sense to recognize that the jungles of Colombia were far from the sewers of New York and the Hellfire Club.
He stepped out of the 'port in a clearing near a washline strung up between two posts, his body aching as though he had run a marathon, only to stare into the empty eye sockets of the head of a jaguar pelt drying in the sun. Kurt gasped and stumbled backwards, his hand going to his throat as the last vestiges of the dream vanished in the harshness of reality.that was around him. He looked around him at the house made of imported siding with the strange tropical growth that surrounded it, and the dirt road that led down to further smaller units of varying degrees of quality in construction. He blinked, trying to lift a left arm that barely cooperated with his desires, and snorted derisively as he realized what he had done and just where he was.
"So real," he muttered to himself, and was about to lurch to the covering of the jungle when he heard a woman's sharp gasp. He turned to see the matronly figure of a woman in her fifties standing on the porch of the hacienda, her face sheet white, and a balled fist pressed to her lips. Kurt was about to roll up his eyes in frustration and attempt another 'port, when she fainted dead away.
Out of simple concern, he moved to the woman's side, swaying slightly as he stooped over her to check her pulse. Satisfied that she was all right, he rose carefully, leaning against the wall of the house to peer inside, "Hello? The woman has fainted. Is anyone home?"
He waited for a response, his breathing irritatingly labored in his own ears, and his desire to lie down growing stronger by the moment. He wondered about Elissa; he could remotely feel her through the aches of his body, knew she was coming for him, but right now the need for rest was becoming an overriding concern. "Hello?" he called again, and took a tentative step across the threshold of the door when there was no response.
It was furnished like any other Latin American home in the typical brightly hued manner, and thanks to Elissa's subconscious memories, it felt strangely familiar to him, even though he had never been here before. He made his way unerringly to the small back bedroom with the toys on the battered bureau, bumping along the wall all the way, and studied the twin bed made up with its gaily-colored blanket for only a moment before he allowed himself to ease into its recesses. Kurt stared at the wooden beams that comprised the ceiling, and coughed briefly. She was not that far away; that much he knew, and he had to trust that Elissa would arrive in time because he was definitely in no condition to help himself right now.
" 'I know you are not,'" the response was in his mind, a voice that stirred hope within his breast. " 'Stay where you are, and try not to dream! I'm on my way.'"
Kurt laughed softly, feeling the caress of her mind like a warm kiss, and clung to the sensation like a lifeline, " 'Hurry, Liebchen.'" He concentrated his thoughts toward her, and his aloneness, " 'I do not know how long this reprieve will last…and I hurt. I need you, wife.'"
Elissa frowned from where she was at, hearing the uncharacteristic fear in his voice as she pushed through the overgrowth, hiking up her skirt to leap over protruding branches. She had to follow the emotional aspects of the Binding to trace him now, and what she felt worried her. "I'm coming, Kurt," she said, both aloud and in her mind. "Just hang on!"
That was when she literally ran into the bushmaster! The snake looked like any other limb in the plethora of trees in the jungle from a distance, but when she bumped into it, the hiss that greeted her was a little more than that of an inanimate object! Elissa gave an involuntary shriek, and leapt back from the beady black eyes that regarded her with an animal's wary hostility, watching as the snake uncoiled from the tree and bobbed towards her. She reacted instantaneously, for there was no time for delays, and projected an emotional aura of outright belligerence. She watched as the reptile shrunk back, and dropped to the ground, fleeing from her as quickly as its lithe body could find a path through the forest floor.
Kurt's voice echoed in her mind with concern, " 'Liebchen? Are you all right? What just happened?'"
Elissa smiled softly at her small victory, settling the khaki pack on her shoulder more comfortably as she regathered her composure. " 'Everything is fine, Kurt; just a little pest control. I'm on my way!'" She leapt forward, ignoring the pain in her healing shoulder, and pursued the mass of exhaustion that was her husband. She shook her head, and marveled that they had made it thus far; but then the hand of destiny always seemed to play a role in their lives together. That, she thought, and a little ace up her sleeve in the form of a telempathic link they shared.
Logan studied the location of the emergency beacon on the master screen in the control room, his fists resting on the console as he leaned the weight of his compact form forward. Dressed casually in jeans and a tee shirt, his square features revealed anything but a casual mood. "How do we get me there the fastest, Hank?" he asked, glancing at the blue-furred doctor.
Beast was manipulating his computer keyboard as fast as he could, watching the screens go by as he entered data using a specially designed keyboard for his larger than normal digits. He read the information as it came up on the screen, "I have a private jet reserved for you at Kennedy International Airport. Take Scott's motorcycle to New York. It is more maneuverable than a car, and you will be dealing with rush hour traffic when you get to the city, or at least the tail end of rush hour traffic! I am printing out your itinerary right now. Pack what you need and quickly, Logan! I will alert the consulate in Bogotá of your arrival, and hopefully they'll assist you in anyway they can."
Wolverine watched the printer spit out a piece of paper, and moved to take it as it fell into the tray. He scanned the document with the name of the chartered jet and his contact, and then met Henry's eyes, "Thanks, Hank. I'll be in touch!"
Beast gripped his forearm as he turned to leave, "Logan, you have to find them. They have to be alive for Stefan's sake."
Logan's features were grim as he exchanged looks with his old acquaintance; "For all our sakes, Hank. We'll be back; all three of us!"
Henry watched him leave the control room at a rapid stride, and turned to the screen to stare at the flashing dot. He heaved a reluctant sigh before reaching for the telephone in order to contact Charles Xavier through the office of the American consulate in Lima, Peru. He only good thing was that Charles and the others were geographically closer to the crash site than they were, and perhaps they could help Nightcrawler and StarChild more quickly than they could. He just regretted the fact that he had to be the bearer of bad news!
She found the other khaki backpack where she had inadvertently dropped it, and snatched it up, thrilled at the prospect that she was this close to Kurt again. Just beyond the trees by fifty meters, she could make out the eaves of Juan Jose's home, and feel the proximity of Kurt's presence. Soon…soon and she would be reunited with him.
That was when she heard a familiar voice as car doors opened; "¡Mamá! ¡Mamá! ¿Son usted bien?" ("Momma! Momma! Are you all right?")
Elissa stumbled to a halt, and experienced that sinking feeling as she realized a confrontation was inevitable! She drew a deep breath as she felt Kurt perk up at the sound of the voices outside the house, and thought him a quick message, " 'Don't worry, lover! The cavalry is here…in the nick of time!'"
Within the bedroom, Kurt veered his eyes toward the door as he heard several male voices exchanging words in Spanish outside, and rolled onto his right side. " 'That is good to know, mein Liebste, because I haven't the strength for a fight right at the moment.'"
Footsteps echoed in the living room just beyond his view and the voices grew louder. Kurt fell on his back and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the inevitable, " 'Hurry, Elissa! Hurry!'"
Juan and Carlos settled Maria's inert form on the couch while Miguel, with pistol drawn, moved through the house, his bandaged left hand grazing the wall as his dark eyes scanned the hall. The man recalled the demon from the plane and wondered at a curse. Besides, there was a smell in the house that was not characteristic of Juan's mother's cooking. This was a musk, the smell of a man who had not bathed in quite some time. He rounded a corner that had led to the strange woman's room, and his jaw dropped in amazement at the sight of the blue tail dangling over the side of the bed.
Miguel rounded the corner and into the bedroom proper as the demon in his black and red outfit struggled to sit upright, his glowing golden eyes focusing on him, and the full mouth drawing back into a sneer. The coca harvester tried to master his fear, raising the pistol to aim at the creature he had thought he had slain almost two days ago. "¡Adiós para siempre, demonio!" ("Good-bye forever, demon!") he said, and his finger tightened on the trigger.
Suddenly, as Kurt was about to close his eyes in anticipation of his demise, he saw the man drop to the floor, and heard the two others in the other room likewise collapse. Heaving a sigh of relief, he flopped back down onto the bed, wincing briefly at the pain that reverberated through his sore shoulder, and looked back toward the bedroom door at the rustle of a skirt. He stared at the delicate bare feet, followed up the line of the shapely calves, the skirt, the swell of familiar hips and bosom, and the slim yet strong arms to finally focus on a treasured face with glowing amethyst eyes; and he smiled from ear to pointed ear. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever beheld in my life," he commented, and watched in great satisfaction as she dropped the two backpacks to the floor, stepped over Miguel's inert form, and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. He did not resist in the least as her head came down and her mouth covered his in an extremely passionate kiss.
She did not let him up for air immediately, and when she did she was quite pleased with the effect she had on him. Smiling with wicked innocence, Elissa traced a path along his chest with a fingernail and kissed his forehead; "You only say that because it's true. They're all out for a long, long time, my love…and that includes everyone in the compound."
Kurt raised an eyebrow at her, a tad self-conscious that that was not the only thing that was raised right now; "You didn't, Elissa?"
She shrugged, climbing into the bed next to him, and wrapping an arm around his waist to lay her head on his good shoulder. She wanted to prolong their play so badly, but now was not the time. "Forty-three people in total in the compound proper; men, women and children. They are all having a sweet siesta, Kurt."
He watched her hand stray along his chest as he felt a heaviness growing in his eyelids, "Liebchen, you…you…know…"
Elissa watched him fall into a deep sleep, and this time she made certain it would be so deep that there would be no chance for him to dream. She resumed where she had left off, plying her empathic powers on his body, but this time in a trance sufficiently deep so that there would be little opportunity for anything to go awry. Setting her internal clock to wake herself in several hours, Elissa surrendered to the subconscious and the healing.
When Kurt woke up, it was night and what he could see of the sky was lit with stars. He was amazed to discover that he had inadvertently rolled onto his left side while he slept, and no longer did his shoulder hurt! As a matter of fact, the tasseled hilt of the ancient Kanaran sword was propped up next to him, and a change of clothing from his personal wardrobe was on a chair that had been pulled up beside him. Two things were missing; one was the sleeping form of Miguel, and the other was that of StarChild.
"Elissa?" he called, reaching out with his inner senses to find her peculiar echo still within the confines of the house. He sat up slowly, feeling grubby and more than a little stiff, but incredibly rested. He tried rotating his shoulder, and had to smile at the renewed mobility in his arm. Nothing like a woman who could cook, clean, and repair your body, he happily thought to himself.
"Speaking of which, supper is on the table, and there is a hot bath waiting for you."
He looked up at the sound of her voice, and smiled at the renewed vision of loveliness that stood before him. She had obviously bathed and washed her hair, for it fell over one shoulder in wet ringlets in the tropical humidity. She wore a loose-fitting cotton pullover of soft lavender and matching pants with canvas runners on her feet. "You realize, of course, that by the time we get to Bogotá you will not look half as delectable as you do now," he said teasingly.
"Neither will you," she countered and extended her hand to him. "Come on! Bath first! We don't have all night."
Picking up his beloved sword with his right hand and letting her lead him by his renewed left hand, Kurt Wagner was never happier to be watching that feminine sashay from behind then he was now. He let her lead him into the living room, studying the sleeping forms of the three men on the floor, and the old woman still on the couch, his eyes still drifting back as he pondered how much time they had before they woke up again, then felt the steamy heat in the next room they entered. He brought his eyes front and center to ponder the free-standing bathtub that had to have been from the nineteen forties, the lack of indoor plumbing, and the pail with water sitting beside it. Kurt looked at her with new appreciation as she poured his bath gel into the water to scent it and the tiled room with musk and spices. "You didn't…?" he asked.
Elissa looked at him with a smile on her face and flexed her right arm to show off her bicep, "Twenty-six buckets of water heated on the stove for a hot bath, Herr Wagner. All for you!" She bent to produce his shampoo from behind the bucket on the floor, "Now, strip if you please, and get in the tub. I want a clean Nightcrawler at the table in twenty minutes. I will have dinner ready and waiting for you."
Kurt raised an eyebrow at her, and began to teasingly undo his torn uniform over his newly healed shoulder, "Are you sure you do not wish to stay and help me, Frau Wagner?"
"Nicht, ohne unter der ganzen und völligen Ablenkung, Herr Wagner zu leiden." ("Not without suffering from complete and utter distraction, Mister Wagner.") She chose the German that time, and slapped the well-honed bottom with the back of her hand, before attempting to leave the room.
Kurt caught her by the arm and pulled her up against him gently but firmly, encircling her waist with both his arms. It felt very good to be able to do that again, and this time without being in the dream state. "Wo denkst du, dass du, Gnädige Frau Wagner, gehst? Ich will etwas von dich sehr schlecht," he murmured. (Where do you think you are going, Madame Wagner? I want something from you very badly.)
Fangs graced her throat ever so softly, and Elissa gasped at the fire they created along her spine. She let her hands wander across every possible curve of his body that was within her reach, for his arms were not going to let her escape so easily. His lips followed the teeth, kissing her neck, cheeks and mouth lightly then lingering with a heavy pressure, his body firm against her, letting her feel the indicators of his arousal. Their eyes locked with an equal fervency of heat, and she knew that she was going to just have to let dinner get cold as she peeled the form-fitting costume from his body.
His smile was lustfully wicked as her clothing joined his in a pile on the floor, and they followed it soon afterward.
Sated in every physical way possible, clean within and without, Kurt and Elissa moved onto an act of larceny that made them both a little regretful, but need always drove one to extremes. They tossed out bag after bag of newly harvested coca leaf to the ground from the flatbed of the pick-up as the night progressed into velvet darkness, along with munitions and other paraphernalia related to the drug trade. They tossed their duffel into the front of the cab along with a small satchel of food and prepackaged drinks, then paused to stand by the pile of ill-gotten gains.
Nightcrawler was dressed in a black sweatshirt and drawstring pants against the chill of the evening, all but invisible save for the eerie glow of his yellow eyes. He held the hand of the woman at his side, who shone with a soft light like her namesake, sharply contrasting with him. "Well, mein Liebste, if you will do the honors?" he asked and extended an arm toward the pile.
StarChild nodded once, and regarded the cache with eyes that glowed with increasing light, her long hair stirring on invisible, kinetic winds that caught Kurt's black curls as well. The coca, the weapons, and the symbols of Colombia's internal war began to disassemble themselves into their component molecules, and scatter on the night breeze. She shuddered minutely as the last of the material vanished, and she came back to the world of the supramolecular and reality. She took a moment to orient herself before climbing into the truck's passenger side, and closing the door behind her. She was not going to miss this place at all.
Nightcrawler climbed in behind the steering wheel, slamming the door closed behind him, and wrinkled his nose at the smell of stale cigarette smoke that conflicted with Elissa's sweet perfume. He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine spluttered to life, but the gas gauge only reached to the three-quarters mark. "This will get us only so far, Elissa, you realize that?" he said, and tapped the indicator for emphasis.
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Kurt. Now we have to decide on a course of action," she responded, reaching across the seat to squeeze his hand.
He threw the truck into gear, and turned it around onto the road, throwing on the headlights, "Back to the Blackbird and wait for a rescue, or onto Bogotá and adventures unknown? "
She smiled at him, knowing his thoughts and his heart; "I have never been one to wait for a rescue, and I know you! Adventure is your middle name, nicht wahr, Herr Wagner?"
Kurt laughed aloud in the cab of the truck, and shook his head at the involuntary usage of a reference to a movie that he had so enjoyed in the past. He wished he had the appropriate fedora right now to complement his mood; "Just call me Indiana Wagner, Liebchen! All I need is a bullwhip now!"
She giggled as the truck ran along the path to the east, leaving the sleeping compound and one set of troubles far behind them.
Charles Xavier looked at Emma Frost, Cyclops and Storm as he spoke on the portable phone to Henry McCoy, his brow furrowing as he concentrated on the conversation with a connection of thousands of kilometers distant. They stood on the veranda of the US Embassy in Lima, Peru, beneath an azure sky; the sun slowly rising in the east, and the sounds of the city drifting past the gated walls while United States Marines watched them from their posts. Thus far they had enjoyed the hospitality of the Consul general, but both he and Emma knew just how suspect they were as mutants. His telepathic prowess made it obviously clear that those guards were there more than just to watch the embassy itself, but to watch them as they strove to assist the government of this South American country.
"But, Charles, there has to be some way that we can try to find them," Henry's voice crackled in his ear.
Xavier sighed, feeling his irritation rising as he tried to listen to Beast, while allowing the White Queen to share in the conversation via telepathy. He could see the concern in Scott's features as he clung to Emma's hand, and knew that he, too, was eavesdropping on the phone call, and Ororo was maintaining patience, but hugging herself as she looked out over the white-flecked skies. "I am as worried as you are, old friend; but our task is far from complete here, and we are being monitored. Old sentiments regarding mutants die hard, especially when you have been stationed this far south from the United States for so long. Storm would be the fastest in reaching them, and suffice it to say that I know they are alive, but you know Kurt and Elissa. It is their world in the Binding, and right now, they are moving on their own self-sufficiency!"
He heard Beast heave a sigh mixed with relief and frustration while from the other ear Emma and Scott both laughed softly. "In other words…" Henry began, then his voice trailed off.
Xavier did not know whether to smile, laugh or cry at the moment, "They are having the time of their lives."
All the way back at the mansion, Beast allowed his head to drop into his hands, "Logan is en route, Charles. I suppose from both ends we have the situation somewhat in hand?"
There was a moment's pause as satellites relayed the call signal from one continent to the other, then Charles' mellifluous tones filled his ear with pseudocomfort; "Emma and I will keep tabs on them. As soon as I can dispatch Ororo, I will, but even then we will have to utilize some other means to reach Colombia with the X-jet down. Can you contact the Avengers and find out about the availability of the quinjet? I will ask the Consul General if there is a helicopter we can borrow."
A baby's cry echoed from the distance, and from the corner of his eye, Henry watched a tiny maelstrom of light swirl with a faint potency off to his right. He raised a furry eyebrow at the manifestation and blew it away as it drifted closer while Charles voice sounded in the earpiece again; "Is that Stefan I hear in the background? Any problems, Henry? You know what happened the last time he had colic! Half the team got transported to another…"
Beast picked up a file folder as the half-meter wide portal drifted towards him, and fanned it back with one hand while he kept another on his earpiece. "I know, Charles! I know! You don't need to remind me! Fortunately they are weaker and smaller this time! Alena has things under control…" (I hope! He thought ardently.) "…and Stefan is wrapped in a blanket the color of his father and scented with his mother's pheromones. Plenty of the right kind of, ahem, milk in the fridge, and now it is just a matter of…of…"
The professor finished the statement for him, "Of rescuing them and getting us back home! Good luck, Henry! Get in touch with me as soon as you hear anything from the Avengers, and have Wolverine contact me once he arrives in Bogotá. Take care."
Beast removed the earpiece quickly after Charles hung up the phone, and leapt from his chair to wave the file folder with renewed zeal at the encroaching portal. "Alena!" He bellowed with strident urgency; " Would you mind soothing the baby? Or else I will be going on a little trip in a second here!"
Alena's distant and irritated voice sounded from upstairs; "MEN!"
Henry rolled his eyes at the epitaph, then sighed with relief as the tiny maelstrom slowly dissipated. He flopped back into his chair with the realization that the fun had only just begun.
Kurt turned off the engine and leaned forward on the steering wheel to gaze at the tiny village they had found at the road's terminus. They had driven for over three hours across the bumpy trail, and dawn was just beginning to break over this ramshackle collection of buildings. The main street was unpaved, and the structures themselves did not extend above two stories in height, the tallest of which being a hotel with dirty white siding called the Paraíso de Hotel. He had to chuckle as a rooster crowed somewhere; this place was the furthest from paradise he had probably ever been to, but at least there was a Western Union sign in the window!
He met Elissa's eyes, and saw that she was equally unimpressed by what she beheld. "I am certain it is not on the map, and they do not take American Express! Contingency plan B, my love."
She nodded with a small, amused smile, and reached down to pick up the duffel bag from the floor. Unzipping it, she pushed aside the scabbarded sword on the top of the bag to pull out a satchel made of red silk. Undoing the drawstring she extracted the currency from inside; "Fresh, telekinetically counterfeited Colombian bills for your pocket, sir."
Inclining his head gratefully, he took the bills from her hand and stuffed the wad in the suggested spot. He kissed her briefly; "As always, dearest woman, your capabilities are indispensable. Now come! Let us see what information we can glean, along with an appropriate breakfast!"
Locking the truck doors behind them, the duffel slung over Kurt's shoulder, they strode hand-in-hand through the vacant street. It was already getting warm and the day promised to be humid. Insects droned by, and a dog barked in the distance, but other than these indicators, the village seemed still asleep.
"You know what to do, Elissa," he commented, feeling unreasonably edgy in the unfamiliar terrain. "Otherwise my appearance will cause a bit of a stir with the locals, I am afraid."
She squeezed his three-fingered hand, regretting the differences that relegated him to a world of scorn. She was glad that she was one of the few who had come to know him for his heart and not merely his outward appearance. "I know, my love. The empathic shields are in place and no one will fear you," she said in soft adoration.
He shouldered the bag more comfortably across his back, pausing to gently touch her face, "This may be our last rest stop until Bogotá, Elissa; you do realize that? If it were not for the need to get back to civilization and Stefan…"
She smiled in complete comprehension, and pulled him forward toward the door of the Paraíso de Hotel while walking backwards, her attention never leaving him. "Responsibilities are, unfortunately, a part of life," she spoke the words they both knew were true, and they both detested like medicine. That was one thing that ran akin in their blood, the love of adventure. If duty did not call, they would have runaway forever together.
He let his hand overlap hers on the doorknob, and together they twisted it open to enter into the dark interior of the hotel lobby. It was furnished with antiquated furniture made of solid wood with stained cushions, and tables were scattered intermittently between them, their surfaces scarred by who knew what. An older ceiling fan sat idle overhead, and the room was stuffy with the scents of smoke and stale beer. The reception desk was abandoned, and the door to the backroom stood wide open and accessible to all. Stairs led to the second floor on their left, and the room extended on to what appeared to be a dining area with several wooden tables covered with white cloths. Outside of themselves and a couple of horse flies, they appeared to be alone.
Kurt Wagner let the duffel slip off his shoulder onto the floor and moved to the front desk, peering over the edge toward the open door. He spotted the bell on the counter, and tapped it briefly, "Hello? Is anyone here?"
Elissa stretched forth her empathic abilities, and did a head count, as it were, by the sensations above her. "Seven in total, Kurt. Four men, two women, and a child, and they are all sleeping." She shrugged with a small smile, "Perhaps we should wait?"
He eyed the dirty furnishings with distaste, "Four star it is not, Liebchen, but it is early Perhaps we can find something else to do instead of waiting here?"
"We could attempt to continue, Kurt. It will be off-road from here it…ah, wait a moment!" She paused and listened on another level, her face brightening, "I think we have woken the man of the house. Someone is stirring upstairs."
Kurt moved closer to her, taking her hand as he listened to the sounds of movement on the second floor.
"¿Hola? ¿Quién está abajo?" (Hello? Who is downstairs?) a sleepy yet gruff voice bellowed from above.
Exchanging glances with his wife, Kurt called up the stairs in English, "Forgive us, señor! My wife and I have just found your village and we could use a place to stay!"
There was a moment's pause then the voice could be heard muttering aloud, "¡Ah mi! ¡Gringos! ¡Americanos! ¿Aquí a esta hora?" (Oh my! Yankees! Americans! Here at this hour?)
Kurt chuckled at the appellation he had been given, and squeezed Elissa's hand. "I have just been called a Yankee, Liebchen! Me! With my German accent! I suppose I have been living in the States long enough to be indoctrinated now." He shook his head remorsefully, "that does it! We are taking a vacation in Winzeldorf together. You, Stefan and me! We will meet Margali and go to the circus, and stay for a year until my accent is back to normal!"
She laughed aloud, her amethyst eyes glittering with mirth, and let herself fall against his breast. "Sounds like a plan, my love! It sounds like a very nice plan!"
The sound of feet coming down the stairs greeted their ears, and they looked up to see the proprietor heading toward them. He was of average height with a soft build, clad in striped pajama bottoms and a soiled tee shirt. Black-haired and bewhiskered, he had to be in his late thirties, and looked very unhappy with the two newcomers. "Silencio, por favor. ¡Usted despertará la casa entera!" (Silence, please. You will wake the whole house!)
Starchild's eyes softly glowed as she shored up the empathic shields around Kurt, reaching into the man's mind to influence his perceptions of their friendliness and trustworthiness. "Forgive us. We're lost, and on our honeymoon. We could use your help."
Kurt knew by the proprietor's expression, he walked in an illusion, for his reaction was as if he saw a normal couple, and not an indigo, tailed, and pointed eared demonic-looking superhero! His smile was one of veiled amusement as he watched the man go behind the counter, prop up his elbows, rest his face in his hands and yawn. "Sorry to wake you, sir, but we are lost and yours was the first town we came upon," Kurt mustered an adequate tone of apology.
The man looked up at the Caucasian man before him in the black sweatsuit, and sneered, "¡Americanos! ¡Phah! You are dressed like it is winter! You will bake alive!"
Nightcrawler raised an eyebrow, "English! You speak English, but how?"
The man smiled, leaning forward to admire Elissa openly, "My brother lives in Los Angeles. We go there once a year for vacations, Disneyland and everything. Welcome to Domingas, population eighty-two, drug underworld of Toulima province. She's very pretty! I like her! I have just the room for you two! Cheap!"
Kurt and Elissa exchanged glances with each other and tried to control their laughter. They had inadvertently stumbled onto a goldmine in the form of this English-speaking rogue!
Knowing better than to touch the man, Nightcrawler inclined his head to his companion and conveyed his notion to her. Elissa's abilities may have been able to shield his outward appearance, but a touch would be a complete giveaway. He watched, giving their new host a gracious smile as she extended her hand toward the sleepy, yet enthusiastic individual. "My wife, Elissa Wagner, and my name is Kurt. We just may take you up on your offer of hospitality, sir, since we have a bit of planning to do before the next leg of our journey."
The burly Hispanic took her hand and pressed it briefly, studying the man before him with his wavy black hair, and decisive blue eyes, and wondered at why he remained so aloof. He finally gave up his ponderings when he looked at the golden-haired woman, and found himself almost bewitched by her beauty. "My name is Alejandro Miguel Ramírez de Arroyo, owner and manager of the Hotel Paradise." He leaned forward with a wide and rather predatory smile, "And we do not accept traveler's checks, or credit cards, just cold, hard cash! American currency is always preferable, of course!"
Kurt felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck; all of their currency was, of course, in Colombian bills! He exchanged quick glances with Elissa, trying to make her comprehend the need for immediate action, and was answered by a warmth in his pocket where their wad of cash sat. His lips drew into a thin line as he controlled himself at the by-product of the shaping ability, enduring the intensity of the heat that lasted several seconds then gradually dissipated. Shifting molecules had the habit of generating friction, and friction…well, friction always had a habit of generating heat.
" 'Sorry,'" came the brief mental apology, and Kurt managed a small smile in her direction as he probed into his pocket for the still warm currency. He extracted the bills to gaze in satisfaction at US greenbacks, and looked up to see Alejandro's wide eyes. "How much will you require, my friend?" he asked pleasantly.
Alejandro was licking his lips at the considerable size of the wad of bills, and chuckled, "Going rate for gringos…uh, uh, Americans…$150 US."
Kurt was about to strenuously object when a telempathic nudge from Elissa abruptly silenced him. Coddled momentarily, he sullenly counted out three fifty-dollar bills and offered them to their host.
Alejandro waved his hands toward the offered bills, "No, no, Señor! Small bills, please! My compatriots at the bank will think me counterfeiting. ¿Comprende, sí?"
He stole a glance at his wife as she fought back a laugh, and shook his head as he fished through the bills to extract seven twenties and a single ten dollar bill; their own particular kind of counterfeit, he thought, and handed them to Alejandro. "I, somehow, completely understand, my good sir. More intimately than you may ever realize," he said, and regarded Elissa wryly, thinking of the residual warmth in his pocket.
Taking the money, Alejandro counted it briefly with an unconcealed greedy glint in his eyes, and slipped the cash into his pocket. He bowed them toward the stairs, "Now, if you will be so good as to follow me, Señor y Señora…we are on our way to el Apartamento del Presidente, or as you may say, the Presidential suite!"
Kurt had a feeling as to what they were going to be seeing as he lifted their duffel bag off the floor, and took Elissa by the hand to ascend the creaking stairs behind their host. He only had his suspicions grow by the sight of the faded wallpaper, and the old paintings that intermittently hung from the spotted walls. Alejandro led them down the hall, past weathered wooden doors, fishing in his other pajama pocket to extract a small bunch of keys, and Kurt watched with interest as he stopped before the last door in the procession to unlock it and bow them in.
"El Apartmento del Presidente, Señor y Señora," he said grandiosely. "I hope you enjoy your stay. I will bring your key presently."
They entered the room together, and their jaws dropped at what lay before them. The room was twice as large as what the door spacing outside seemed to indicate, and there was a door leading to what looked like a full bathroom just ahead of them. The room was lit by large window to their right, the sunlight filtering through sheer drapes of soft blue onto a king-sized bed with a royal blue comforter, and huge, white pillows. The bedroom furniture was all oak, and shone with an inherent richness in the sunlight against the ivory painted walls. The pictures were of rugged Andean mountain scenes, and the decorations contrasted with soft, bone china vases filled with dried flowers. It smelled incredibly clean and softly floral, the carpeting thoroughly unmarked as though it was just newly laid.
Alejandro chuckled at their expressions, following them inside as they wandered in, their eyes scanning the interior of the room incredulously. "Well, I told you it was the Presidential suite, didn't I? I do have special guests every now and then."
Kurt offered a short chuckle as their host gave him a conspiratorial nudge, "Special indeed, Alejandro! This was…ah, most unexpected?"
Alejandro laughed from his gut, and looked at Elissa with an open leer before he left, "You two enjoy yourselves! Continental breakfast in three hours! Hasta más tarde, Señor y Señora! And, remember, $150 a night, you two!"
Elissa waited until the door closed, and listened for him to leave on the auditory as well as the empathic level. She shook her head in wonder after she was certain he was gone, and turned to survey the room again in awe. "I don't believe it, Kurt! I just plain don't believe it!"
Kurt flung the bag onto the expanse of the bed and flopped down to regard the room in amusement. "There are drug runners in the vicinity, my love, and they are accustomed to a higher lifestyle." He caught her sharp look and laughed, "No pun intended! I swear, meine Liebste! Really!"
She snickered, running her hands through her long hair to meander towards the bathroom and admire the brass fixtures, and the porcelain that reflected the electric lighting. "This is all so incongruous, Kurt!" she commented. "It does not match the exterior of the building at all. If I would have known that we would have run into this place, I could have saved myself the workout earlier. Do you have any idea how long it takes to boil twenty-six buckets of water?"
"It was deeply appreciated, Elissa! Believe me in that," he said in all sincerity.
The smile did not leave his face as she ambled onto the bed opposite him, and stretched out on her back to admire the latticed wood ceiling fan. Leaning over, he kissed her lips briefly and stared into her wide eyes, "I am going to change out of these clothes. I am feeling a little sweaty."
Straightening, he opened the duffel, and began to extract things from the recesses of the bag. Laying the scabbarded sword beside her, he found the map of Colombia, handed it to her, then gathered up a tee shirt, khaki pants and a vest before standing and heading for the bathroom. "Do be a dear and study that while I get freshened up. We have some planning to do before we head out on the road again."
Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched him saunter past her, and was sorely tempted to grab the tail, but the hesitation over which one, metaphorically speaking, caused her to lose the opportunity. Sighing heavily as the bathroom door almost closed, she opened the map and flipped it over to study the detailed area of the Toulima district. The sound of running water began to form a distracting background noise, and she half-turned to look towards the bathroom as a muscular, bare blue arm tossed a black sweatshirt in her direction. Ducking at the aromatic 'gift', she looked up to see a slyly grinning, elvishly handsome face peeking around the corner, and dangling a pair of sweatpants at her in open invitation, then dropping them on the floor before disappearing behind the door.
"That," she said, rising with a cat's grace to her feet as she heard him enter the tub, "is not fair."
Snatching the pants off the floor, and with a self-control that surprised even herself, she rounded the corner and peered at the growing pile of bubbles, and the tousled, smirking head that quickly sunk beneath the waterline, and the sea of foaming white. Elissa moved closer, feeling his impetuousness in their bond, but his will was surprisingly strong enough even right now to conceal his innermost thoughts from her. She came up to the edge of the tub, watching in amusement as a two-toed foot emerged to push off first the cold tap, then moved with surprising dexterity, in spite of his submerged state to close the hot. That was when, distracted, a hand moved with surprising speed to catch her by the arm and pull her into the tub—fully-clothed!
Her surprise and outrage rocked throughout the room in a brief empathic burst, and Nightcrawler gasped at the repercussions of his actions, rising up from the tub, his arms flailing for the edges of the marble, spluttering and choking in surprise! "Gott im Himmel!" he cried, looking at her with saucered eyes, lying on top of him with saturated hair falling in front of her fiery eyes. "Never, ever will I do that again!" he swore. "Ee-youch!"
Elissa glanced over the side of the tub to where an ocean of suds and water now churned, bracing herself up with her hands on the tub bottom, then turned to look at him with a single arched eyebrow. "Now just who is going to clean up that mess? Hmmm, Herr Wagner?" she asked pointedly.
Smiling sweetly, he pointed at her with a single finger; "You, Frau Wagner?"
She gave a brief, sarcastic laugh, and fine, white teeth playfully bit the offending digit. The bathroom door closed of its own volition, and water taps turned on seemingly by themselves to refill the bathtub. Straightening up, she reached back to remove one sodden lavender sneaker, pouring the excess water onto the floor, then removed the other and shook it out over his head as he sat up to give her room. "Somehow, I don't think so, Herr Wagner," she answered, and slowly, teasingly, removed her drenched shirt.
Kurt watched with half an eye as a white bath towel floated from the rack to land on the wet floor, the majority of his attention on her as she undid her clothing. Ah, yes! There were many, many benefits to married life, he thought happily.
She smiled as she read his mind, "And don't you forget it, Mister!"
He watched the last of her garments land on the floor, and sighed with vast contentment, pulling her close. Something was bothering him though on the intellectual level, and he looked at her seriously as he settled his arms around the small of her back. "You know, Elissa, one of these days we must discuss the Phoenix phenomena, and its tendency to haunt telepaths with telekinetic gifting."
Frowning, she struggled to get comfortable in the tub with him, but found herself more or less trapped in a compromising position. She braced herself on the back of the tub as he leaned forward to manually turn off the water, "You worry about this now? You initiated this playtime, Kurt; and, besides, you know the answer to this already. The Starclan all have the telempathic gift, and shaping is merely birthed out of empathy. Be it empathy to things of the material world or the immaterial, shaping stems from the level of empathy one possesses. Besides, it was my father's strong suit, and my inheritance from him when he died. You know that better than anyone."
Unwrapping hotel-style soap from the nearby dish, he began to rub it along her back, his ardor forgotten in this more serious conversation. "I know it quite well, Liebchen. I still remember the day you inadvertently brought me into the Binding in order to save your life! I learned everything about you in one fell swoop, which was a little overpowering, may I add! But I am concerned! Jean Grey was an incredibly powerful being when the Phoenix force overtook her, and her daughter, Rachel, equally potent." He frowned, averting his gaze for a moment as he remembered the redheaded women, "I wonder whatever happened to Rachel? We never hear from her anymore…"
She covered his mouth with one hand, and stared into his surprised eyes tenderly, "Does it matter what happened to them, Kurt? I am here now, and this is our world together. No celestial being will ever, ever take that away from us! I swear it, t'hala! Now and forever."
T'hala, he thought, smiling as she removed her hand from his lips to press her mouth against his, was the Kanaran word for lover, and it meant not only the body, but also of the soul. He gave into that place that only they two could reach, and forgot all his questions in their unity, only glad that she was here and that they were together. A pox, he thought, on change. Let the whole world go by, and Mephisto, who was another question unto himself, in his own hellish handbasket! Whatever the future held, they had today.
Alejandro looked up at the sound of stampeding feet, and laughter that better suited children than full-grown adults to see his new guests round the staircase and almost case each other into the dining room. He did a double take at first, swearing that the Wagner man was blue and had a tail, then a momentary fog passed over his vision, and the dark-haired Caucasian with his golden wife entered at a more contrite pace, hand-in-hand, to join him and his family and guests at the tables. The burly Colombian hosteller waved them over to his table, while grinning at his less than enthusiastic seven-year-old son, "Come on, you two! Breakfast!"
The little boy frowned, looking at the two strangers as they settled in beside him at the square table, and chose to concentrate on his fruit instead. "Papá, americanos...," his voice trailed off as he looked at the overtly smiling man.
Alejandro flashed a brief rebuking glare at the child, "Silencio, poco." He looked at Elissa, dressed in soft shades of green now with sandals on her feet, "My son, Marcos! He is but seven years of age! Forgive his lack of manners, eh?"
Elissa smiled at the little boy, glancing briefly at the plate of steaming corn pancakes in the center of the table, and feeling her stomach growl at the thought of hot food. "Ningún problema, Alejandro. ¿Qué es éstos, puedo preguntar?"
Kurt raised a surprised eyebrow at her attempt at Spanish, which was good, he thought, considering telepaths cheat. He winced as he felt fingernails pinch his bottom, and stared at her with a frozen, polite smile. " 'They really, really do know how to cheat,'" he thought at her, purposely, this time.
Alejandro smiled at the woman, pleased that she seemed to know so much, and amending himself for the harshness of his initial assessment. "Cachapas with cotija cheese, Señora. There are plaintains and pandebano, and, of course, coffee." He winked at her, "Colombia's second cash crop!"
Kurt lifted the plate of cakes and placed two on her plate, then helped himself to four while she was listening with polite interest to their host. Coffee, he thought, and the empathy! "A stimulant beverage will have you going, meine Liebste. Are you sure that is wise?" he asked aloud, and rather pointedly.
Alejandro poured her a cup from a thermos container on the table, and looked at his guest in dismay, "But she has to try the authentic article, amigo! That is why the tourists always come to Colombia! A little Juan Valdez, no? Coffee is not coffee unless you have it in Colombia!" He settled back, and watched as she sipped at the beverage in satisfaction; "Well, have you two decided on a course of action yet?"
Kurt chose water from a carafe and sighed as he watched Elissa partake of the coffee, and worried over its effects on her alien metabolism. He applied a light coating of the white cheese on the corn cakes, and cut one, lifting it to his nose to take a whiff before tasting it. He shrugged, finding it fairly passable, "Very good, Alejandro, I like this. We intend, actually, to head into the mountains and make our way to Bogotá that way. Do you know of any…?"
"¡Esto es nuestro camión, le digo!" the shout carried through the open dining room window.
Kurt's eyes went wide at the familiar voice, and he nearly choked on his water. "Mein Gott!" he looked at Elissa, who was mopping at the coffee on her chin with her sleeve equally startled by the shout she had heard. "That voice sounds incredibly familiar, Liebchen!"
Three voices chimed out the name almost simultaneously, "Juan Jose!"
"You know Juan?" Alejandro looked at his two guests in surprise, that feeling growing to one of shock as he saw clearly for the first time the indigo-blue flesh and pointed ears of his guest! "¡Madre de Dios! ¡Es el Diablo él mismo!" (Mother of God! It is the Devil himself!)
Alejandro's wife, emerging from the kitchen with another plateful of cachapas, shrieked in terror as she saw Nightcrawler rise from the table to quickly gather Elissa in his arms. The four guests rose as one from their tables, backing away from Alejandro and his guests, while Marcos looked up with growing wonder on his face, seemingly the only one enthused by what he saw.
"Cool!" he breathed, smiling wide with excitement.
Kurt smiled briefly in return, and saluted the child with his pointed tail; "Danke, mein kleine Freund! And, Alejandro, the devil is red, kind of like an enemy of mine! I am blue!" And he rolled his eyes briefly heavenward to emphasize his exasperation; "I am also getting extremely tired of being called a devil on this trip!"
Elissa waved good-bye to the little boy, and clung to the olive vest Kurt wore, pressing her head against his chest as they vanished with that wonderful transiting sensation to reappear in the opulent suite. Reeling momentarily from the teleport, she lurched for the bed and began to stuff the duffel bag with their things, casting a regretful eye at the clothing still drying in the bathroom.
Kurt took the sword and scabbard and buckled it onto his belt, grabbed the map off the bed, and waited anxiously while she zipped the bag closed. "Too bad we can't clean up the room first, or finish breakfast," he commented, and looked out the window as Alejandro ran outside. Down the block, beside the truck, he could make out the familiar shapes of Juan Jose, Miguel, and Carlos, and all three were armed with rifles and machetes. There was another vehicle parked alongside the truck they had borrowed, and the three coca harvesters had paused in their inspection to talk to Alejandro. "And I am afraid that not only are we going to lose our ride, but the medical kits as well."
Elissa hefted the duffel, and joined him beside the window. "I am sorry about losing my concentration, Kurt, but when I heard…"
He wrapped a free arm around her and smiled graciously, "It's all right! I understand, Elissa. I was just as surprised to hear their voices as you were. They must be a little upset that we took the truck, and they must be even more upset that the coca leaves are gone." He watched as the four men carried on a heated conversation and Alejandro gesticulated toward the hotel, "I think we go there, Elissa." He nodded towards a clear area at the end of the road beside the jungle, and briefly kissed her forehead. "Without water, or food, I am afraid."
She watched the four men come charging towards the hotel, and an inspiration hit her. "Well, maybe not without! Look! A quick teleport, and…"
Kurt grinned, hope flooding back in at her thoughts, "Sehr gut, Liebchen! It is a plan worthy of my abilities! You are a most excellent woman! Hang onto me!"
Laughing impishly, she wrapped her arms around his narrow waist, "You have to tell me that? It will be my pleasure, Kurt Wagner!"
His laughter was rich and rolling, his feral eyes glittering with mirthful approval as he kissed her briefly. Keeping his forehead pressed to hers, he drank in the devotion in her expression and found the strength he needed in his helpmeet that he could find nowhere else. "Ahhhh, a woman after my own heart, amongst other things!" he said, with approval.
Her amusement echoed his as they vanished in burst of flame and a cloud of sulphur- scented smoke!
Alejandro was talking with the trio from the compound three hours back down the road when the wind began to bring the scent of…matches…to his nostrils. The hotel owner frowned, then his expression changed to one of recognition as he recalled the strange aroma the blue one had emitted when he had vanished with the woman. Spinning about, Alejandro beheld the pair standing beside the truck, with identical smiles on their faces as they scampered about to either side and pulled open the doors.
Kurt paused only long enough to bestow upon his host a fang-toothed smile, purposely emphasizing the differences they had tried to keep hidden in the brief time they had been in his company. "Adios, Alejandro! And thank you for your hospitality!" he bade him, and adjusted his scabbard before slipping behind the steering wheel.
"¡Muchachos! ¡Ellos están aquí! ¡Mire!" (Boys! They're here! Look!) Alejandro shouted, overcoming his surprise in order to call his cohorts.
Juan Jose, Miguel and Carlos turned as one man to behold their vehicle being stolen from them again.
That was when Elissa noticed a flash of gold around Miguel's waist and first her eyes narrowed as she tried to see what the man was wearing then narrowed in anger when she knew. Standing on the footboard of the pickup, half in the cab, she pointed at the man before her, "Kurt! That's the belt from my uniform! That tiny little…ohhhhh! He's wearing my belt!"
Nightcrawler yanked her inside the rest the truck, looking at the small, Hispanic man and the gold-plated accessory that had once adorned his Elissa's hips, but Miguel wore cinched higher around his waist, an incongruous ornament compared to his sweat-stained shirt and woven trousers. He experienced a growing anger as he realized someone had undressed his wife, and hoped for their sakes it wasn't Miguel! His features taut, he turned the key in the ignition as the four men ran towards the vehicle and his foot pushed hard on the accelerator. "Liebchen, it is an expensive trinket, nicht wahr? Perhaps a little telekinetic snatch and grab is in order?" He glanced at her briefly, letting his fears be known in their link, "And make it very hot for him…painfully so!"
StarChild paled slightly at the thoughts he was conveying to her, but nodded nonetheless as he shifted the pickup into drive, and they lurched forward. Partially leaning out of the cab, she extended a hand and her will, and concentrated on the clasp of the belt, heating its mechanism sufficiently before pulling it free.
Miguel howled as the belt began to superheat, the fabric of his shirt starting to smoke. As he dropped to the ground, the belt literally unfastened itself and flew before his astonished eyes into the hand of the golden-haired woman as their truck sped past.
Juan Jose, Carlos and Alejandro dove out of the way of the rampaging truck as it sped down the dirt road of Domingas, the scant populace on the streets stopping to watch the greatest excitement they had in quite some time. Marcos appeared on the front landing of the hotel, a magazine clutched in his hand as he waved good-bye to the pickup and its occupants. He ran up to his father, who was picking himself up off the ground, his wide brown eyes watching the truck with excitement as he cried, "¡Ver, Papá! ¡Ver! ¡Nightcrawler! ¡Era Nightcrawler! ¡Él es un superhéroe americano! ¡Bamf! ¡Bamf!" (See, Papa! See! Nightcrawler! That was Nightcrawler! He is an American superhero! Bamf! Bamf!)
Alejandro watched as his son crouched down and hopped a few inches to the left then right, and stood to wave the comic book before his face. He slapped his face to peer between his fingers at the boy, and then looked at the truck disappearing down the dirt road as the three coca harvesters ran for the other vehicle. Pulling his son aside, he watched as they took off in pursuit, scattering the villagers from the streets. "Ai carumba! What a day!"
The pickup bounced as it sped across the rutted dirt road, and Kurt had his entire concentration focused on the road before him and the rearview mirror as he strove with the steering wheel. Behind him, by at least 1000 meters, was the second truck with Juan Jose, Carlos and Miguel squeezed together in the front seat. The lack of pavement was not an unusual thing for him, he had driven in such conditions before, but having jungle under and overgrowth on either side of you did add further complications to the equation. He only hoped that he was headed in the right direction as they continued to speed down what little path they had.
Elissa spotted a cleared area to their right and a long strip that veered off into the jungle, and was beginning to have some reservations about their course of travel. The pickup took a rut nose first and she was forced to brace herself against the ceiling as they lurched forward. Reaching for her seatbelt, she licked suddenly dry lips and decided to point something out. "Uh, Kurt…I really think they don't need roads," she said, and thought to him the last image she had seen.
Nightcrawler rolled his eyes as he clung ferociously to the steering wheel, "Wunderbar! Liebchen, would you mind…?" He glanced briefly and indicatively down at the seatbelt as he concentrated on what was left of the road ahead. "They do not need roads because they have their own air field! They are smugglers! What an idiot I am! Why didn't I think of that before?"
Reaching across carefully, she pulled the shoulder harness over his head and buckled it to the lap belt, then settled back, as much as she could settle, to watch the ride.
Juan Jose chortled behind the wheel of the other pickup, his hands gripping the wheel with glee. "¡Sí! Ellos son encabezados directamente para...!" (Yes! They are headed right for...!) He let his voice trail off as he glanced at his companions meaningfully.
Carlos and Miguel exchanged smiles with a dawning realization and laughed, stomping their feet on the floorboard of the pickup in their excitement.
The truck broke through a line of trees a moment later, and Kurt's eyes widened in horror at the sudden drop off into a fast-flowing river. "Mein Gott!" he cried, futilely applying the brake as the truck sailed over the precipice toward the wide expanse of water below.
Juan Jose braked before the demolished line of foliage and opened the door to climb out and run to the edge of the cliff face. He heard Miguel and Carlos come up behind him, but he was more intent on watching the pickup sail straight down and into the river below some thirty-five meters, vertically impaling itself in the water before it exploded. Crowing in delight, he turned to his companions, only to see their crestfallen appearances. Juan became puzzled; "¿Qué? ¿Qué pasa?"
Miguel looked at the burning truck and the cloud of oily black smoke that rose into the air, and pointed down toward the wreck. "¡Era el camión de mi hermano, estúpido! ¿Qué le digo ahora?" (That was my brother's truck, stupid! What do I tell him now?)
Juan Jose snorted and waved him away as he went back to the other vehicle. "¿... estúpido a quién llama usted estúpido? ¡Al menos ellos son idos para siempre! ¡Vaya a salir aquí!" (Stupid...who are you calling stupid? At least they are gone forever! Let's get out of here!)
Carlos raised his hands skyward, and shook his head before turning to follow Juan Jose while Miguel stared at the burn hole in his shirt one last time before gazing forlornly at the destroyed pickup. Heaving a sigh, he turned to follow his companions, imagining just what his brother was going to do to him when they got back to the compound.
Fifty meters away from the river, in a cleared area, Kurt Wagner looked up from where he lay on the grass, the duffel in one hand and Elissa's arm in the other. The landing had been exceptionally hard because when he teleported it was usually with the same velocity he was moving at, and their ride had been going at a good thirty or forty kilometers per hour; so when they had materialized, it was with the same directional force that they had been falling at. His head and back both ached as he turned to look at Elissa, knowing that she was unconscious, and almost afraid to see the extent of her injuries. At least she had been able to grab one of the survival backpacks, so they would not be without medical equipment.
"Liebchen?" his voice quavered as he reached over to turn her head towards him. "Ach! Nein! Oh, Elissa!"
Her left temple was scraped almost to the skull, and bleeding profusely, and her left arm was twisted beneath her back at an unusual angle. Her breathing was shallow and her face pale, frightening him even moreso as he fought against the pain in his own body to carefully lift her, and straighten the broken arm. She was a deadweight in his grasp as he settled her down again, his arm draped around her waist as he gave into unconsciousness.
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