They reappeared miles away-- at least six jumps worth and enough to leave Storm and her blood soldiers far behind. It was also enough to have Gambit retching as Kurt watched, his hand splayed on the Cajun's back. Nightcrawler appeared to ignore his own pain – 'porting hurt him as much as it did his passengers, especially after that kind if distance -- and studied what splattered on the grass.

No blood.

Good. That was one sign that he'd hadn't ingested any of their infected blood, and probably why Nightcrawler had opted to go for the hard and fast teleport; to weaken him and make him empty his guts. But he knew that the whole process was far from finished.

Kurt gripped his arm and hauled him to his feet. He shoved Remy against a tree, gripping his chin with one hand as his tail snaked over his shoulder, the spade gripping a small bottle. Biting the cork out of the tiny flask of holy water, he squeezed Remy cheeks to force his lips apart. "Drink," he commanded.

Gambit – sick and dazed – did as he was bid, nearly choking on the stale tasting water Nightcrawler filled his mouth with. Miraculously he managed to swallow...and even more miraculously not immediately throw it up again. Then he was roughly stripped, a crucifix pressed firmly against his cheek throughout. His only thought -- beyond the pain and the anguish of both losing Rogue and seeing the demon that Stormy had become -- was that this would be a mite more difficult if Nightcrawler didn't have himself a tail.

Kurt went over Remy's body; clinically examining his throat, his thighs, his wrists, even his most intimate of places-- all the favorite hiding places of vampire feeding points.

"I ain't been bit." Remy coughed but knew that it didn't matter what he said. This here was standard protocol. He tried to convince himself that Kurt was being so rough because it was necessary, not because he knew that Gambit had failed. Or that the failure had cost Rogue her life...and her soul.

"Open." Nightcrawler held up a Eucharist and Remy complied. It tasted like cardboard and nothing as it melted on his tongue. "Okay, we're done." Finally, it was his friend who spoke to him, his harsh accent softening, instead of a soldier mechanically inspecting a potential threat.

Gambit was too tired – of body or spirit – to offer any resistance or complaint as Kurt carefully helped him redress. "Where we be?" he asked instead. It looked like some lightly wooded field. And Remy wanted to have something normal to say. He slid down the tree, sitting on his heels and staring at the darkening sky.

"Upstate." Kurt let a smile touch the corner of his mouth. "Here. I have a treat for you. Don't tell Jean." He held out a small cigarette case and popped it open. Seeing at how badly Remy's hand were shaking, he lit it himself and blew out a small swirling plume of blue smoke before holding the expensive cigarette to Remy's lips.

Gambit blinked, feeling worse at the small kindness, but took a deep drag anyway. He closed his eyes as the nicotine and smoke worked its magic, dulling the razor's edge just a little bit. He closed his fingers around it and exhaled, casting his red-on-black eyes downward, studying the way the first ash fell. "She gone. They'd tracked us and had us cornered...shot her down with some kinda of electrified net, took away her powers. There was jus' too many...too many."

"I know," Kurt said softly, sinking into a crouch and resting an arm around the man's shoulders. "You did what you could; the only thing you could. You stayed alive. If you had done anything else we'd be mourning you, too...and fearing what you'd become."

What Kurt didn't tell him-- because he'd find out soon enough and it would only make things worse after the ordeal he'd suffered-- was that Kitty was missing. He'd spent night before in their makeshift chapel on his knees before lit candles and the cross, begging God to spare her. To end this. To show him a way to fix this. To save those who'd been infected.

Anything.

He couldn't afford a crisis of faith right now.

The fact that the vampires did react to holy items gave him some hope that God really was still there. Right now, that was all he had. But it was enough. It would have to be. Even his sorceress mother and sister believed in God and that magic was part of His design.

So, to his faith he clung.

Even when the Soul Sword appeared to him and broke his heart. A piece of Illyana's soul that had become a tangible thing-- a weapon of enormous power. It had passed to Kitty upon the girl's death, and now...

Now, he could feel it burning inside him. Every second. Every moment.

But the darkness of the blade's influence was nothing to how he'd felt since humanity had fallen to this plague. He knew a secret, whispered to him by the mother who raised him when he'd gone to her for help, and reaffirmed by the mother who'd flung him as an infant to his death: he wasn't entirely human. And perhaps it was that strange bloodmix of mutant and other that offered him some protection against them.

And against the Soul Sword.

It offered him a second scrap of peace. Why would there be a need for a devil or his demons if there was no God? One proved the existence of the other.

And by Christ Jesus, he would find a cure.

Even if it cost him his soul.

If he even had one.

"I'm ready." Gambit straightened and crushed the spent butt into the heel of his boot. Kurt nodded and slipped the case into the Cajun's pocket. He was gentle this time, teleporting carefully, allowing Remy time to recover between jumps. It took two hours and as many cigarettes, before they were in the wood that belonged to the Were. He could feel them watching. If Kurt had found him infected, he would have teleported away, and the Were would have finished it.

It wouldn't have been a pleasant way to go.

"I want you to see Hank," Kurt said as the final smoke of his last teleport cleared. "And Remy?"

Gambit turned back, brow raised questioningly.

"Don't give up on Rogue...or Storm just yet." He pressed his hand over his heart, where the sword stung the sharpest. "It's a virus, it can be cured."

Gambit just shook his head, confused and exhausted. "I'm gonna go see Henri...maybe you should, too, did you hit your head or somethin'?" Kurt just patted his arm and headed toward his tent, leaving Remy shaking his head. "Least I ain't the only one who's losing his damn mind over all this."

Jean yelped as the socket wrench slipped, skinning her knuckles for about the third time. Godammit! She kicked at the chassis of the jeep in frustration.

"Why don't you just use your telekinesis?"

"Shut up, Emma." Jean muttered, glaring at the legs near her head.

"I'm just trying to help," Emma said coolly, amusement only barely held in check. "It seems a waste of energy to continued to ...do whatever it is you're doing instead of using your perfectly capable power."

Why was it no matter how nicely Emma Frost worded something, it sounded like a damn insult?

"You're welcome to come down here and offer your expertise, Emma." Jean snapped and sucked at her injured knuckle. To her surprise – and irritation – Emma slid beneath the jeep next to her instead of wandering off to annoy someone else.

"Alternator?" the once and probably future White Queen asked, peering up into the mass of wiring and and grease.

"Yeeeah," Jean drawled, unsure of Emma's motivation. Surely she didn't really expect to help...did she? Wasn't her only purpose to trot around in her lingerie and be a big bottle blonde asshole?

"If you think this is lingerie," Emma gestured at her jeans and long sleeved tee-shirt, "I shudder to think what you think is proper. Prairie dresses and denim jumpers, perhaps? A little Big Love, don't you think?"

"Get out of my head."

"Of course, darling...I can understand how that can be disconcerting that can be now that you are bereft of your own telepathy." Emma's smile was as sweet as cotton candy and just about as substantial.

Jean sighed. She didn't feel like arguing with her. Not now. Not after what had happened. And she didn't care one damn bit that she'd lost her telepathy.

Well, maybe a tiny bit.

"Kitty's missing. Rogue's been taken. Could you pretend to have a heart for five seconds," Jean said flatly, forcing the bolt free using her TK. It wasn't as satisfying as using her hand and the wrench, but it was necessary.

Emma was silent for a few minutes. "I didn't know."

"Yeah, well, now you do." Jean yanked on the old alternator that was wedged firmly in place. A slim translucent hand slid up and pulled the part loose. Jean turned her head, Emma had taken her diamond form, her face was noticeable lacking its superior smirk. Jean instantly felt bad. Emma knew loss-- her first students had met a brutal end. And she'd been headmistress at the Mass Academy long enough to develop loyalty with several of the students there. God, why was she being such a bitch to Emma? Because that's what everyone needed, more tension? "Thanks," she added awkwardly.

"The connections are corroded, they'll need to be replaced before you put the new alternator in," was all Emma said by way of reply before sliding out and leaving Jean alone.

Great. Now who was the asshole?

Fuck.

Scott Summers leaned back in his chair and scanned over Ororo's report. Ah, well. It would have been nice to bring the Cajun into their fold, but they had time. He was only mildly frustrated at the near miss of Nightcrawler. But, really, could fledgling vampires even hope to compete with one of the Chosen? Kurt Wagner would find his place among them.

As would Jean Grey.

Kitty Pryde was sleeping. He'd brought her over himself, giving Shinobi Shaw guardianship over her. Their powers were similar, perhaps they could learn from each other. He'd wanted her to be trained as a Companion first, but her temperament was such that instant conversion was necessary. And he'd learned so much from her, once she'd been re-baptized with his blood. So many secrets

Rogue, on the other had, posed a different problem, Eric had staked his claim on the beautiful Southern girl, so he left her conversion in the capable hands of the man who once called himself Magneto. But if anyone could find a way through her poison skin and invulnerability, it would be Eric Lensherr. Their power inhibitors had limited effect, and Rogue had over-ridden hers twice since her capture, forcing them to store her in a specially created force cage. Magneto liked his challenges.

Shadowcat and Rogue were great prizes. He was sure they would flush Nightcrawler out. His best friend and his foster sister had been taken into their family and, knowing what he did of the man, he wouldn't sit idly by. He'd make a rescue attempt. As would the Cajun.

Maybe even another one of Scott's pet projects: Wolverine.

Logan has managed to remain firmly below the radar, despite Scott's efforts to hunt him down. And he hadn't been the only one trying to flush him out of hiding.

Gambit and Rogue had been looking for Wolverine as well, following the same leads as Scott and his teams. When their paths crossed, it had been a happy coincidence -- he'd been delighted to bring Rogue home-- to her rightful place among the truly evolved. And, while he'd never really cared much for Remy LeBeau, the man would assuredly be an asset once brought over. It was a shame that he'd slipped from Storm's grasp but that was the challenge when the other side had a teleporter.

Speaking of the teleporter, Bobby had asked for him, which had surprised Scott, considering Drake lack of interest in the prophecies or anything but indulging his own newly awakened sadism. But who was he to deny his brother's only request? Nightcrawler would be reserved for the one who once called himself Iceman.

As long as he understood that he was not to break Kurt.

Bobby could collect a little harem of exotic playthings to his still heart's content once Wagner was brought over. Beaubier had been his first conversion, but it had gone badly. Northstar retained all of his humanity and fled, much to Scott's astonishment, but there were rumors that Jean-Paul had some sort of magical bloodline. Bobby, however, seemed unaffected by the loss of his progeny. Regardless, Scott reminded him that his only real concern should be Nightcrawler.

Iceman had just smiled and walked out of the room. Scott could only imagine what he was thinking-- maybe he found that an exciting challenge. Bobby had become the strangest and cruelest of all of his converted family, so he didn't give it anymore thought. If he wanted Kurt Wagner, he could have him. That was his right as one of the Four Chosen. Just as Scott would take Jean.

It was what was supposed to be.