Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.
14. Hot Heads, Cold Hearts
"Ya gotta pull yerself together, LeBeau," Wolverine growled in a low voice.
For the first time in the last four hours – ever since discovering his petites were gone – Remy realised his hands were trembling. And, not for the first time, he felt the impotence of not knowing where to strike his enemy.
"I can't believe ya didn't immediately see the nanny was behind this, willin' or not. Hell, I can't believe ya've spent the last four damned hours sayin' ya don't know how this could'ave happened!"
Remy let his hands go through his hair, pulling it back, taut, but he didn't say anything. The homme had a point: he hadn't been thinking right.
"Ya know how this place's rigged inside out. Ya know there was only one way anyone was ever gonna take 'em kids. Inside help. Ya know that!"
Of course he knew that! Why else had he secretly kept watch over every staff finance, for dangerous lows or sudden influxes of money. He even kept the families of the students under financial watch!
He couldn't have done more, outside turning the school into a Big Brother kind of place, which, if you kept the number of cameras in mind, wasn't far from happening. Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have pressed Forge into creating a system that effectively registered every action of every person within the premises. Then you'd add a list of forbidden actions and of suspicious ones and, whenever someone did one of them, an alarm would go off. Maybe.
"And ya're gonna tell me ya ain't ever heard o'this drone technique to evade cameras? Creed…"
Creed, the man of the locators. He would have turned the school into the meanest biggest brother ever. But where would freedom fit in? Isn't there supposed to be a balance between security and freedom?
"…ain't no thief; he don't care nuthin' 'bout clean entrances and exits, 'bout bein' seen or not. How come he knows 'bout this and you don't?"
A dark, hollow chuckle bubbled out.
"Remy ain't been in de game," he said hoarsely.
"What d'ya mean?"
He took a deep breath and leaned on a tree. Shook his head.
"Anna, she is right. Me an' de guilds… dat connection is dangerous fer de petites. I ain't talked t'anyone fer over a year. I ain't even gone back ta New Orleans; ain't even…"
Remy sighed, frustrated, as an old memory of himself poked him. Talking to an old friend, down in the Big Easy, explaining that moonlighting was a way of keeping himself sharp. Of course the fun of it was the real reason, but the excuse had been sound. He couldn't help wondering why he had never seen that excuse as more than just an excuse. If he were still moonlighting…
"Remy ain't done a single theft dat wasn't necessary fer de X-Ops missions."
Which, in all honesty, had amounted to none. He had broken into plenty of places, true, but breaking in and thieving isn't quite the same. Besides, breaking in with a fellow thief is as different from breaking in with an X-Men as with an Assassin. Different aims, different traditions, different MOs.
"Thievin', Candra, guilds… I gone an' put it all behind me."
And now he was paying the price: falling behind on the cutting edge techniques of thieving. He had never cared much about it, to be honest. He'd always preferred the old-fashioned approach. But he had also kept in touch with members of the guild, even if only occasionally, and that means you hear about the novelties, either because they're friends sharing or enemies using them against you. Like the camera drones. He had never heard of it. If he had, he'd have set up alarms whenever a drone was flown anywhere in Snow Valley. Only he hadn't heard about it. He hadn't!
"Snap out of it!" The slap on his back made him aware he was charging the tree and Remy quickly breathed in, got himself back in control. "Ya need a cool head, now more 'an ever."
He knew that. And he was cool-headed. He was.
"Let's just go over it from the top, ok?"
Remy nodded. Thirty minutes to go from the nursery to the Frost Pond, and ten more minutes to reach the staff door. They had been spotted by some of the children in the elementary school building, but no one had thought much of it because Milly had been flying the drone and the Twins were just enjoying the stroll. They had been seen shortly after the classes had started, at about 8.30, so they had been taken between 9 and 9.15.
"Go back a sec," Wolverine frowned. "Where did she get the drone? Was it hers?"
Remy nodded.
"Her broder, he sent it t' her as a birt'day present or somethin'. T'was 'bout a couple o'weeks, in…"
He didn't finish. Milly's brother hadn't sent it. It had been part of the ploy from the beginning.
"Did ya check?"
Remy shook his head.
"I was in Paris at de time, 'member? But she took it t' de head o' security and asked his permission ta fly it. She showed 'im her broder's text message." Remy shook his head. "Ross told me 'bout it when I came back. Milly and Anna even showed me de photos dey took o' de petites wid its camera."
If he had known about the damned drones…
"Ok," Logan cut in. "So did someone impersonate the girl's brother or could he be involved?"
Remy had a 'no, dat's not possible' on his lips but he stopped himself. He'd played the fool long enough.
"Ronnie, dat's Milly's broder; Ronnie, he lives in Rochester near his family. He's six years older 'an Milly and he used ta work in Syracuse but den got a better offer in Rochester 'bout… hmm… I think t'was in February, so 'bout six, seven months ago. His finances are good and he ain't ever been in any mess. Deir parents ain't got no money problems eider."
Logan nodded.
"Let's say someone impersonated 'im…"
But Remy's mind was getting ahead of the conversation.
"Milly visited her parents last weekend," he said. His stomach grew cold as he recognised the obvious signs. "When she got back, she wasn't well. She was takin' dese pills she'd gotten from a doc back in Rochester an' she got real spooked 'bout the extra security checks. Asked if it meant de petites had ta stay inside all day. Said dey needed ta get some sun an' fresh air ev'ry mornin'."
"They used her family ta force her," Wolverine said.
Yes, it was obvious, now that he was finally thinking it through.
"We need ta contact 'em," it suddenly occurred to him. "If dey was bein' used…"
Whoever had needed them as leverage didn't need them anymore and would vanish, doing their best to erase every sign of their presence. He needed to get to the Brewsters' home and look for those signs. Signs which would help him discover their identities so he could hunt them down.
"Creed!"
Remy stopped for a moment to look back. Creed had just gotten up from a swing and was switching off his phone.
"Fergot ta warn 'em we wasn't gonna be at the Institute fer lunch," the man told Logan.
Hate grumbled hotly inside Remy's chest for a moment, but then he turned his back on the playground and hurried towards the Security Building. All of his secret files on staff and staff's family were there, in his office. He needed to contact Emily Brewster's family right now – mother, father and brother. The three of them. Whoever had coerced Milly, could have used the three or just one of them. The question was whether they had contacted them or whether they'd just told Milly her family would die. He hoped it was the former. If the kidnappers had actual attacked, held her family prisioner, they might have left something behind they could use to track them. For as long as they hadn't burnt wherever they'd been to the ground.
As he hurried through the security hall, on the ground floor, Ross called out to him, saying the AMBER alert had been issued a couple of hours ago. Remy stopped for a moment, his heart hoping for good news as his head scoffed: the police had been called 60 to 45 minutes after the kidnapping, about the same time as the FBI. But, again, the kidnapping had happened between 9 and 9.15. That time frame was etched into his brain. If the AMBER alert had been issued at about midday, it amounted to almost three hours of driving: the kidnappers could be almost anywhere!
Besides, toddlers look alike. The men only had to separate the children and go in different directions and who was the public going to spot? If at least there was a vehicle description people could promptly recognise… but no, obviously not. A professional would prepare everything for the children to be with a set of 'loving parents' acting as normal as possible. Cute baby hats would hide the children's conspicuous auburn hair and no one would ever think they were face to face with kidnapped babies.
"There have been a few phone calls with sightings," Ross told him. "But…"
The man shook his head and Remy turned his back on him. The AMBER alert would not help anyone this time. Not with professionals.
"The airports in Massachusetts and the surrounding states have all been warned," the man called out as Remy headed for his office. "Everyone with young children will be stopped and…"
He closed the door of his office. Any professional worth their pay would have bought tickets in advance and gotten documents. Hate sizzled through his veins as he went over a perfect abduction as performed by himself: locate two families with children that fit the description, swap their documents for good forgeries just shortly before the kidnapping, then use the real papers to get on two previously-booked flights to different, far-off locations. Drive somewhere farther away. Hand over the children and get the pay. Better than that, only if the people transporting the children were shapeshifters or had image inducers.
Remy checked the phone numbers of the entire Brewster family, including Milly's uncle in Syracuse and her brother's ex-girlfriend.
If anyone could get her hands on image-inducers, it was Mystique. His petites could be made to look older, younger, Asiatic, black… Who would ever recognise them? Not even their mamma!
No one answered at Milly's parents' so he tried their cell phones.
There was only one way. Identify the kidnappers and find out where they were supposed to hand in the children to Mystique.
Nothing. Milly's brother…
Time was of the essence, obviously. Once Mystique received the children, she wouldn't wait around. She'd move on.
Damnit! Remy tried Ronnie's work and someone said he had taken a week off to go on vacation. It had been a bit sudden but Ronnie rarely requested vacation days in advance, so it wasn't that weird.
Nevertheless, he rang up the guy's ex; got nothing for his trouble.
There was a weak point in Mystique's plan, though. Even if she used image inducers on the children, she'd still be a single mom with two children of the same age. That would be easier to spot than two pairs of professionals travelling with a single child each.
The uncle hadn't heard from his brother and sister-in-law for a month, but they didn't call each other every hour of the day. Remy didn't bother to thank before switching off.
The Brewsters were either sequestered or dead. But for as long as the place where they were kept was not fully destroyed, Remy would find a way to identify the kidnappers.
He left his office and headed outside. He briefly noticed that Creed was pissed at something, the words "…ain't got nuthin' t'do, I'll call her ev'ry time…" reached him but didn't really carry meaning to him.
And even if there were no clues left behind (though there would be – he'd find them), Remy was already going through all of his old contacts. Someone would help him track down those people, one way or the other.
He was almost at the staff's dorm when he saw Anna open the door. Her face was hard and composed. Good. She could work as a liaison between him and the FBI, so the feds wouldn't have to know exactly where he was, who with or doing exactly what.
The thing to keep in mind was that time was of the essence. If he left for Rochester now, he'd be there in about four hours, give or take twenty minutes. And then, he'd still have to head south to get in touch with his contacts. He needed a jet. Anna could…
"We need ta talk, Gambit."
His body came to a halt at that last word, but his mind had started refocussing itself the moment he'd heard Anna's freezing tone.
"Cher…"
"Inside." And he could see her eyes were dry, flashing with a level of anger that was not her usual. "Now. And you two!"
Gambit turned to look back. Logan was cocking an eyebrow in reaction to Anna's behaviour while Creed kept that stupid guarded expression, as if he was trying not to irritate his arch-enemies.
"Go get the car," Anna told them. "An' be ready ta leave ta New York the moment I tell ya."
She turned to him, but Remy had gotten his bearings back.
"We ain't got no time fer…"
"Damn right we ain't got no time," she cut off, poison dripping more thickly with each word. "An' why's that, huh? Why? 'Cause you failed my babies. Ya were supposed ta keep 'em safe, LeBeau, and ya messed up. Again. You caused this, ya worthless thief. And Ah'm gonna fix it."
She had blamed him before, right when they'd discovered the children gone. She had accused him of neglect and recklessness. Of not caring about his own children. He had held her through the acusations, while she cried her heart out in despair.
This was completely different, though.
As Anna turned to follow Wolverine and Creed, Remy grabbed her by the arm.
"Dere's no time fer dis stupid blamin' game, Anna!"
"Don't ya touch me!"
She escaped his grip easily, especially as he hadn't held on hard. For a moment, he thought she wanted to hurt him. Physically. To pound her frustration on him till either he was dead or the petites reappeared magically, whichever happened first.
"We need ta focus," he insisted. "We need ta get de jet an'…"
"Go after Milly?" Anna interrupted again. "Knock yerself out. Cyclops is gonna give Sofía the jet so she can fly aroun lookin' fer Milly an' make all the nice lil' timelines o' the events she feels like. Ah'm sure the two of ya are gonna get along just fine. She should be here by 4.30. In the meantime, Ah'm gonna fix this mess an' get mah babies back."
Remy was stunned. There were no words worth saying, he knew that. He also knew she'd repent the uncalled for harshness later on. She was hurt, powerless; she needed to vent. But it still stung.
He watched her walk away. What did she think she was going to do? Because there was nothing anyone could do till they knew where Mystique was waiting to receive the children, or where she had planned to take them to. Could Anna have a way to contact Mystique? No, she'd have said so if she did. But perhaps she thought she knew a way to find her and, obviously, didn't trust Remy to rescue their children. And what else was new? Since when had Anna ever trusted him to take care of the petites? Hell, she had never even admitted out loud he was good at bottle-feeding, diaper-changing or even just rocking them to sleep! Everyone else had both mocked and congratulated him over his ease handling the babies, but Anna? No, all he was ever good at was either goofing or not being around long enough. Well, someone had a job to do and it wasn't within 100 yards of the nursery.
"Merde!"
He took a deep breath and slowly released it. So Sofía was on her way with a jet, was she? Good. If he left now, he'd get to Rochester at half past six or later, if he got traffic. But if Sofía got there at 4.30… even if she was late and only arrived at 5! They could be in Rochester in ten or fifteen minutes with the jet. Then back again and perhaps he could get a lift to New Orleans.
That sounded like a good plan.
Two hours to wait, uh? He better start making contacts then. He'd start with his cousin Emil, then he'd phone Madame Camille. With any luck, he wouldn't even need to stop by the Big Easy.
Remy looked at the path Anna had stomped down.
She'd calm down.
And if she didn't, he'd still save their children while she burnt herself in powerless fury. What did she think she could accomplish, turning her back on his contacts and Sofía's means? What? Did she think the X-Men and the X-Ops would be able to find Mystique back in Paris? That was ridiculous! The woman knew all too well how to cover her tracks. No, the only place she might have left clues behind were places where she believed no one would come looking. Hidden places no one imagined she had been using.
Yes, he would need to find out all the places the shapeshifter had ever used as quiet hiding holes. If all else failed, that would be the way to go.
But first, phone calls.
Sitting in the car with nothing to do but looking out the window, Rogue felt the urge to cry her heart out. Again.
The icy determination that had made her contact Sofía and tell Gambit exactly how she felt about him seemed to have melted in the monotonous inaction of the car and she… she didn't know anymore. She would get her babies back, that she was indeed certain of; but the rest... Hate can make you say and do crazy things, but would she make it happen?
She would. Yes, she'd… if Mystique didn't hand her babies back the moment she was found, Rogue would… God, she wanted to either way. And the tears kept insisting in resurfacing! They made her weak, the tears and the crying. Made her doubt she could face Mystique the way she wanted to in those burning moments of hate. And now, she was almost willing to let her fostermother walk away for as long as she returned her babies safely.
It wouldn't do, this indecision. She blamed it on the journey. It was this inactivity that made her resolve waiver and made her feel as helpless as she'd been in the last couple of years. She ached to do something productive and neither watching cars being overcome nor overcoming them was it.
"Can't ya drive any faster?"
Once more, Logan didn't answer and Rogue took a fierce deep breath. This was going to be a hell of a long trip.
The buzzing of the cars was grating against her raw pain and the click-clicking from the back seat threatened to make her mood even more erratic. For once, Logan noticed her state of mind and barked at Creed, telling him to cut it out. And what was he doing anyway? Playing solitary on his cell phone?
"Up yers, boy! You all messed up an' now ya don't want me ta fix the problem you kicked up? In yer dreams!"
From Logan's reaction, Creed wasn't in the habit of having such outbursts and Rogue was momentarily distracted by slight curiosity. What was the man talking about? What had he even been doing, after all? Whatever it had been, Rogue could tell he was now phon…
"Hey, Lil' Devil. How was lunch?"
His daughter, it must be. For some reason, Rogue had pictured her as a three-year-old and now realised she must be older.
"Uh-huh… No, Pappa ain't bringin' ya a bike. No."
"How old is she," she whispered to Logan, who grunted a five.
"Fer starters, I can't buy no bike in the middle o' the highway, can I?"
One thing was for sure, she was much better prepared than Creed. Her lil' babies already had their own tricycles and bicycles in the play room, just waiting for them to reach the right age and start pedalling away.
"What d'ya care if Zelig goes cycling with his school friends tomorrow. They ain't your friends. So what does it matter? Ya'll have yer own bike soon enough an' then ya can cycle wherever ya wants with your own friends, not the boy's."
A sudden dark mood made her frown. But perhaps locators were more important than bikes.
"Pappa still can't buy ya no bike in the middle o' the high-way. Mamma will…"
She couldn't imagine anyone succeeding in taking the man's little girl the way her babies had been taken.
"That's enough, Victoria!"
Pretty name. So very predictable. But who was she to sneer? Wasn't her baby girl named after her mommie too?
"Ya want a bike? Then yer mamma can get ya one an' that's the end of it. Pappa's gonna switch off now. And I don't wanna hear a word 'bout no tantrum when I gets back, are we clear? Good. See ya."
Rogue smiled suddenly, blinking at the traitorous wetness in her eyes. Her babies didn't throw tantrums. Their dispositions were too sweet for that.
"An' that is what happens when ya try ta steal someone's kid!"
What? Rogue twisted in the seat in order to look straight at the man in the back.
"What did ya just say?"
"Oh ya don't know, do ya? 'Em X-Angels tried ta get my lil' girl away from me. Wanted us ta stop playin', stop eatin' together, stop ev'erythin'. Thought I was gonna go berserk an' kill her."
He scoffed, glaring sideways at Logan, and Rogue didn't know what to think.
"You understand." She blinked, not understanding what he meant. "LeBeau, he was like the rest, he didn't understand. But you… you know that the bond 'tween a parent and a child is sacred. You would'ave believed me the moment ya heard me say I was ready ta become an X-Man fer the safety o' my Lil' Devil. 'Cause ya do ev'rythin' fer yer babies. Ev'rythin' and anythin'. They don't know what that is, but you know."
She saw him back at the playground. "I don't take ya as the type o' mother who'd let her have a second opportunity." The psychopath (because she mustn't forget that was what he was) held her gaze steadily, intensely.
"Anythin'," he mouthed in silence.
That was how he knew what she had been thinking. Because you do anything…
The man gave a sudden start and leaned forward.
"Wait, ya're a teacher, right? Ya're the one who can help me!"
Rogue felt a slight vertigo. The man's 'anything' was still resounding in her head, as well as her wish, the one he'd guessed, and the sudden change in his tone and stance didn't help. She could almost see herself in front of Mystique.
"Ya see, when they tried ta separate me from my baby girl, they ended up doin' the opposite. They got her 'gainst her Mamma."
Rogue frowned and shook her head, trying not to feel her once-upon-a-time fostermother's neck in her hands.
"Her Mamma ain't American; she's Portuguese. Obviously, Lilia can speak Portuguese too. Only now she refuses to 'cause I don't really speak the language. The stupidest thing ever!"
Rogue felt lost.
"Who's Lilia?"
"My baby girl, who else? Ain't ya been listenin' t' me?"
"Ah thought her name was Victoria."
The man smiled. A sideways, slightly twisted, heavily proud smile.
"Lilia Victoria," he almost purred. "She was born in Portugal, ya see, an' they have two first names plus a ton o' last names. Lilia Victoria de Fatima Creed-Kredall. That's her full name. Real unique, ain't it?"
Rogue forced a yeah and sat up straight. She got the impression she was about to get car-sick.
"Anyway, I know the basics o' Portuguese, an' since Isabel (that's her Mamma), since Isabel has already taught her the letters an' stuff, 'cause she's supposed ta start school next year; anyway, I been textin' Lilia in Portuguese an' then her Mamma helps her ta read it and spells her Portuguese answers so she can text me."
Damn, why was the car so stuffy?
"We got these word games an' what not, but Lilia is still throwing dumb tantrums every other day when her Mamma's around."
"Maybe she needs therapy," Rogue said.
The man was silent at that and Rogue rolled down the window. She needed some air. Closing her eyes, she could see herself flying. God, she hadn't flown – free like a bird and the wind itself – in over two years!
"Yeah, maybe. But it sure as hell ain't with Frost! And if I were you, I wouldn't let her near yer twins either. She had ta look after Lilia one mornin' an' nearly smacked her 'cause of a lil' tantrum. Pryde ain't got no trouble gettin' her ta behave; Frost is all mind wipes an' threats o' hurtin' her."
Rogue turned back, actually shocked.
"Are ya serious?"
"Damn right, I am!"
Rogue knew Frost wasn't the motherly type. Not in a long shot! But to…
"So, what d'ya say? Ya gonna help me cook up some kid games an' stuff ta help her learn Portuguese an' get along with her Mamma or what? 'Cause I sure as hell can't count on their lot," and he waved dismissively towards Logan. "You're a Mamma, too. I know I can trust you. I know ya'll do what's right. What has ta be done. You an' me, we can fix the problem. What d'ya say?"
The glint in the man's eye told her he wasn't really talking about the games anymore. He was talking about Mystique.
A wave of nausea had her sit straight again.
She could see herself doing it in a moment of passion. Killing her. In the heat of the battle, for example. When her hate overwhelmed her. She could see it happening so clearly. But, despite her burning anger, she was now fully aware that, if she did kill Mystique (and just to put it in words, that clearly, felt dangerous); if she did kill Mystique, it would be after days, maybe a couple of weeks (God, it couldn't be longer than that!). If she did kill Mystique, it was likely to be in cold blood. Because she'd have enough time to plan it. To predict what she'd do and how to counteract it.
And it was different, wasn't it? To kill in the heat of the moment, or to kill in cold-blood.
Rogue had been a criminal once, a life time ago. She hadn't cared about anyone else, but herself and her family of misfits. She hadn't cared if she killed.
A life time ago.
Would she go back to being that old Rogue if she did this? In cold blood, she meant.
Maybe Mystique would fight back. Maybe Mystique would try to kill someone herself and Rogue would be able to kill her in self-defense. In the heat of the battle. More like a hero than a criminal. Killed almost as if by accident. She could make it look like an accident.
"You an' me."
Rogue breathed in. He was under the X-Men's control. She remembered Gambit saying something about bracelets. He wouldn't hesitate to kill Mystique in order to keep his daughter safe, obviously, because he was and would always be a psychopath who enjoyed murdering. He didn't need excuses to kill… except that they kept him in check so he wouldn't be able to kill, not even to protect his baby. On the other hand, he had become a hero for his daughter. He had gone against his own nature, then.
"You're a Mamma, too."
Yes, she was. Just like he was a daddy.
"I know I can trust you."
Because, unlike everyone else, she knew (just like he knew) that you do anything to protect your babies. Even going against one's nature.
Her hands were cold. Rogue looked down at them. No. She wouldn't strangle Mystique to death. She wouldn't beat her to death. She wouldn't crush her to death.
She wouldn't even say a single word. No 'how could you's and no 'why's. She would simply…
…simply…
…
Kill her. Fast and clean. Not that the heartless creature deserved an easy death but simply because she didn't deserve the attention.
"How old did ya say yer girl is?"
She could almost sense the joy (did psychos feel joy?) emanating from Creed.
"Five. Five an' a half. An' real smart too!"
She'd have to talk to him privately though. She was certain the man had an idea – a much clearer idea, probably – about how to do it. Permanently. Because Rogue knew full well Mystique's powers made her as hard to kill as Logan himself. With a bit of luck, Creed would know how to do it permamently, no risk of returning from the dead. He was the expert, after all. They'd do it together.
She was the only person he could trust, was she? Wasn't it curious he was about to become the only person she could trust to make this happen? Because no one could as much as dream what she was going to do, could they? They might understand her, but they'd still stop her, and the danger to her children would never disappear.
"Tell me 'bout these games ya play."
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