Sorry, I know this has been over a week, but homework caught up with me, in addition to another story which has been bothering me for months now needed to be started before my brain imploded from the stress of holding it back. Well, I'm here now, with profound apologies galore. Just take one from the pile by my bed…

Disclaimer:

I don't own the x-men in any shape, form, or size. Little z-men, big X-men… all belong to good 'ol marvel comics, ya gotta love 'em.

Chapter 13

Worry and guilt combined make a powerful force. They combine to create the worst kind of fear: the kind of fear which seeps through the hard, tough exterior of any one being, and makes a hole within. This black hole is as dangerous as any cancer or terminal disease, as it eats at you from the inside.

            Two people currently seated inside the X-men's infamous war room had a black hole inside. Gambit, who had been suffering from this for years was more used to the dull ache of guilt. He thought that he probably could have prevented this from coming about if only… if only…

 The second member of the Guilt-worry club was more new to the excruciating feeling.

Evan Daniels. 'The Spyke,' his only claim to fame being that he incessantly argued with Quicksilver. The Spyke was learning of the pain that people had to deal with in the real world. The newness of the pain was acute, and he thought that he would rather take a bullet than go on feeling it. He probably could have prevented this from coming about if only…if only…

            A dozen different thoughts were sucked away in a whirlwind of movement up towards the front of the room as Xavier and Storm entered, Storm's usual serene air sending forth hot blasts of worry and confusion, while Xavier looked calm and collected on the outside, inside his feelings mirrored Storm's face. Why did THEY want her? Hadn't enough emotional damage been done to last one girl a lifetime… and now, this?  It befuddled the mind, is what it did.

            "Students. One of our own is missing, but at the hands of extremely dangerous…"

            "We can take 'em Prof. We'll get 'em."

Numerous voices joined in, until the noise became so loud, Logan had to unsheathe his claws, at which point everyone got flustered and made a point of covering their mouths with one hand, or drawing their knees up to their faces.

            "…As previously stated, extremely dangerous peoples. Perhaps some of you have hears of the mutant-racist group that call themselves the 'Marauders?'" Xavier said this totally nonchalant, not giving away that indeed, someone might have heard of the Marauders. Not giving away the fact that one of them had helped the Marauders scramble over broken pipes, and the sludge of the sewers for a petty reward. Not giving away that Gambit was a collaborator against Marrow.

            "Please will Scott, Gambit, Jean, Kurt, Kitty, Rogue and Storm report to the Blackbird. New mutants, follow Logan to the Danger Room for today's session. Oh, Gambit, Scott, may I see you two for just a minute? Thank you."

            While a resounding 'awww…' went up from the cluster in which the new mutants stood, Gambit's eyes flashed red for just a second, his hatred of being singled out come to life once more, while Scott stood up and walked over to the Professor wonderingly.

            "Ah, yes. Scott, I want you to stand down as team leader for this particular mission. Gambit here," he gestured to his left, "will be temporarily taking your place. This is only temporary, and so there is no need to worry, Scott."

Scott nodded mutely, and walked back to inform the rest of the team of this disgrace. Gambit, ever silent waited, sensing the Professor's need to talk to him in private. Rogue's eyes bored into his back like twin laser beams, as if the shoulder blades could communicate to her what was being said between the two profiles.

            "Gambit. I suppose you are wondering why I appointed you this position."

            "No. Gambit have more experience, right? Dis is what it's about, oui?"

The professor sat in silence for several moments, just watching Gambit's face.

            "You can go now, Gambit."

            "Merci, Professor Xavier."

            With a low rumble, the x-jet took off, a silhouette in the setting sun.

            A mouth leered out of the darkness at Marrow, its teeth yellow, almost luminous. Flecks of spittle flew from it as it moved to form words, striking marrow like a thousand tiny bullets.  

            "Enough games. You will tell us of Xavier's plans, or suffer the torture that a thousand mutants could not withstand."

            "Guess I must be pretty strong then."

            "You would choose to die slowly, then, wench. Die an unceremonious death, screaming, and begging for mercy?"

            "I would not choose to die, bastard. I will not die. I will NOT die," she repeated it, partly to try and convince herself that she was going to survive this, that the X-men would burst in any second, and Spyke would snatch her from their arms, call her a bonehead, and everything would be good. Except, it wouldn't be… because that demonic monstrosity would be there… that devil child who killed her family. Marrow would live for one reason, then. To get revenge.

            "Mutant. You have chosen poorly, and expect the consequences to be worse than the choice itself. Prepare your body for pain, you hell bitch. Prepare for death."

            "You've said that twice, now, and I have yet to see it."

He sneered again, knowing in complete self assurance that when she did see 'it,' the time would come far too soon.

            With a backwards gesture, a table was brought in. Marrow was lifted carefully onto it, making sure to avoid any outlying bones, and also making sure to dump her in the way that would cause anyone with a human anatomy the most pain. Her back was pressed flat against the surgical table, her legs doubled beneath her body, hands tied behind her head.

            "Is that all you've got?"

Smiles were exchanged among the knife-bearing people, and Marrow had a terrible sinking feeling that her interrogator was right, she was going to die.

The torture commenced.