Disclaimer: I don't own the X-men or Marvel or anything else, so don't sue.
Song Suggestion: I'm Slipping, I'm falling -DMX
"See to live is to suffer. To survive is to find meaning in the suffering."
Jubilee opened her bleary eyes. Her tears mixing with the dried blood smeared across her face. Her mind was nothing but a twisted mess. Her memories seemed to be a mix of tangled limbs, cursing, and then…something else. Something dark and foreboding. Something that wanted to stay buried.
As she lay flat on her back, arms pinned beneath her, she concentrated on the sensations in her body. Her limbs had fallen asleep under the stress of her weight. She thought she could feel some sort of metal poking into her wrists, but wasn't sure if her hands were tied or not. She felt an overwhelming need to move them, but couldn't lift herself up enough to get any relief flowing through her veins.
The more conscious she became, the more aware she was of a sharp throbbing pain that sent fire from her crotch down to her inner thigh. It was a screaming reminder of whatever the hell had happened last night. Dreading the bits and pieces which would only lead to a restored memory, she banished those threads of dangerous thoughts which would make her panic.
With only a vague idea of how she'd ended up in the state she was in, it was much easier for her to focus on getting the hell out of there. Panicking just because she was half clothed, lying in an alley, and unable to move was not going to help her remedy the situation. After years of experience on and off the battlefield, her survival instincts were kicking into overdrive.
That necessary little voice in the furthermost recesses of her psyche was nagging at her to focus on getting feeling into her body. Starting with her toes. She closed her eyes and let the whiteness wash over her vision. The only sound she heard was the coaxing of her own inner voice telling her toes to cooperate. If she could get them to move, then the feeling would spread and she would be able to move other things. After a few minutes, she felt her digits loosen and curl. Soon after, she was beginning to flex her feet.
Her legs were still numb. Although the small amount of pain she was starting to feel was mandatory, she wished that it would dissipate altogether because it was too much for her overloaded body to handle. She waited none too patiently as the pins and needles sensation began overtaking her limbs. The pricking of a thousand daggers into her skin was all it took for her to attempt to get her knees to bend. Her cries of effort and pain went unnoticed as she found herself bending and unbending her joints. Moving them slowly as though they were caked with rust.
Still not able to sit up, she found that with no small amount of effort, she was able to rock her body from side to side. Huffing and puffing, she rocked herself up onto her side, letting the jacket shield her back from further damage by the pavement. She paused briefly, catching her breath, before falling ungracefully onto her stomach.
At once her arms succombed to the relief they so desperately needed as they fell free of their confines and landed at odd angles next to her side. Fighting the wave of nausea that overtook her, she spared herself the trouble of blacking out again by focusing on getting her fists to unclench. One by one she pried her fingers open. The second degree burns made it near impossible for her to do it quietly. Once again, she concentrated on getting her body to cooperate. And sure enough, after a few tries, she began to bend her elbows and flex her wrists.
Good. Everything still worked.
That meant she had a shot at getting out of here without additional trouble. Stubborn as she was, she wouldn't telepathically reach out to anyone. She would give anything to handle her own business, if only to spare herself the trouble that would surely come when everyone at the mansion found out she'd been…
Pushing the thought back to where it came from, she began to push herself to her feet. It took seven attempts to get herself on all fours. Her shaking limbs barely held her weight. She was running on pure adrenaline. And it was the only thing that saved her.
With a mighty groan, she finally got herself situated, and was able to lift her head. The first thing she saw was a wall and the top rung of the fire escape with a metal pipe propped up against it. Reaching blindly out in front of her, she hooked her burnt fingers onto the solid rung. And though she knew she wouldn't be able to lift her body for another few minutes, she tested to make sure it was sturdy enough to hold her up.
How much time passed before she was able to pull herself to a standing position didn't matter. She was more worried about getting home. She definitely couldn't drag herself and was in no mood to attract attention. Her communicator was at home, so she couldn't contact anyone. Calling the telepaths didn't knew if it was "for her own wellbeing," Jean and Emma would do whatever was necessary to "monitor" her progress. And who knew what the Professor would do? He was the light in her dark world, but would he help her while still respecting her privacy?
There was the chance that Logan was already out looking for her. Then again, he should have found her by now. His heightened senses were too good to miss a trail scented with her blood. A trail which was still active, and had been for hours. No. He was probably at Harrys, starting a bar fight. Or he had left to go see about Kitty. She had called that morning, wailing about something or the other. Besides, even if he did find her and managed to get her back to the mansion, he would opt to bash heads in rather than stay and help her.
Rogue and Joseph were out. Storm was still recovering from the last mission. Gen X was too far away. Bobby would freak. The Professor, Beast, and Cyclops were in Washington. And who knew where Gambit was these days?
Jubilee felt a rush of bitterness that out of everyone in the mansion, there was no one she could rely on. Her face cramped up when she replayed the tired excuses Logan gave her after her first reappearance at the mansion. Out of everyone, she had thought he would be the most supportive. Especially with all that she had been through. When she had needed him the most. But he seemed to have some sort of problem with her dependency. Like he thought she should man up and take some responsibility for what had happened to her. Almost like it was her fault what had happened. Well fuck that.
With this last thought, she pushed herself up and onto the bar. With one arm wrapped around the rung and supporting her weight, she reached out for the pipe. The stumbling ceased as she regained her balance. Bracing herself against the wall and using pipe as a makeshift cane, she painstakingly made her way out of the alley and into a nearby rundown apartment building. Once she was safely in the building, she realized at once that it was some sleazy motel. You'd think they could have atleast fucked her and left her on a bed instead of out in some dadgum alleyway.
Her eyes fell on the clerk sitting behind a glass panel. His only way of communicating was a small metal tray that moved back and forth between the panels to take money from customers. Amazingly, once he got a good look at her, she was no longer looking at him through the panel. Rather, he had flung open a side door and was standing right in front of her, immediately helping her into one of the dusty sunken chairs. Where the fuck was he last night when all this shit went down?
The guy was surprisingly concerned for someone in this run down part of town. "Miss?" He called anxiously, searching for signs of life in her face. "Miss? Are you alright? You're bleeding pretty badly!"
Looking down she noticed that there was dried blood on her clothes. Lucky for her, there were no fresh wounds, nothing that would stain the carpet anyway. Thankfully, the man had enough common sense not to ask what had happened. After all, in this spot of town, there were some things you just didn't get involved with.
"Please. Just call a cab."
"I think I'd better call an ambulance."
"No!" Her head jerked up to stare him down. "I just need a cab. That's all."
"Look, I wouldn't feel right if I didn't get you to a hospital."
"There's a clinic right near where I live. I just need a cab to get there. Please?" She looked up with such a heartbreaking look that the manager gave up trying to pry, and called for a cab while she swiped her hand across the blood, sweat, and tears on her face. After a fifteen minute wait, she found herself in the back of a taxi, sitting on top of a sheet that the hotel owner had laid out for her. She was sure the cabbie had expressed concern about his car being mucked up.
Jubilee had the driver to drop her off at the back gates of the mansion. Luckily he wasn't the type to ask questions…or obey the express instructions of the hotel clerk. Just wanted the money.
Funny with all her street smarts, she had still chosen to go back to the mansion. She supposed there was really nowhere else for her to go. Not in her condition anyway. A hospital would just ask for insurance. And even if she did give them a fake name, she'd be taken to the "psychiatric ward" so fast her head would spin. That was, after all, where most mutants ended up before being transferred elsewhere. She couldn't take the chance that they wouldn't somehow find out about her powers. Sure, there were mutant clinics around, but all of them had connections with the X-men, and all were on a first name basis with one Dr. Henry McCoy.
She turned her attention back to the dark and seemingly empty mansion. She knew most everyone had gone out for the night, either shopping or partying (it was the weekend after all). And the ones who stayed behind (mostly Gambit and Angel) kept to themselves.
But how to get in without being noticed? She could wait in the woods until the alarm sounded, as it always did…taking the residents of the mansion away to the black bird. Unfortunately she didn't know how much longer she could stay upright.
Thank God she had temporarily regained the use of her limbs well enough to walk without the cane…although it hurt like hell. It was all she could do to keep out of view of Gambit's usual perch while she torturously made her way to the kitchen door. After popping the lock with a tiny spark, she made her way to the stairs, stumbling only twice. She heard no voices, no intercom warnings, and no scuffling of feet on the upper floors. Rest assured now, she reached the stairs, got on her hands and knees, and crawled step by step up to the second floor landing.
She was met with the sight of a long dark hallway. Upon reaching the top step, she clamped her crippled hands on it and managed to push herself up and against the wall. With one final burst of energy, she made a frenzied dash towards her room, crashing into both sides of the hallway while tears, sweat, and spit flew from her face. Her breath came out in growls as she pitched herself forward into the door. Sliding down on her knees, she focused all her energy on getting the knob to turn. Once inside she wedged in between the corner of the door. All of the burning in her eyes, the pain in her body, and the wretched exhaustion, wouldn't stop the strangled moans and gasps that started to fall from her shivering lips.
