Hello, all! Chapter 25 here for you… Just got back from a lovely 2-week vacation wherein, amongst other things, I hiked the Grand Canyon, waded a desert stream scented of sage, walked approximately ten miles up and down San Francisco's hills, and partied in Pure.
MUCH fun. Also very expensive, so I'm going to hide at home and write and not-spend-money for a while, so here are your chances to send me any little one-off stories you'd like to see, or commentaries on this one, or suggestions/encouragement for the future projects mentioned in my profile.

Glad to be back, though!

Enjoy. –Alara

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Xanadu

by Alara

Chapter 25: "Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!"

Belladonna Bordreaux was one tough woman; she'd personally killed three people already in her line of work, yet even she was disgusted by the depravity exhibited by the guy in the pseudo-military uniform. At one point in the man's narrative, Rose had begun to silently shake, her eyes fixed on Remy and her hands clenched into helpless fists. Her reaction didn't surprise 'Donna, assuming that even a tenth of what the guy was saying was true. Grimly, she reviewed her options for getting Remy out more-or-less alive; she knew she could take the gunman or Trask, but probably not both at once without risking Remy or Rose.

She was surprised, then, when Rose touched her lightly on the arm, leaned in close, and whispered, "Got a mirror?"

She did, and got it out without taking her sight from Rose: She'd been shaking not with terror, but with rage that blanketed her like a cloak. Cautiously, she edged out of the way as Rose flashed what were unmistakably coded messages down the alley, to Mercy and Joe, she supposed. The Assassins' Guild used sign language; apparently the Thieves' Guild had solved the 'close line-of-sight' issue of silent communication using mirrors.

Rose leaned close to her again and whispered, "Be ready to take out the gunman." 'Donna nodded, and tensed herself to spring for his trigger hand. Rose's attention went back to Remy, and she didn't take her eyes off of him for the rest of Trask's monologue. When he got the corkscrew out, though, she tensed, and flashed the mirror again.

A scream rang out, then a shot.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Remy thought he was going to piss himself, watching the corkscrew come closer and closer. He tensed all over, all of his vision centered on that tiny metal tip. He blinked, and his lashes brushed the metal.

At that second, a scream shivered down the alleyway. For a split second only, Trask's head snapped up. The gunman's attention wavered, and he reflexively pulled the trigger.

The Prince of Thieves only needed a split second; desperately he rolled away from the deadly pair, and was peripherally aware of two forms rushing past him, one blonde, the other auburn. He spared a glance for them as two of the Guilds' bodyguards and Mercy came running down the alleyway. Donna took out the gunman in one easy movement and was drawing a bead on his head with the gun, only to curse in frustration when it jammed. She viciously kicked him in the head instead, and if he wasn't dead, when he woke up he sure would wish he were. Rose had Trask backing slowly away from her, his Swiss Army knife in one hand, the pale fingers of the other hand reaching for his skin inexorably.

"Remy," Mercy said urgently, bringing his attention to her as he painfully climbed to his feet. "We need a new exit; de cops are about to come pouring down this alleyway any minute."

"Glad to 'blige, chere," Remy said, and proceeded to charge the tall wooden fence that bound the end of the alleyway. "Y' might wanna duck." He advised her and the rest dryly, and everyone except Trask hit the deck, barely in time. Trask was struck squarely in the head by a flying piece of fence, and he dropped like a felled tree to the ground. Rose wasted no time in slapping her bare hand against his face for a few seconds, her face tense with concentration. She shuddered once, then stood, moving swiftly toward the 'doorway' with the others as concerned pedestrians cautiously entered at the opposite end of the long alley. She glared at his unconscious form, then glanced at 'Donna, asking mutely. The blonde shook her head regretfully.

"Don' have my tools wit' me, an' dose ot'ers are too close, anyway," she said, jerking her head at the figures, some of whom had seen them and were pointing in their direction. "We'll have to leave your Thieves here, Remy," she added. "De cop's would be suspicious if everyone but dese two vanishes." Remy frowned, but nodded, prodded by Joe as indecipherable shouts echoed from the walls. The onlookers were rapidly approaching. The group shoved through the hole in the fence quickly, hoping no-one had gotten a good look at their faces.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

In New York, Charles Xavier hurried (as much as he was able) to his office, mentally calling the team to him as he did so. Such was the urgency in his mind-voice that several of them arrived before them. They peppered him with questions; once all were assembled, he cut them off with a jerk of his hand. "I've seen him," he said into the sudden quiet. "The mutant who was being kept with Rogue at the lab; I saw him while using Cerebro, just now. He's in Chicago. I think, however, he could use some help. I received an impression of danger, pain, and some sort of explosion—"

"I'll go get the Blackbird ready," Logan cut in. "Chicago's only twenty-five minutes away at top speed. Don't even ask, Chuck. If it means we can find out what happened to Rogue in that maniac's lab, we're going."

As he vanished out the door, the others nodded their agreement. "Very well," Xavier said. "We leave in ten minutes."

There hadn't been such complete focused pandemonium about a mission in months; Scott took a second to murmur to Jean, "We've got to learn something, Jeannie. We can't find this guy, who was with her in her last days, and learn nothing. I feel like—like Rogue's not finished yet, or maybe the story of her life isn't finished…"

"I know," Jean interrupted him. "But remember what Dr. Banks has been telling us all in therapy. No matter how much we learn about what happened to her, none of it will bring her back. You need to keep reminding yourself that she's gone, and no matter what we learn, or don't learn, nothing will change that. Okay?"

He smiled at her, sighed, and gave her a hug. "Yeah. Thanks for reminding me." His face was gentle as he brushed his lips against her forehead. "You help me keep things in perspective. C'mon, we don't want to be left behind."

Two minutes later, the denizens of Bayside glanced overhead as a sonic boom cracked the air.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Once on the other side of the fence, they all glanced at Remy, who was looking strained. Rose said, "Remy, I know half of us aren't Thieves, but we need to get to one of the Guild's bolt-holes or safe houses or whateveryou-call-'ems… The police will be surrounding the area any minute, and with your face looking like it does, we can't afford to be stopped."

Remy nodded once, sharply, thought a moment, then said shortly, his lips tight with pain, "It's dis way. Quick."

They dodged through more alleyways, following him, though Rose did her best to stay immediately beside him. She wanted nothing more than to put her arms around him, and reassure herself that he was truly not in Trask's hands, and this wasn't all some hallucination. I wonder if Trask broke a bone in his face, she thought worriedly. He's in a lot more pain than some bruises would account for. Maybe a broken rib..? They paused before yet another alleyway's mouth, this one leading to what looked like townhouses. "It's number eight," Remy said, gesturing ahead of them at one of the two-story buildings. "Soon's we make de porch, we're safe. Let's go." He sounded utterly exhausted, and staggered a bit shoving off of the wall he'd been leaning against.

As soon as they made it into the house, and the door safely locked behind them, the others collapsed on various pieces of furniture.

Rose caught his sleeve roughly, turning his greyishly pale face to her as she steered him towards a couch. "Hey," she said softly, knowing he wouldn't want the others to hear what she was going to ask him. "Do we need to get you to an emergency room? I think he must've broken some bones or something; even I can tell you're in a lot of pain."

"You would," he said absently. Then, "Can't trust de 'mergency rooms 'round here if they're in town," he replied, and reeled unsteadily again. She put her hands up to his tall shoulders to catch and steady him, and was startled when her left hand came away wet.

"Remy," she gasped in horror, pulling his duster away from his body. Blood stained his once-nice shirt from a clean, round bullet hole just underneath his collarbone.

He smiled gracelessly at her expression. "Wasn't anyt'ing y' could've done 'bout it, chere, and wasn't anyt'in' could be done 'til we were safe. So, let's g—" Was as far as he got 'til his eyes rolled into the back of his head and she was left catching 6-foot-plus of bleeding Cajun, easing him to the couch while shouting for the others.

They'd leapt to their feet at her sudden yell. Joe took a look at the wound and sat back, grim-faced. "It's not a bad wound, but it needs stitches." He said. "I'll go for a doctor on the Guild's payroll; you three stay here and make sure he doesn't move around too much."

'Donna emerged from the kitchen, holding a first-aid kit. "Well, we can at least get him bandaged up some while you're gone." Joe nodded his agreement, grabbed his cell phone, and vanished out the door. 'Donna turned to Rose. "Ever packed a gunshot wound before?" She asked her. She shook her head. "Well, you're 'bout t' learn. Fo' now, hold Remy upright and still. He'll probably wake up some when we clean it. Mercy, you've done dis befo'. You can help. Ed, watch the door—we don't need nosy neighbors wonderin' who's yellin' in dis here 'empty' house."

"Right." Ed nodded—he seemed to be, Rose noticed, a man of few words—and took up a post beside the door.

"Okay." 'Donna looked down at Remy. Rose looked at her, perfectly content to follow her obviously-experienced orders. "Okay," she said again. "First t'ings first. Rose, you keep his arms down and still; any shoulder movement befo' he gets stitches in, an' he'll just bleed worse."

Rose looked at the man lolling unconscious against her shoulder, and considered. A memory surfaced. Ah. The immobilization technique Logan taught us… That should work, sorta, if I change it like… She carefully shifted and shrugged them both around 'til he was leaning more fully against her, and she could get her arms around him. She locked her arms together around his waist, pinning his arms beneath hers. Mercy eyed her setup, and nodded her approval. "Dat should work. Here, sit up a little straighter, we'll need to get at that shoulder better."

As the two girls moved Remy, he stirred, and cursed, frowning. "Damnit. Why can't I… oh, hello, chere." He smiled, his eyes inches from Rose's. She reflexively smiled back. "Well. 'f I'd known all it'd take fo' you to wrap yo' arms 'round me was gettin' shot, I'd've pissed Julien or someone off weeks ago." 'Donna returned, gave him a darkly amused look, and with no warning tore his shirt at the shoulder, the fabric pulling at his skin as it stuck to the dried blood. He hissed. "Ow. Damn, Bella, dat hurt."

"Yeah, well, dis will, too." She replied, as she poured antiseptic over his shoulder. He stiffened in pain, and Rose tightened her grip reflexively. He shuddered slightly, and settled back against her.

"Don't relax yet," Mercy advised him. "This is going to hurt, too." She pressed a heated wet cloth against the wound, and Rose heard him suck in his breath and hold it against the pain. When he turned his face to her again, his eyes were more glassy than before.

"Why you femmes bein' so mean to ol' Remy?" He asked plaintively. "What've I done to you?"

"It's not what you've done to us," 'Donna replied, as Mercy lifted the pad, folded it, and pressed again. "It's what you've been doin' to our friend, there, who just saved yo' undeservin' ass."

"What? What've I been doin'?"

"You've been making her miserable, and didn't even have the guts to stick around and watch her be miserable," Mercy said acerbically. "Leaving her to a fool like Julien, really, Remy. No offense, 'Donna."
"Don't apologize. He is a fool. I've told him so. Here, move so I can pour some more cleanser."

"I've just been shot. Can't dis discussion wait 'til after Remy's not in intense pain?"

"No," both girls said immediately. 'Donna continued, "Even if you hadn't been shot, we'd have done something to put you in a similar state. Yo' can't move, an' you can't run. Work's been done for us, dis way. Saves me a bullet."

At that, Rose's eyebrows lifted. She was reassured by a wink from Mercy over Remy's head.

"Anyway," Mercy said, as she checked beneath the pad, and seemed dissatisfied with what she saw, "Now'd be a great time to talk with Rose. You're going to want something to distract you. We'll have to pack this wound full of gauze 'til the doctor gets here and stitches you up. You're not clotting as fast as I'd like."

"Damnit. This hurts!"

"It's gonna hurt worse in a minute," came the unsympathetic response from 'Donna, who was taking a lot of gauze out of the kit. "Talk t' her. Pretend we aren't even here. We won't talk about anyt'ing we hear, will we, Mercy?"

"What'd you say? I can't hear anything. I'm just packing this bullet hole."

"Ow—damnit—ow, fine, Remy'll talk, if it'll make you femmes stop hurting me."

"It won't, but at least you won't be paying attention to us."

Remy sighed, and turned his head to Rose, who'd been watching the exchange with some amusement. "So, chere." He drawled. "Has Remy been as bas as dey say?" He flinched and grunted as 'Donna and Mercy continued to work on his shoulder, but kept his eyes trained on hers.

An unhappy look crossed her face before she could hide it, and his own expression became more concerned. I sort of thought Belle and Mercy were joking, a little at least. I mean, I know I haven't talked with her in a while, but it hasn't been that bad… has it? I know she's attracted to Julien, I felt her emotions when she met him. What happened? Aloud, he said lightly, "Well? How bad has it really been?"

What she said was, perhaps, the last thing he expected, and the most devastating.

"I miss you, Remy." She said simply, quietly, and looked at him. "Haven't you missed me? Even a little?"

"O' course I missed you!" He exclaimed, shocked at the question. How can she ask me that? "But I t'ought you were spending time wit' Julien." He couldn't help the bitterness that laced his voice. "I know you're attracted to him, so don't deny it."

"So what?" Rose shot back. "He friggin' looks like a Greek statue brought to life; what girl wouldn't be attracted to him? But it doesn't mean I'm interested in him!"

"An' you've—y-you're not?" Remy stuttered, startled. "Den why're you spendin' so much time wit' him?"

"First, I was spending time with Belle, here, and Julien kept inviting himself along, or 'accidentally' showing up in the same places. Second, you weren't talking to me, and sometimes it's nice to have a male friend to talk to. Third, you weren't making it clear—to anyone, let alone me or Julien—what exactly our relationship is, or isn't. I really can't blame Julien for having hope when I seemed to be free for him to move in." She paused, then added angrily, "And you can't blame me for losing hope, when I suddenly seemed to be free for him to move in."

"Hope." He repeated. "Losing hope… Y' mean you don't want to be wit' me, anymore? I'll understand if you don't," he hurried, seeing her expression change. "I've been a—a—" he ran out of words. Fortunately, Belle and Mercy were still a foot away, working on his shoulder.

"A colossal jerk."

"An insensitive brute."

"A complete idiot."

"A total guy."

He turned his head to level a glare at them. "T'ought you femmes weren't listening to us. Ow!"

"Didn't hear a thing."

"Nope. Nothin'. Hand me that tape."

Remy turned back to Rose. "Chere, I wanted you to have a choice. I thought you weren't given any ot'er options, with all dat happened to us."

She sighed then. "Oh, Remy…" She shook her head. "Don't you realize that if I'd wanted to, at any time I could have just called Professor X and returned to the X-men? Or gone back to Irene, in Mississippi. I had choices, and I made them the way I wanted to make them.

"And 'all that happened to us' is exactly the point. You're literally the only person who can fully, completely understand the events that shaped me becoming who I am now, and who I'm going to be in the future. You've been there too." She paused, and brushed one of her hands over his as he stiffened in sudden pain; Mercy and 'Donna were still working.

She continued, "And then there's this… bond. We're connected, you and I, by what, I don't know. Our powers… our experiences… something else altogether that would've linked us even if we'd met in a grocery store somewhere…" She shrugged. "I don't know what it is, but I know it's there. And you can't tell me you don't feel it, too; it helped me find you today, and I know the exact second you realized I was nearby, because I felt you sense me."

"I'm not denying it. I absolutely know what you're talking about." He admitted, the beginnings of a surprised joy spreading through him. "But I t'ought using it to 'prove' we should be together would, again, leave you wit' no choice, or feelin' like you had to be wit' me, or…"

She gave him an exasperated look. "Remy. Be quiet. I know you heard what I just said."

"But—"

She leaned down to him, and kissed him.

When she lifted her head a moment later, his eyes were still glassy with pain but he was smiling. "Does dis mean—"

She made a sound of exasperation. "Remy. Okay. Let me spell this out for you. This, right now, is me, choosing you, as my… boyfriend, or significant other, or however you want to put it. Okay? Are you noticing this happening? 'Cos I'm not saying this again."

He laughed then, even though it hurt his shoulder, and stretched his neck up as far as he could (she still held his arms down) to kiss her back, earnestly. Vaguely he wished she'd let go of his arms so he could get them around her—and never let go. It crossed his mind, hazily, that he meant it deeply, in every way.

"So," she said a moment later, "I guess you did miss me."

His expression turned serious. "I missed you like I'd miss de sun if it went out, chere. I wanted to tell you how I felt every time I saw you, but I t'ought it'd put pressure on you to agree, even if you didn't. So I just… couldn't see you."

She fixed him with a severe look. "Remy LeBeau, get this straight right now: I've got my own mind. It happens to agree with yours a lot of the time, which sometimes is sorta scary, but rest assured, if I don't agree with you on something, I will let you know. If I'm feeling pressured into something, I'll let you know."

"Well," he said. "Dis last month or so has been miserable wit'out you. I won't do that again."

The door opened suddenly, and they all jumped, but relaxed when they realized it was Joe coming back. "Thank God," Joe said, overhearing this last as he entered, a man in a suit in tow. "You've been miserable to be around, Remy. You yelled at him, Rose?" She nodded. The bodyguard smiled. "Good. I knew I liked you. Has le diable's shoulder quit bleeding yet? Here's the doctor, to put some stitches in…"

A while later, the doctor sat back, satisfied, rolling his sleeves down over the discreet Guild tattoo in the crook of his arm. "Well, that'll hold you 'til you get back to N'Orleans, at least," he said to Remy, and turned to the waiting Mercy, Belle, and bodyguards. "I'd recommend you make that trip quickly, though," he added. "I don't have the supplies handy here to do a permanent job on that shoulder, and if he wants to have full range of motion in the joint, it'll take some careful work to keep the scar tissue supple. I'm telling all of you this because I've worked on our prince there before, and he doesn't listen when his doctors tell him things. And he should do some careful exercising, too. –What's so funny?" He interrupted himself, as Mercy suddenly hid a laugh behind her hand.

"Does that count as 'careful exercising'?" She asked. "I don't think he's moving the arm… too much."

The doctor glanced over his shoulder and turned beet-red, whether with annoyance or embarrassment, none of them could say: As soon as the doctor had turned away, Remy had pulled Rose around to sit beside him, wrapped his arms around her slim waist, and was currently occupied by exploring her lips with his. He tried to lift his arms to her shoulders, but stopped halfway, a flicker of pain crossing his face. When he persisted, however, she gripped his injured arm, forced it down and held it still, pulled back long enough to order, "Behave, or I'll stop kissing you," and moved back into the kiss.

The doctor turned back to the foursome, and said drolly, "Oh. Never mind what I was saying about Remy not listening. I'll just tell her what I want him to do. Obviously, she knows how to keep him in line. Which, knowing Remy, is amazing. Where did he find her?"

A soft expression crossed Mercy's face as she glanced back at the pair. "I think," she said thoughtfully, "they found each other, finally." She shook herself to attention, smiled, and shook his hand. "Thank you for your time, Doctor," and she showed him to the door, glancing cautiously around the street, frowning slightly, before closing the door behind him.

She looked at the others. "So, what now?"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Are you, like, sure this is the place, Professor?" Kitty asked doubtfully, as the team crept up on a nondescript, small-town like street wedged amongst the city's skyscrapers. "I mean, it looks like people have been living in these houses for generations; how would that mutant guy have been—captured—and then causing riots in Ohio, if he comes from some place like this?"

"'Stranger things,' Kitty." The professor replied evenly. "In any event, no, I am not certain that this is the specific place where the mutant is; however, he is close by, so a search of the neighborhood should prove illuminating. Let's split up and ask the neighbors if they've seen someone matching his description—a tall young man, early twenties, brown or red-brown hair, and, most particularly, red-on-black eyes, though he may be wearing contacts to hide them."

"You'll be going in pairs, and any sign of trouble, you call the rest of us, you hear?" Wolverine added. The others nodded, paired off as ordered, and split up to start knocking on doors. Kurt, however, stopped halfway across the street, at the top of a steep hill, staring down opposite the direction they were heading. Kitty tugged at his arm. "Like, come on, Kurt!"

"Uh… Kitty?" he said slowly, not moving. "Do you see vhat I see?"
"What—oh. Oh!" She stopped too, then turned to him. "Uhm. Who are those guys?"

A paramilitary group was slowly advancing on a house about ten buildings down the street. It was abundantly clear that each of the men was armed, and as the pair watched, stunned, one pulled from his belt the unmistakable shape of a grenade. Every man had on surplus-store fatigues, helmets, and gas masks. Kurt hit his communicator. "Professor? I think this mutant ve're looking for is going to need our help—soon!"

Quickly he explained what they'd seen, and Wolverine's snarl came back. "Stay put. We're on our way. Don't do anything 'til we get there"

"Like, no problem, Mr. Logan," Kitty replied shakily, as she and Kurt scuttled to the dubious cover of some bushes.

They peered through the azaleas and daffodils at the scene unfolding below. The camo'd men were slowly circling the house, a few of them crowding down the narrow passageways between the houses. One of them in front of the house sent hand signals to these unseen troops, and a moment later, a series of loud bangs echoed along the otherwise quiet street. Enormous clouds of smoke began to roil around the house, swiftly obscuring it from view.

"Smoke grenades," Wolverine snarled suddenly from above them; both teens jumped at his silent arrival. "Well, that'll make some things easier. Let's go rescue whoever's in that house."

The team assembled and began sprinting down the hill to where the men were slowly advancing on the house. One of the men yelled through a bullhorn, "Mutants! Come out peaceably or we'll demolish the house with your traitor human friends in it! You have two minutes!"

Cyclops began issuing orders as they hurried down the hill. "Shadowcat, you run through and short out any communications devices they have. Nightcrawler, see if you can't surprise some of them into releasing their guns. Spyke, you follow behind him and if they do drop their weapons, or otherwise leave them vulnerable, spike 'em if you can. Jean, Logan, and I will be on offensive. I'll break away when I get a chance and evacuate the house. Okay, team?" He received nods all around.

The same man raised the bullhorn again and shouted, "One minute left for you to come out, mutants!"
"How about the mutants already out here?" Scott shouted at him as they drew near, ready to fire his optic blasts. "Want to give us a try?"

With that, the battle was on, as the men turned, startled, to face the newcomers. With swift hand signals, the leader directed five of his men to attack the X-men, while the others continued their assault on the house. The sharp sound of a gunshot was audible over the din; a second later, a man approaching the front porch dropped to the ground, clutching his gory knee.

They've got humans in there! Scott realized, and absently blasted one of the men out of his way as he sprinted through the billowing smoke to the side of the house. He careened around the corner to see two men—not the attackers—standing outside an open window. One was standing guard, gun drawn and smoking, the other was helping a young man in a trench coat climb out of the window. The young man moved stiffly, and kept his head ducked so low he nearly lost the sunglasses he was wearing. A pair of feminine hands eased his way out the window; as soon as he was safely on the ground, the owner of the hands began to climb out as well. "Keep 'em busy, there, 'Donna!" he heard her shout to someone inside the house. Odd; her voice sounded… familiar, somehow…

One of what were too-obviously bodyguards noticed him and approached cautiously. Scott began talking before he could. "Hey, we're on your side, we're fighting these maniacs too, out front. I think we can help you get out of here."

"Why?"

"We're mutants," Scott admitted readily. "I know at least one person with you is, too. And it doesn't seem like those guys are too friendly. We help people who have other people after them. It's sorta…what we do."

The other man eyed him askance a moment, then said. "Wait here. Move, and I'll shoot you."

Scott glanced at the gun firmly held in the man's hand. At this range, even his optic blasts probably wouldn't be fast enough. "Not a problem," he agreed. "Where were you trying to go? I can try to clear a way."

"De only place to go is out the front of the alleyway," the young man in the trenchcoat called. "Dere's too many of dem in—" he broke off abruptly as he realized he wasn't answering his bodyguard, and got a look at Scott.

The bodyguard reached the trenchcoated man then, and leaned over to mutter in his ear. The other guard stood close by. Scott could feel the young man's gaze even through the dark sunglasses he wore. He muttered something back to the bodyguard, who shrugged and returned to Scott, a trifle less menacingly.

As he returned, the young man hissed something through the window, gripping the feminine calf stretching through the small frame. The owner of the calf froze for a moment, and retreated back into the building. Then the bodyguard reached Scott, and stood directly in his line of sight, cutting off his view of the window, whether on purpose or not, he couldn't tell. It was irritating… the voice he'd heard was somehow resonating with him…

Meanwhile, the other guard was rummaging through a satchel at his feet, standing upright with a grunt of satisfaction. "Found 'em," he said to the one in the trench, and tossed two spheres to him. He caught them deftly, and came over to where Scott and the bodyguard searched the chaos outside the alleyway for a path out.

"Joe here tells me you've offered t' help us get out," he said without preamble, a rich Cajun accent flavoring the words. "Let me tell you dis, homme: you do anyt'ing to harm any one of us, an' you won' live to regret it long." Somehow Scott believed it wasn't an idle threat. Still…

Scott stiffened indignantly. "Don't you know who we are? We're the X-Men. We help other mutants, like you." He added boldly, thinking the other didn't know Scott realized he was a mutant.

"We aren't all mutants," the other returned, glancing over his shoulder: a sweet-faced brunette young woman was now outside the window, incongruously holding a solid-looking handgun, and looking like she knew—and couldn't wait—to use it. Yet another person was emerging from the window; gunshots went off from inside, and they heard someone yell in pain from the front yard. "You all right, Rose?" the brunette yelled, pronouncing the name oddly.

Distantly they heard, "Fine, but if yo' come up wit' a solution to our—problem—Ah'd love t' hear it!" Another Cajun, though her accent was a bit different from that of the man speaking to him. Something in the timbre of her voice, though, was bothering Scott, and he couldn't wait to lay eyes on her.

"I'm on it, ma cherie," the man in front of him yelled to the as-yet-unseen woman inside. Behind them, another woman, this one a vibrant blonde, was clambering from the window, somehow doing so without dropping either of the guns she held.

"Look, it doesn't matter if you aren't all mutants," Scott said quickly. "We'd help you anyway. But we want to talk to you in particular."

"Why?"
"We think you knew one of our teammates—" he cut off as a barrage of gunfire echoed from the front of the house, and the one he was speaking to visibly paled.

"We don' have much time," he said to Scott. "But if de price for yo' help is going wit' all of your—teammates— to be questioned, we won't be needin' yo' help. We've had enough of being trapped," he said bitterly.

"No, no." Scott hastened to assure him, kicking himself for scaring off the other mutant. "We just would like to talk to you, after we all get away. But let's get away first."

The other's eyes flickered, then he nodded, and pressed one of the spherical objects into Scott's hand. "Smoke grenade," he told him. "I figure if we can get enough smoke cover, we can just run out. Trask's men won't shoot into smoke at targets dey can't see."

"So what can I do?"

"You can run out in front of dem an' set dis off to give us the cover we need. Dey don't know you on sight." The young man said dryly. "An' from what I saw, you can get us a path out."

Scott nodded his acceptance; as matters stood, it was the best plan. Before ducking out of the alleyway, he grabbed the young man's arm. "Please, let us talk to you after we get away."

His hand was shrugged off. "I'm not makin' any promises. I've got people to take care of."

"So do I," Scott replied, sorrow still tingeing his voice at the inevitable memory of the one he hadn't. "But we'll talk about that later," he said confidently. He glanced back along the alleyway again: it looked like the one who'd been shooting from inside was finally coming out. "And… I want to meet her, too. She's reminding me of—someone, but I don't know who." He said, nodding in the window's direction.

The man muttered something in another language—a curse, Scott thought—and gestured impatiently to the ongoing fight. "You going to go set our cover up, or should I?"

"I'm gone." Scott ducked back into the fray, grenade clenched in one hand, the other ready at his visor control. It was unlikely the whole group of six could escape the entire X-men team, especially when only one of the six was a mutant. They'd have to be vanishing artists to get away, the leader's non-promise notwithstanding. He glanced back at the people they were helping, hoping to get a glimpse at least of the one who sounded familiar, but the other mutant had set off a smoke grenade practically at his feet, obscuring everything. Scott took that as his signal, and set his own off, running back through the smoke to help protect the humans as they ran out into the firefight.

Curses sounded in the sudden fog as thick white smoke billowed from the grenades. Scott blundered his way toward the alley entrance and nearly leapt out of his skin when the two bodyguards suddenly thundered close by, bringing the blonde and brunette women with them. "Thanks," he heard, faintly, from the brunette, he thought, and they vanished behind a swirl.

He continued on, searching for the leader and the third girl, as they were really the ones he didn't want to lose track of, anyway. They barreled him down as they ran by, not seeing him in the smoke, and the worst that could possibly happen to Scott in a fight (albeit one with a smoke-induced ceasefire), happened. His visor came off when he struck the ground; he'd been turning his head to get a glance at the girl instead of protecting his head as he usually would be during a fall. A minor moment of panic enveloped him as he felt around—and it wasn't there. And they'd run by—

He almost opened his eyes and incinerated her when she tapped his ankle. Tapped it—with the visor! "Here. T'anks for de help." He reached out, fumbling in haste, to get it on, to get a look at her, but she'd handed it to him upside-down and it took a precious half-second to realize that. It was long enough.

"Come on, cherie." He heard, and clicked the visor into place in time to see the smoke swirling behind them as they vanished.

Damnit. They were vanishing artists.

Wolverine was not going to like this.

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