Title: Home from the Hill, Chapter 3
Author: Ramos
Rating: PG for language
Category: Adventure
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Marvel Comics, and no profit is made from their use.
After several hours Cyclops announced re-entry preparations, and Jean began to wake the passengers. Creed opened his eyes the moment she came into view, so she focused instead on Jubilee, stretched out just opposite. She smiled fondly at the sleeping form. Arms crossed and tucked under each other, huddled against the back of the two-person seat, Jubilee looked like a teenager again. The scar on her cheek was hidden as her head lolled against the lumpy pack being used as a pillow.
"Jubilee," she called softly, reaching down to the thin shoulder. Suddenly, a huge hand wrapped around Jean's own arm and yanked her away.
"Not a good idea, Red," rumbled Creed. His golden yellow eyes were slitted with amusement, and Jean fought the tremble of fear as he drew her back towards him. She could blast him into the bulkheads if he tried anything, but the man released her arm and reached out a toe to the feet hanging off the edge of the bench.
"Boss. Wake up." He nudged the sole of Jubilee's foot.
In a breathtaking instant, Jubilee was on her feet, a white-hot ball of plasma in her open palm, her body tense as a drawn bow. She blinked at Jean twice, then squelched the sizzling display with an audible pop. "Are we home?" she asked around a sudden yawn.
The hair trigger response robbed Jean of all coherent thought. The last time she'd seen Jubilee, the girl was recovering from a broken relationship with the help of hot fudge and ice cream. The woman in front of her had the reflexes of a combat soldier, and the starvation lean muscles in her arms and neck flexed and relaxed as she stretched sleepily. She focused on the older woman with affection and concern.
"Jean? You okay?"
Jean shook off her surprise. "I'm fine, Jubilee. We'll be landing soon. You need to get strapped in."
"Cool." Again Jubilee surprised her by giving the massive Creed a high- five slap. "Goin' home, Vic!"
The entire team was waiting when the Blackbird settled onto the concrete pad. Bobby was the first to sweep in and envelop his partner in crime in a massive hug, with Gambit right behind. Peppered questions and relief- filled laughter rang out in the hanger. Jubilee pulled herself away and gave a quick hug to Xavier before launching herself at the short man who lifted her off the ground in his exuberant hug. Wolverine finally released her, and she rejoined her men and started making introductions. The four strays listened gravely to the recitation of the team members, and nodded as Jubilee named them.
"And I think you all know Victor," she ended dryly, indicating the tall blond. He flashed a toothy response.
She turned to Bishop, then abruptly turned back and took a single step towards Psylocke in the rear of the crowd.
"Betsy," she called commandingly, and the group stilled. The raven-haired Hand assassin startled as she realized Jubilee had picked up on her psychic protest to the Professor.
"Vic answers to me if he messes with any of you. And if you mess with him, then you answer to me as well."
"Jubilee, Betsy is only concerned…" Xavier began in a placating tone.
"With all due respect, Professor, I believe I've made myself perfectly clear."
The stern lines of Jubilee's thin face could have been carved of stone, and Xavier nodded gravely. "Yes, you're quite right. Mr. Creed, you are welcome here. You are all welcome, and we're very glad to have our family together again. However, it is late, and I understand you've had a very hard week. Accommodations have been made on the second floor for everyone. Dr. McCoy will want to give you all physicals in the morning, I'm sure, and . . . "
~My apologies, Jean,~ came Xavier's telepathic voice to Jean Gray as his physical voice continued, multi-tasking his concentration with the ease of years. ~I'd considered the idea that you were exaggerating the changes in our young friend. Now, I believe, we may have underestimated the case. Tell me, do you think she can hear us now?~
~I doubt it, Professor. She told me she's limited by physical proximity and active shields. Psylocke didn't bother to shield just now, but Jubilee has not picked up on anything Scott and I have discussed since I took the same precautions.~
They watched Jubilee lead her team through the tunnel to the main house, maintaining their link to each other. Victor Creed and Bishop brought up the rear, followed by the rest of the team.
~Before we landed, Jubilee told me that Creed will not want to join us, but was willing to stay here under her command. I was sure he'd bolt as soon as we landed, but he seems… I don't know, genuinely attached to her. Not romantically, but spiritually.~
~Yes, I agree. He has pledged his loyalty to her. No small accomplishment for so young a woman, although age has never been a consideration for Jubilee.~
~Professor, she's been an X-man since she was twelve. The question is, what do we do with him?~
Several moments passed before her mentor responded. ~I don't know, Jean. We will have to wait and see how things settle. I have the beginnings of an idea, but I'm not sure how well it will be received.~
Only by promising a full disclosure the next day did Jubilee manage to get her people barracked before midnight. She told Vic to behave himself, asked Bishop to keep an eye on him, then disappeared into her old bathroom with an armful of bath products and threatened dire consequences to anyone who interrupted her for any reason.
Wolverine chuckled at her priorities, but wished her good night and let himself out of the house by the side door. The other's scent caught his attention immediately, but he waited until he got his cigar lit and clicked the heavy lighter shut before turning to the huge man standing in the shadows of the house, staring up at the sky.
Victor inhaled hugely, then let out the breath with a whoosh. "Never thought I'd miss something stupid like the stars." Logan glanced at them casually, but kept his attention on the killer before him.
Creed's nose wrinkled suddenly as he caught the smell of tobacco burning. His large frame twitched with sudden craving. "Got any more of those?" Logan considered it, then pulled another cigar from his shirt pocket and tossed it across the grass. The taller man caught it, then the lighter, with a growl of anticipation.
"I owe ya one."
"You owe Jube one," Wolverine corrected flatly.
Creed was quiet for a moment. "More 'n one."
"You really comin' to heel?"
A light snarl rose through the air. "I gave her my word. Not takin' it back."
"Your word ain't worth spit, not to me. I wanna know why."
"None a yer business."
"I'm making it my business. Jube's my responsibility."
Creed laughed, easily, blowing out the cigar smoke.
"Boss ain't no little girl anymore, runt. Blood an' bones, she a warrior. I'll give ya credit, though. You taught her pretty good."
"So she kicked yer butt, big deal. Why does that mean you do what she says?"
The lighter came arcing back through the darkness, but the silence stretched so long Logan wasn't sure Creed was going to answer him.
Finally, the coal on the cigar grew bright as he drew on it intensely, then exhaled. "Camp got raided one night. Things got crazy fer a while an' I took some hits. I been that bad before, but at least I was on my own planet.
"Then Pint Size starts slapping me around, telling me to die on my own time, 'cause she owned my ass. I got up, and she dragged me out of the line o' fire. I came to, she's lying next to me in the grass – half dead and still got my shirt in her fist."
Creed's shaggy head shook slightly. "I work with pros, runt. I ain't part a yer little clubhouse, here, and she got more reasons to see me dead than to keep me alive. But she did, and more than once." He paused, then snarled lightly. "Shit, what do you want me to say?"
The tip of the cigar glowed brightly again. "She owns me. That's all there is to it."
Logan wasn't convinced, but he detected no lies in the man's familiar, hateful scent. He finished his cigar in silence and stubbed it out in the concrete flowerpot, it's plants long dead from similar mistreatment. "Lock the door when you come back in."
**********
The faint sound of a door shutting brought Logan awake. The clock said it was ungodly early, but the floor creaks echoed in an unfamiliar stealthy stride. He rolled onto his feet and opened his bedroom door to see what he had half expected.
Pillow lines on her face, Jubilee flashed him a broken-toothed grin, but he did not miss the even balance of her feet or the expectant tension in her bare legs under the short terrycloth robe. Even as he watched, she relaxed into the casual slouch he was more familiar with.
"You expecting trouble, Wolvie?"
He shrugged. "Just heard something. What're you doing up?"
"Checking on my people, making sure everything's okay." Her smile turned wistful as she drew her fingers across the carved wooden door trim. "Making sure this isn't a dream."
Logan nodded. "Know what ya mean. I been real worried about ya, kid." The shadows in her eyes drew him across the hall and he folded her into another hug. She rested her forehead on his shoulder for a brief moment.
"I've been kinda worried about me too."
Logan stroked her hair behind one ear and held her close for several long moments. The solid reality of her felt damned good. Finally he patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "Wanna talk about it?"
He expected her to say no, was prepared for it, but she surprised him by nodding. "Sure. Grab a couple of beers and meet me on the roof."
Five minutes later he'd added a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt to his boxers, but didn't bother to button the shirt. He found a couple of bottles in the bachelor fridge in his room, and even if they were several months old, it was still beer. If the oddity of drinking old beer on the roof at five in the morning didn't bother Jubilee, then it sure didn't bother him.
She was waiting for him, a pair of someone else's jeans blousing large on her narrow hips, and as he handed her the bottle, the physical changes in her hit Logan as hard as it had the others. She opened it and saluted his with a small clink before draining a good third of it.
"Didn't think you liked beer all that much," he commented as he tasted his own.
"College student, remember? We live for beer." She took another sip. "Actually, no, I didn't use to. But you drink resjia for a couple of months." She faked a shudder, but not by much.
"What is it?" he asked, dubious.
"Closest I can come to describing it would be… kimchee juice and everclear, with a dash of grapefruit juice. Served warm."
"Gahhh!"
"You know it," she chuckled, then leaned back on the slight slope to stare at the gradually paling horizon, snuggling deeper into her terry robe against the early morning chill.
"I used to dream about this," she said, after a moment. "Nightmares, I guess. I'd think I was home, or back at school, stressing over a test. Then I'd wake up." The bottle gurgled slightly as she took another drink. "That was the real nightmare, waking up. Knowing it wasn't over."
Wolverine was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, Jube. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."
"Don't be," she replied softly. "I'm glad you weren't there, Logan. You wouldn't have liked it, and you and Vic would have killed each other."
He grunted. "I'm still havin' trouble with the whammy you put on him. Can you trust him?"
"Of course not," she replied. "But I trust him enough to know he'll hit the road before he goes too nuts." He raised an eyebrow at the assurance in her voice, but let it pass without comment.
They sat companionably for a while, until Jubilee's quiet voice finally broke the silence. "When everything started, I was so sure the gang would figure out what happened, or else Gateway would send us home again. I finally realized you guys didn't have a clue where we were, that we were on our own."
A massive yawn hit her out of nowhere, and she settled into a more comfortable position. "I got mad at you, a few times. Stupid, I know."
"Because I didn't come get you?" he asked, steeling himself, but she shook her head.
"Because you never told me how easy it was to kill people, after a while."
He turned to look at her, and she looked back steadily. "I hated that part. I'd puke and cry and I really hated myself, and you, and especially Gateway." A rueful smile twisted her mouth. "I know you're expecting me to lose it and cry on ya. Don't worry. I've been there, done that, and bought the tacky souvenirs. Do people still use that expression?" She laughed lightly, then paused. "I think… I think even Vic got tired of the killing."
"God, Jube..."
"Don't. You saved me, Wolvie. I mean it, you really did."
Logan took a shuddering breath. "How?"
"Do you remember that night you showed me the Yashida clan sword?" Jubilee looked out over the grounds, her face pale and calm in the dawning light. A light breeze toyed with the small wings of hair still tousled from her sleep. "You told me how they made the swords, how the craftmasters would heat the steel, and beat on it, and fold it over and beat it some more."
"Tempering."
"Yeah. Tempering. You told me it was the strongest steel ever made, and it would last for centuries. So that's what I was. I was being tempered." Her face turned towards him again. "And I am. I'm okay."
The first true light broke over the grounds and she raised her face to the sun, the bright rays highlighting the scar on her face. He could see the strength and inner balance of her, the lethal potential in a beautiful, lean package. He could almost understand how Creed would give his allegiance to this woman.
He just wished he knew who this woman was.
"Okay."
She nodded, smiling, eyes still closed in pure appreciation of the moment. The last of her beer disappeared in a long swallow and she settled back and started spinning a story about Creed, a camel-like creature, and his first attempt to ride one which ended up with them having to eat it for dinner. Logan was still chuckling when he realized she'd dozed off, a slight curve remaining on her lips. He let her sleep, and no one came looking for either of them for two more hours.
**********
The morning was spent in silly moments and profound silences as Jubilee settled her team into their new home. Bishop moved back into his room with a minimum of fuss, but Jubilee's college apartment and all her belongings had been packed into boxes after her disappearance. She and the girl named Dee had a giggly girl fest going through the clothes, trying things on and making a list of necessities. Her other dependents were given a crash course orientation on the mansion, the grounds, and local culture. Plans were tentatively laid for education and assimilation.
Dr. McCoy gave each of them a cursory physical, but needed no explanation when Jubilee insisted on going first, while Dee watched, and afterwards stayed and let Dee hold her hand with bone crushing fierceness as the teenager endured her own brief exam. Afterwards, he entered Jubilee's terse outline in the medical records he started.
When his turn came, Creed smirked and bared a huge barrel chest with a hairy expanse that rivaled Hank's own. A small starburst of naked white skin showed in the center.
"I didn't think you scarred, Mr. Creed." Hank commented.
Thick talons scratched at the spot idly. "Not usually. It's healin', though. Oughta be gone in a coupla months."
"Battle wound?" Hank queried, noting it in the record.
"Nah. Object lesson."
A blue eyebrow raised. Creed grinned at him, sharply curved canines glinting. "Lee said I wasn't paying attention."
Hank's favorite expression popped into his head. On second examination, the scar was not a starburst. It was a handprint.
"I see," he temporized. "And did she get your attention, then?"
"Oh, yeah."
While Hank kept Creed busy in the med lab, a summit was called in the Professor's office. Scott and Ororo, as leaders of the two teams, were present with Bishop as head witness. Wolverine invited himself, and no one was willing to attempt to eject him. Scott was reaching to close the door when Jubilee entered silently and perched on the windowsill, one foot on the opposite side of the frame. Her right leg hung down, the energy pistol in a worn leather holster strapped around her gaunt thigh. Scott gave it a frown.
"Jubilee, is it really necessary to wear that here?"
Not bothering to reply, Jubilee simply smiled and gave Bishop's over-the- shoulder shotgun a significant look, and Scott tried a more direct tactic. "We had not intended – it's really not necessary for you to attend this meeting."
"Too bad, Cyclops. If this is about Vic, then I'm here."
He yielded on both points and resumed the matter at hand. Within minutes, she was pacing the floor. "No, I can't guarantee he won't flip out. I'm 95% sure of him, though. He knows the door is open, and if he stays here, it's by his choice. He also knows that if he acts up, I'll take care of him."
"Acts up," Scott echoed with disbelief.
"How can you be sure, Jubilee?" asked Storm, her white brows frowning in concern. "He is a killer, and he has a history of irrational behavior and berserk episodes. Unlike Wolverine, you have no tie to him, so you can't be sure you can talk him down."
"You're wrong. He does have a tie to me." She stopped pacing and tried to explain her gut instincts. "It took me a while to figure it out, but Vic's really not a loner. He deals with things better in a pack mentality. Right, Professor?"
Xavier steepled his fingers. "Your simile is flawed, Jubilee, but essentially you are correct. Mr. Creed's violent nature has not abated substantially, but his psyche is no longer as chaotic. He now has a focus, and that focus centers on Jubilee. She is his Lionne Reine.[1]"
"Which brings up another question. Why would a man like Creed accept Jubilee as a superior?" Scott asked. "He could break her in half, and he's got a history of trying. I'm sorry, we simply can't trust him."
"Scott, Vic's mine. Just like my hand, or my powers, or my gun. He belongs to me."
"So, what, are we supposed to give him a uniform and say, hey, welcome to the team?" His thick sarcasm was unusual, and Jubilee let him settle before she answered.
"No. He'll never follow your orders. But he'll follow mine, because he respects me in a way he'll never respect you."
The red sunglasses glowed with her leader's controlled irritation. "And why is that?"
Jubilee hesitated, then raised her chin. "Because. If it comes down to it, you'll hesitate to kill. And I won't."
Shocked silence fell in the room.
"I can't believe you just said that," Scott murmured.
"Don't get me wrong, Cyclops. I still respect the dream. I still believe that life is sacred, that X-men are not supposed to kill. But when it comes down to them or me, in a combat situation, I pick me. I chose me and mine over some asshole who's trying to blow my head off."
"And that makes Creed respect you?"
"'Fraid so. Vic has seen me kill, and he knows I'll kill to protect him, just as he knows you won't."
"You say that word so easily."
"What, kill? It's just a word, Cyke."
Scott shook his head. "What happened to you, Jubilee?" It was just an idle question, but the room was suddenly stifling, with too many people watching what should have been a private moment between her and the man she considered both her leader and a father figure. Wordlessly, she reached out a mental touch to Xavier, who helped her fledgling psychic ability project to the man in front of her, and, almost as an afterthought, the other occupants in the room.
The memory rolled hard and solid into their minds as she took them with her, and as one they felt the damp earth squelch under her boots as she moved from the cooking fires to the barely intact stone barn she and the other soldiers had barracked in for the time being. They saw a man approach her, the son of a local lord who had tried to charm his way into her bed and therefore, her newly surfaced ability had revealed, the command of the people around her. She'd brushed off his advances, frustrating his bid for power, and things were tense between them.
Collectively the others saw the fist swinging towards her, felt the impact on her arm as she deflected the blow, then the charge of his broad shoulder catching her in the ribs and taking her down to the slick beaten path. They caught the stench of his breath as he called her a witch and a whore, the strain of muscles as she fought back, getting apart enough to land a solid kick. The other soldiers and the camp followers and the refugees she'd sought to protect came running, gathering in a loose circle, all of them waiting to see the outcome of the attempted coup instead of coming to her aid -- all of them past the veneer of civilization to a brutal survival mentality that acknowledged only the strongest among them as leader.
Her teammates all felt the moment her stomach dropped and she realized this had to be done without her mutant abilities, or else the crowd of refugees would always doubt she could have won without being a witch, and the vicious fight that followed. Finally getting in a series of punches and kicks on a man that outweighed her, outreached her, and laying him out with a combination that sent him staggering into the crowd and onto his belly, momentarily stunned.
"It's over," she announced, wiping the stinging salt from her eyes. The beaten man nodded sullenly, and slowly got off the ground. He was waiting, though, and the moment her attention slipped he lunged at her with a roar and swung the glaive he'd appropriated from one of the spectators. Less than an ax, but so much more than a cleaver, she whirled and recoiled almost in time. The sharp edge missed all but the curve of her cheek, laying it open for inches down her face before it spanged off her tooth with a sickening snap. Jubilee ducked, backpedaled frantically, then a spatha came spinning out of the crowd, arcing above her. She snatched it from the air and parried in a move that left even Logan disconcerted.
In the small, cozy, book-lined room each person felt the stab of cold air in the open wound, tasted the blood as she spat it out, and felt the burning muscles and protesting body as she fought for her life. Logan especially recognized the rage, burning and narrowing the world to the clang of weapons and grunts of effort, the physical strain of fending off a punishing assault as she searched for an opening. The one moment that stretched indefinitely as the opening was seen, taken, and the sudden hot rush of blood over her hands. The faint surprise in eyes so close to hers, fading out as the body sagged and what was once a living being slid off her weapon and landed with a thump on the ground.
She spat more blood out, feeling the broken stub of the tooth with her tongue. Her heart beat fiercely in her chest, her lungs choking with an emotion that had nothing to do with exultation, but only relief that she was the one standing and not lying on the ground.
"Anybody else?" she shouted harshly, eyeing the silent circle of people. Creed and Bishop moved up behind her, more felt than seen, and a snarl split the air as her one-time enemy echoed her challenge. One man at the front of the crowd met her eyes.
"Lee!" he bellowed, and thumped his chest with a fist.
"Lee!" two others shouted, echoing the salute, then others took it up, shouting her name in a ferocious rhythmic cadence and parting like a wheat field before her as she stalked through the crowd to the town well. A local boy ran to pull up the bucket for her, the hero worship in his eyes turning her stomach as blood dripped steadily from her chin and from the short sword in her hand. And behind her, Sabretooth's triumphant, dominant roar gave voice to the brutal passion in her own silent throat.
Scott staggered as the vision faded, putting one hand out to the desk to steady himself. Even Xavier looked stunned. After a moment he reached out gently to her, and when she granted permission, took a long look through her memories, noting the scars and the ragged bits of her mind which were still raw in spots, but showed signs of healing. Nothing jabbed at him, no screams echoed in the distance of her mind-scape. The constant low-grade worry for the warriors she'd left behind and the concern for people who had depended on her still nagged, as did the painful memories of those who'd died. But her self-image as a tempered sword came to light, and he nodded in agreement.
"Creed stays, as long as Jubilee grants him parole. The others will need time to assimilate."
Scott nodded, still shaky from the sensory overload.
"Jubilee, I leave the disposition of your people in your hands. They're welcome to stay here as long as necessary."
"Thank you, Professor."
----------------------- [1] French – Lion Queen
Author: Ramos
Rating: PG for language
Category: Adventure
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Marvel Comics, and no profit is made from their use.
After several hours Cyclops announced re-entry preparations, and Jean began to wake the passengers. Creed opened his eyes the moment she came into view, so she focused instead on Jubilee, stretched out just opposite. She smiled fondly at the sleeping form. Arms crossed and tucked under each other, huddled against the back of the two-person seat, Jubilee looked like a teenager again. The scar on her cheek was hidden as her head lolled against the lumpy pack being used as a pillow.
"Jubilee," she called softly, reaching down to the thin shoulder. Suddenly, a huge hand wrapped around Jean's own arm and yanked her away.
"Not a good idea, Red," rumbled Creed. His golden yellow eyes were slitted with amusement, and Jean fought the tremble of fear as he drew her back towards him. She could blast him into the bulkheads if he tried anything, but the man released her arm and reached out a toe to the feet hanging off the edge of the bench.
"Boss. Wake up." He nudged the sole of Jubilee's foot.
In a breathtaking instant, Jubilee was on her feet, a white-hot ball of plasma in her open palm, her body tense as a drawn bow. She blinked at Jean twice, then squelched the sizzling display with an audible pop. "Are we home?" she asked around a sudden yawn.
The hair trigger response robbed Jean of all coherent thought. The last time she'd seen Jubilee, the girl was recovering from a broken relationship with the help of hot fudge and ice cream. The woman in front of her had the reflexes of a combat soldier, and the starvation lean muscles in her arms and neck flexed and relaxed as she stretched sleepily. She focused on the older woman with affection and concern.
"Jean? You okay?"
Jean shook off her surprise. "I'm fine, Jubilee. We'll be landing soon. You need to get strapped in."
"Cool." Again Jubilee surprised her by giving the massive Creed a high- five slap. "Goin' home, Vic!"
The entire team was waiting when the Blackbird settled onto the concrete pad. Bobby was the first to sweep in and envelop his partner in crime in a massive hug, with Gambit right behind. Peppered questions and relief- filled laughter rang out in the hanger. Jubilee pulled herself away and gave a quick hug to Xavier before launching herself at the short man who lifted her off the ground in his exuberant hug. Wolverine finally released her, and she rejoined her men and started making introductions. The four strays listened gravely to the recitation of the team members, and nodded as Jubilee named them.
"And I think you all know Victor," she ended dryly, indicating the tall blond. He flashed a toothy response.
She turned to Bishop, then abruptly turned back and took a single step towards Psylocke in the rear of the crowd.
"Betsy," she called commandingly, and the group stilled. The raven-haired Hand assassin startled as she realized Jubilee had picked up on her psychic protest to the Professor.
"Vic answers to me if he messes with any of you. And if you mess with him, then you answer to me as well."
"Jubilee, Betsy is only concerned…" Xavier began in a placating tone.
"With all due respect, Professor, I believe I've made myself perfectly clear."
The stern lines of Jubilee's thin face could have been carved of stone, and Xavier nodded gravely. "Yes, you're quite right. Mr. Creed, you are welcome here. You are all welcome, and we're very glad to have our family together again. However, it is late, and I understand you've had a very hard week. Accommodations have been made on the second floor for everyone. Dr. McCoy will want to give you all physicals in the morning, I'm sure, and . . . "
~My apologies, Jean,~ came Xavier's telepathic voice to Jean Gray as his physical voice continued, multi-tasking his concentration with the ease of years. ~I'd considered the idea that you were exaggerating the changes in our young friend. Now, I believe, we may have underestimated the case. Tell me, do you think she can hear us now?~
~I doubt it, Professor. She told me she's limited by physical proximity and active shields. Psylocke didn't bother to shield just now, but Jubilee has not picked up on anything Scott and I have discussed since I took the same precautions.~
They watched Jubilee lead her team through the tunnel to the main house, maintaining their link to each other. Victor Creed and Bishop brought up the rear, followed by the rest of the team.
~Before we landed, Jubilee told me that Creed will not want to join us, but was willing to stay here under her command. I was sure he'd bolt as soon as we landed, but he seems… I don't know, genuinely attached to her. Not romantically, but spiritually.~
~Yes, I agree. He has pledged his loyalty to her. No small accomplishment for so young a woman, although age has never been a consideration for Jubilee.~
~Professor, she's been an X-man since she was twelve. The question is, what do we do with him?~
Several moments passed before her mentor responded. ~I don't know, Jean. We will have to wait and see how things settle. I have the beginnings of an idea, but I'm not sure how well it will be received.~
Only by promising a full disclosure the next day did Jubilee manage to get her people barracked before midnight. She told Vic to behave himself, asked Bishop to keep an eye on him, then disappeared into her old bathroom with an armful of bath products and threatened dire consequences to anyone who interrupted her for any reason.
Wolverine chuckled at her priorities, but wished her good night and let himself out of the house by the side door. The other's scent caught his attention immediately, but he waited until he got his cigar lit and clicked the heavy lighter shut before turning to the huge man standing in the shadows of the house, staring up at the sky.
Victor inhaled hugely, then let out the breath with a whoosh. "Never thought I'd miss something stupid like the stars." Logan glanced at them casually, but kept his attention on the killer before him.
Creed's nose wrinkled suddenly as he caught the smell of tobacco burning. His large frame twitched with sudden craving. "Got any more of those?" Logan considered it, then pulled another cigar from his shirt pocket and tossed it across the grass. The taller man caught it, then the lighter, with a growl of anticipation.
"I owe ya one."
"You owe Jube one," Wolverine corrected flatly.
Creed was quiet for a moment. "More 'n one."
"You really comin' to heel?"
A light snarl rose through the air. "I gave her my word. Not takin' it back."
"Your word ain't worth spit, not to me. I wanna know why."
"None a yer business."
"I'm making it my business. Jube's my responsibility."
Creed laughed, easily, blowing out the cigar smoke.
"Boss ain't no little girl anymore, runt. Blood an' bones, she a warrior. I'll give ya credit, though. You taught her pretty good."
"So she kicked yer butt, big deal. Why does that mean you do what she says?"
The lighter came arcing back through the darkness, but the silence stretched so long Logan wasn't sure Creed was going to answer him.
Finally, the coal on the cigar grew bright as he drew on it intensely, then exhaled. "Camp got raided one night. Things got crazy fer a while an' I took some hits. I been that bad before, but at least I was on my own planet.
"Then Pint Size starts slapping me around, telling me to die on my own time, 'cause she owned my ass. I got up, and she dragged me out of the line o' fire. I came to, she's lying next to me in the grass – half dead and still got my shirt in her fist."
Creed's shaggy head shook slightly. "I work with pros, runt. I ain't part a yer little clubhouse, here, and she got more reasons to see me dead than to keep me alive. But she did, and more than once." He paused, then snarled lightly. "Shit, what do you want me to say?"
The tip of the cigar glowed brightly again. "She owns me. That's all there is to it."
Logan wasn't convinced, but he detected no lies in the man's familiar, hateful scent. He finished his cigar in silence and stubbed it out in the concrete flowerpot, it's plants long dead from similar mistreatment. "Lock the door when you come back in."
**********
The faint sound of a door shutting brought Logan awake. The clock said it was ungodly early, but the floor creaks echoed in an unfamiliar stealthy stride. He rolled onto his feet and opened his bedroom door to see what he had half expected.
Pillow lines on her face, Jubilee flashed him a broken-toothed grin, but he did not miss the even balance of her feet or the expectant tension in her bare legs under the short terrycloth robe. Even as he watched, she relaxed into the casual slouch he was more familiar with.
"You expecting trouble, Wolvie?"
He shrugged. "Just heard something. What're you doing up?"
"Checking on my people, making sure everything's okay." Her smile turned wistful as she drew her fingers across the carved wooden door trim. "Making sure this isn't a dream."
Logan nodded. "Know what ya mean. I been real worried about ya, kid." The shadows in her eyes drew him across the hall and he folded her into another hug. She rested her forehead on his shoulder for a brief moment.
"I've been kinda worried about me too."
Logan stroked her hair behind one ear and held her close for several long moments. The solid reality of her felt damned good. Finally he patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "Wanna talk about it?"
He expected her to say no, was prepared for it, but she surprised him by nodding. "Sure. Grab a couple of beers and meet me on the roof."
Five minutes later he'd added a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt to his boxers, but didn't bother to button the shirt. He found a couple of bottles in the bachelor fridge in his room, and even if they were several months old, it was still beer. If the oddity of drinking old beer on the roof at five in the morning didn't bother Jubilee, then it sure didn't bother him.
She was waiting for him, a pair of someone else's jeans blousing large on her narrow hips, and as he handed her the bottle, the physical changes in her hit Logan as hard as it had the others. She opened it and saluted his with a small clink before draining a good third of it.
"Didn't think you liked beer all that much," he commented as he tasted his own.
"College student, remember? We live for beer." She took another sip. "Actually, no, I didn't use to. But you drink resjia for a couple of months." She faked a shudder, but not by much.
"What is it?" he asked, dubious.
"Closest I can come to describing it would be… kimchee juice and everclear, with a dash of grapefruit juice. Served warm."
"Gahhh!"
"You know it," she chuckled, then leaned back on the slight slope to stare at the gradually paling horizon, snuggling deeper into her terry robe against the early morning chill.
"I used to dream about this," she said, after a moment. "Nightmares, I guess. I'd think I was home, or back at school, stressing over a test. Then I'd wake up." The bottle gurgled slightly as she took another drink. "That was the real nightmare, waking up. Knowing it wasn't over."
Wolverine was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, Jube. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."
"Don't be," she replied softly. "I'm glad you weren't there, Logan. You wouldn't have liked it, and you and Vic would have killed each other."
He grunted. "I'm still havin' trouble with the whammy you put on him. Can you trust him?"
"Of course not," she replied. "But I trust him enough to know he'll hit the road before he goes too nuts." He raised an eyebrow at the assurance in her voice, but let it pass without comment.
They sat companionably for a while, until Jubilee's quiet voice finally broke the silence. "When everything started, I was so sure the gang would figure out what happened, or else Gateway would send us home again. I finally realized you guys didn't have a clue where we were, that we were on our own."
A massive yawn hit her out of nowhere, and she settled into a more comfortable position. "I got mad at you, a few times. Stupid, I know."
"Because I didn't come get you?" he asked, steeling himself, but she shook her head.
"Because you never told me how easy it was to kill people, after a while."
He turned to look at her, and she looked back steadily. "I hated that part. I'd puke and cry and I really hated myself, and you, and especially Gateway." A rueful smile twisted her mouth. "I know you're expecting me to lose it and cry on ya. Don't worry. I've been there, done that, and bought the tacky souvenirs. Do people still use that expression?" She laughed lightly, then paused. "I think… I think even Vic got tired of the killing."
"God, Jube..."
"Don't. You saved me, Wolvie. I mean it, you really did."
Logan took a shuddering breath. "How?"
"Do you remember that night you showed me the Yashida clan sword?" Jubilee looked out over the grounds, her face pale and calm in the dawning light. A light breeze toyed with the small wings of hair still tousled from her sleep. "You told me how they made the swords, how the craftmasters would heat the steel, and beat on it, and fold it over and beat it some more."
"Tempering."
"Yeah. Tempering. You told me it was the strongest steel ever made, and it would last for centuries. So that's what I was. I was being tempered." Her face turned towards him again. "And I am. I'm okay."
The first true light broke over the grounds and she raised her face to the sun, the bright rays highlighting the scar on her face. He could see the strength and inner balance of her, the lethal potential in a beautiful, lean package. He could almost understand how Creed would give his allegiance to this woman.
He just wished he knew who this woman was.
"Okay."
She nodded, smiling, eyes still closed in pure appreciation of the moment. The last of her beer disappeared in a long swallow and she settled back and started spinning a story about Creed, a camel-like creature, and his first attempt to ride one which ended up with them having to eat it for dinner. Logan was still chuckling when he realized she'd dozed off, a slight curve remaining on her lips. He let her sleep, and no one came looking for either of them for two more hours.
**********
The morning was spent in silly moments and profound silences as Jubilee settled her team into their new home. Bishop moved back into his room with a minimum of fuss, but Jubilee's college apartment and all her belongings had been packed into boxes after her disappearance. She and the girl named Dee had a giggly girl fest going through the clothes, trying things on and making a list of necessities. Her other dependents were given a crash course orientation on the mansion, the grounds, and local culture. Plans were tentatively laid for education and assimilation.
Dr. McCoy gave each of them a cursory physical, but needed no explanation when Jubilee insisted on going first, while Dee watched, and afterwards stayed and let Dee hold her hand with bone crushing fierceness as the teenager endured her own brief exam. Afterwards, he entered Jubilee's terse outline in the medical records he started.
When his turn came, Creed smirked and bared a huge barrel chest with a hairy expanse that rivaled Hank's own. A small starburst of naked white skin showed in the center.
"I didn't think you scarred, Mr. Creed." Hank commented.
Thick talons scratched at the spot idly. "Not usually. It's healin', though. Oughta be gone in a coupla months."
"Battle wound?" Hank queried, noting it in the record.
"Nah. Object lesson."
A blue eyebrow raised. Creed grinned at him, sharply curved canines glinting. "Lee said I wasn't paying attention."
Hank's favorite expression popped into his head. On second examination, the scar was not a starburst. It was a handprint.
"I see," he temporized. "And did she get your attention, then?"
"Oh, yeah."
While Hank kept Creed busy in the med lab, a summit was called in the Professor's office. Scott and Ororo, as leaders of the two teams, were present with Bishop as head witness. Wolverine invited himself, and no one was willing to attempt to eject him. Scott was reaching to close the door when Jubilee entered silently and perched on the windowsill, one foot on the opposite side of the frame. Her right leg hung down, the energy pistol in a worn leather holster strapped around her gaunt thigh. Scott gave it a frown.
"Jubilee, is it really necessary to wear that here?"
Not bothering to reply, Jubilee simply smiled and gave Bishop's over-the- shoulder shotgun a significant look, and Scott tried a more direct tactic. "We had not intended – it's really not necessary for you to attend this meeting."
"Too bad, Cyclops. If this is about Vic, then I'm here."
He yielded on both points and resumed the matter at hand. Within minutes, she was pacing the floor. "No, I can't guarantee he won't flip out. I'm 95% sure of him, though. He knows the door is open, and if he stays here, it's by his choice. He also knows that if he acts up, I'll take care of him."
"Acts up," Scott echoed with disbelief.
"How can you be sure, Jubilee?" asked Storm, her white brows frowning in concern. "He is a killer, and he has a history of irrational behavior and berserk episodes. Unlike Wolverine, you have no tie to him, so you can't be sure you can talk him down."
"You're wrong. He does have a tie to me." She stopped pacing and tried to explain her gut instincts. "It took me a while to figure it out, but Vic's really not a loner. He deals with things better in a pack mentality. Right, Professor?"
Xavier steepled his fingers. "Your simile is flawed, Jubilee, but essentially you are correct. Mr. Creed's violent nature has not abated substantially, but his psyche is no longer as chaotic. He now has a focus, and that focus centers on Jubilee. She is his Lionne Reine.[1]"
"Which brings up another question. Why would a man like Creed accept Jubilee as a superior?" Scott asked. "He could break her in half, and he's got a history of trying. I'm sorry, we simply can't trust him."
"Scott, Vic's mine. Just like my hand, or my powers, or my gun. He belongs to me."
"So, what, are we supposed to give him a uniform and say, hey, welcome to the team?" His thick sarcasm was unusual, and Jubilee let him settle before she answered.
"No. He'll never follow your orders. But he'll follow mine, because he respects me in a way he'll never respect you."
The red sunglasses glowed with her leader's controlled irritation. "And why is that?"
Jubilee hesitated, then raised her chin. "Because. If it comes down to it, you'll hesitate to kill. And I won't."
Shocked silence fell in the room.
"I can't believe you just said that," Scott murmured.
"Don't get me wrong, Cyclops. I still respect the dream. I still believe that life is sacred, that X-men are not supposed to kill. But when it comes down to them or me, in a combat situation, I pick me. I chose me and mine over some asshole who's trying to blow my head off."
"And that makes Creed respect you?"
"'Fraid so. Vic has seen me kill, and he knows I'll kill to protect him, just as he knows you won't."
"You say that word so easily."
"What, kill? It's just a word, Cyke."
Scott shook his head. "What happened to you, Jubilee?" It was just an idle question, but the room was suddenly stifling, with too many people watching what should have been a private moment between her and the man she considered both her leader and a father figure. Wordlessly, she reached out a mental touch to Xavier, who helped her fledgling psychic ability project to the man in front of her, and, almost as an afterthought, the other occupants in the room.
The memory rolled hard and solid into their minds as she took them with her, and as one they felt the damp earth squelch under her boots as she moved from the cooking fires to the barely intact stone barn she and the other soldiers had barracked in for the time being. They saw a man approach her, the son of a local lord who had tried to charm his way into her bed and therefore, her newly surfaced ability had revealed, the command of the people around her. She'd brushed off his advances, frustrating his bid for power, and things were tense between them.
Collectively the others saw the fist swinging towards her, felt the impact on her arm as she deflected the blow, then the charge of his broad shoulder catching her in the ribs and taking her down to the slick beaten path. They caught the stench of his breath as he called her a witch and a whore, the strain of muscles as she fought back, getting apart enough to land a solid kick. The other soldiers and the camp followers and the refugees she'd sought to protect came running, gathering in a loose circle, all of them waiting to see the outcome of the attempted coup instead of coming to her aid -- all of them past the veneer of civilization to a brutal survival mentality that acknowledged only the strongest among them as leader.
Her teammates all felt the moment her stomach dropped and she realized this had to be done without her mutant abilities, or else the crowd of refugees would always doubt she could have won without being a witch, and the vicious fight that followed. Finally getting in a series of punches and kicks on a man that outweighed her, outreached her, and laying him out with a combination that sent him staggering into the crowd and onto his belly, momentarily stunned.
"It's over," she announced, wiping the stinging salt from her eyes. The beaten man nodded sullenly, and slowly got off the ground. He was waiting, though, and the moment her attention slipped he lunged at her with a roar and swung the glaive he'd appropriated from one of the spectators. Less than an ax, but so much more than a cleaver, she whirled and recoiled almost in time. The sharp edge missed all but the curve of her cheek, laying it open for inches down her face before it spanged off her tooth with a sickening snap. Jubilee ducked, backpedaled frantically, then a spatha came spinning out of the crowd, arcing above her. She snatched it from the air and parried in a move that left even Logan disconcerted.
In the small, cozy, book-lined room each person felt the stab of cold air in the open wound, tasted the blood as she spat it out, and felt the burning muscles and protesting body as she fought for her life. Logan especially recognized the rage, burning and narrowing the world to the clang of weapons and grunts of effort, the physical strain of fending off a punishing assault as she searched for an opening. The one moment that stretched indefinitely as the opening was seen, taken, and the sudden hot rush of blood over her hands. The faint surprise in eyes so close to hers, fading out as the body sagged and what was once a living being slid off her weapon and landed with a thump on the ground.
She spat more blood out, feeling the broken stub of the tooth with her tongue. Her heart beat fiercely in her chest, her lungs choking with an emotion that had nothing to do with exultation, but only relief that she was the one standing and not lying on the ground.
"Anybody else?" she shouted harshly, eyeing the silent circle of people. Creed and Bishop moved up behind her, more felt than seen, and a snarl split the air as her one-time enemy echoed her challenge. One man at the front of the crowd met her eyes.
"Lee!" he bellowed, and thumped his chest with a fist.
"Lee!" two others shouted, echoing the salute, then others took it up, shouting her name in a ferocious rhythmic cadence and parting like a wheat field before her as she stalked through the crowd to the town well. A local boy ran to pull up the bucket for her, the hero worship in his eyes turning her stomach as blood dripped steadily from her chin and from the short sword in her hand. And behind her, Sabretooth's triumphant, dominant roar gave voice to the brutal passion in her own silent throat.
Scott staggered as the vision faded, putting one hand out to the desk to steady himself. Even Xavier looked stunned. After a moment he reached out gently to her, and when she granted permission, took a long look through her memories, noting the scars and the ragged bits of her mind which were still raw in spots, but showed signs of healing. Nothing jabbed at him, no screams echoed in the distance of her mind-scape. The constant low-grade worry for the warriors she'd left behind and the concern for people who had depended on her still nagged, as did the painful memories of those who'd died. But her self-image as a tempered sword came to light, and he nodded in agreement.
"Creed stays, as long as Jubilee grants him parole. The others will need time to assimilate."
Scott nodded, still shaky from the sensory overload.
"Jubilee, I leave the disposition of your people in your hands. They're welcome to stay here as long as necessary."
"Thank you, Professor."
----------------------- [1] French – Lion Queen