Tested

Disclaimer: Characters and Premise are borrowed from the Marvel, I'm not making any money.

Part 7

Delores held her lighter to another bundle of herbs, adding to the thick cloud of incense in the ramshackle room. Then she returned to her spot beside the nest of blankets they'd set up for Remy's bed.

"Dere's no reason for yo' to be like dis Remy," she said. "Dis is your plan, we need yo', Belle needs yo' and so does your baby. Yo' gotta wake up."

Delores sighed wondering if she were doing the right thing by trying to treat Remy herself. He'd collapsed over a week ago and hadn't regained consciousness yet. That morning Lapin had located the last of the more esoteric herbs Delores needed to try one final option before she called Tante Mattie. Once she made the call the adults would come and stop them from rescuing Belle. "Mais what sort of doctor would I be if I stood by and watched Remy die?" Delores thought.

One last chance, Tante Mattie had taught Delores this as a last ditch measure, a way to open a patient's soul to the healer so that the healer's determination could infuse the patient with the will to live. Delores wasn't sure it was appropriate in this case but she knew Remy's comatosed state wasn't caused by any physical malady she could treat.

They were Belle's only chance of rescue and she wasn't willing to give up on her best friend until she'd done everything she could, even if it meant trying an unorthodox treatment. Delores told herself Remy would have given her permission if he'd been able, he wanted to rescue Belle as much as any of them, maybe more.

****** ****** ******

Finding out which jail Belle had been held in wasn't that hard, a few days of eves-dropping on the local gossip had told the three teens that much. Once that was established Lapin and Pierre put their talents to work and broke into the jail only to discover Belle wasn't there anymore.

The next day they returned to the jail with Singer boldly leading the way to the front door this time. Lapin and Pierre hung back just inside the door, making sure the Assassin wasn't interrupted while she took her shot at proving them wrong about needing Remy.

The Raven-haired girl sashayed in and leaned seductively against the jailor's desk. "Yo' been holdin' ma ami prisoner, I'd do jus' anyt'in' to find out where she be. 'M jus' so worried," she purred

When the man failed to fall all over himself to offer information Lapin volunteered, "Belle's de blonde femme who shot your leader a couple of weeks back. We t'ought we'd come pay her a visit, mais she ain't in your pit of a jail no more. We jus' want to know where she's gone, no big deal, oui?"

Singer fixed him with an evil glare. "Don' help," she snapped then turned her attention back to the jailer and fluttered her eyelashes. "S'il vous plait, please tell me, I'd be evah so grateful."

The man slowly ran his gaze over Singer's body then sat back and laughed. "Come back when you're old enough to know what you're promising. I'm not into children pretending to be all grown up."

"Fuck dis femme fatale crap," Singer declared stepping back, a scowl on her face.

Pierre and Lapin exchanged conspiratorial look that quickly turned knowing. "I t'ink dat was an insult. 'Member Gregory in de seventh grade?" Lapin asked as Singer launched herself feet first across the desk at the man.

Both boys winced at the sound of ribs breaking upon impact. "An' dis time dere's no one to stop her," Pierre said.

" 'Cept yo'," Lapin replied. "We do need him 'live."

"Why me? Why not yo'?" Pierre demanded.

"She's your girlfriend, she's less likely to hurt yo'," Lapin stated.

With a long-suffering sigh Pierre grabbed Singer, pinning her arms to her sides as he hauled her away from her victim.

Lapin sauntered over to crouch beside the injured man. "Yo' shouldn've made her mad," he said, shaking his head sadly.

"I don' need you two playin' good cop, bad cop!" Singer hissed quietly at Pierre. "I had t'in's under control, I wasn' goin' to kill him 'till after he talked."

"If dis works, it works," he whispered back. "Yo' should pro'bly struggle more."

Singer rolled her eyes but obligingly started acting like she was trying to fight her way free of Pierre's hold. "Lemme get m' hands on him, I'll tear out his heart… an' eat it!" she yelled.

Lapin leaned in close and started whispering in the man's ear. The jailor stared at Singer and blanched, she smiled at him with bloodthirsty eagerness. "The General took her for his pet researcher," the man blurted out.

"See dat wasn' s'bad," Lapin encouraged. "Where'd dey take her."

"I don't know," the man insisted.

"Bien, dat means I can kill him now," Singer contributed sounding gleefully murderous.

"The General's aid, he takes lunch at a cantina three blocks north, he'll know more," the jailor volunteered desperately.

"Sounds good 'nough for me," Lapin said stepping away from the man.

Pierre released Singer, "Let's go den," he said a moment before she darted back across the room.

Putting the strength of her entire body behind a sharp kick to the man's jaw Singer snapped his neck, killing him instantly. "T'ink we should finish dealin' wit' dat firs'," she said calmly.

"We were jus' bluffin'," Pierre said blinking uncomprehendingly at the newly made corpse.

"What were yo' plannin' on doin' when he warned dat General 'bout us askin' questions?" Singer said.

"We could've found a bettah way," Lapin protested.

"Non, yo' could've found a less effective way. Yo' t'ieves are s' squeamish," Singer said. "I keep hopin' Pierre'll get over dat."

Pierre swallowed a couple of times then said, " 'S not like we can undo it. Let's jus' get dis over wit'."

****** ****** ******

Dr. Cornelius sat head in his hands watching the girl on the security monitor painstakingly scratch another tick in the wall of her cell.

Any other prisoner would be marking off the days of her captivity, not Belladonna Boudreaux-Lebeau. She kept tallies of the people she'd killed, separate ones for the guards and the lab techs. This morning's mark used to be his new lab assistant. The man had been told all the stories. He hadn't believed them. Now he was another cautionary tale to be related to his replacement.

Cornelius sighed, he wished her cell hadn't been painted, but from what he'd seen of her Belle would have probably used blood to tally her kills if there hadn't been any other way.

When he'd heard about her he'd been euphoric. Anyone who worked in his field long enough eventually heard the stories, especially if they worked in the shadowy, morally impure lines of endeavor Weapon X had loved so much. Stories about the man who fathered applied mutant-genetics research and who was still pioneering the cutting edge of the field today.

Cornelius didn't believe that last one, but he did believe the original Essex had possessed the foresight to select and train a successor to carry on his work, to bring experiments that spanned centuries to fruition. A man of vision who, unlike his modern counter-parts, didn't seek to create living weapons through potions or robotics or any quick scheme, he'd set out to change the world by breeding a new race and he'd succeeded, beyond his wildest dreams most likely. Now it was up to programs like the now defunct Weapon X to reclaim control of the living weapons Essex's work had brought forth.

When the Donis woman had come bursting into his sponsor's office ranting about Boudreaux's unborn child and her employer Cornelius had been certain that the child was nothing less than the culmination of one of Essex's multi-generational experiments. The chance to study a bred mutant and contrast it with the wild mutants Weapon X had captured for him in the past had seemed like a diamond dropped into his lap.

That had been before he'd made the acquaintance of the mother to be. Now he felt like the proud but fearful owner of a griffin. He lived every day knowing that his pet would eventually break her bonds and kill him, but he was so enthralled with owning her he couldn't dream of letting go.

He couldn't find proof of an active X-gene in Belladonna's DNA but her genetic code was packed with latencies and from an analysis of her amniotic fluid it seemed she'd found the proper match to bring those latencies to the forefront in her child.

What was more, he was becoming increasingly convinced that the girl had some powers of her own, active X-gene or not.

He'd instituted a policy of rotating her guards after realizing that they were making a game of flirting with her, trying to convince her that they were impressive enough to merit a category of their own should she succeed in killing them. They called her their poison flower and if they spent enough time with her they would give her the opportunity to try her luck and skill against theirs.

They all wanted to prove that they could handle the pretty little assassin. The more her legend grew the greater the attraction. She was quick as a snake and had demonstrated knowledge of five different ways of killing a man with her bare hands so far.

Cornelius watched her going through forms in her cell, forcing herself to adapt to her changing center of balance. He had watched her laugh and flirt with men she'd kill in the blink of an eye if given the opportunity. He had watched her wash the blood of a murdered lab tech who'd never had a chance against her from her hands with no more emotion than he'd feel cleaning up after cooking a meal. Belle scared him almost as badly as Sabretooth or Wolverine did, like them she killed as naturally as she breathed, the only reassurance was he knew it was physically possible to kill her. He knew if he managed to shoot her she wouldn't just get up again, but that was a hollow reassurance because Cornelius also knew if he broke Essex's toy while the scientific legend still had plans for her he might as well just slit his throat and spare the other man the bother and himself a great deal of pain before he died.

With another sigh Cornelius headed down to Belle's cell. He stood outside the bars and waited. Belle came to the front of the cell and leaned her forehead against the door her arms dangling through the gaps between the bars. She looked frail and helpless. Cornelius stepped back warily, remembering her well-honed reflexes. Belle raised her head a slow, predatory smile transforming her from helpless damsel in distress to frightening killer. "Can't fool yo'," she said. "Don' worry someone else'll let me out. I won' forget yo'."

"You're almost five months pregnant Belladonna," He said. "What would you do if you did escape? We're too far from help for you to walk out in your condition."

"Do yo' wanna make a wager on dat?" Belle asked.

"You'll die, your baby will die in the effort," Cornelius stressed. "You have nothing to gain by this."

"Jus' 'cause yo' be a pansy don' mean I can't do it," Belle laughed.

"Look at yourself Belladonna, you're hardly in prime condition."

Belle lovingly reached back to trace the scars she'd chipped in the painted walls of her cell. " 'M in good 'nough shape don' yo' t'ink?" she asked. "How many more playmates yo' gonna bring in for me?"

"Eventually you'll pick a fight you can't win with someone who doesn't care that they have orders not to damage you. You keep pushing your luck and you will loose that baby."

Unconsciously Belle's hand smoothed over her swollen belly, her eyes sparkled with rage. "M' Remy knew one like yo' once," she spat. "Bettah de both of us die fightin' dan I let yo' have her."

Cornelius sighed, shook his head in defeat and resolved to remind his employees, yet again, that appearances were deceiving and Belladonna was dangerous, all the while wishing he were back with Weapon X, working with professionals like John Wraith instead of at the back end of nowhere trying to create a new program with a bunch of provincials who'd probably never been within a hundred yards of a real mutant.

The soldiers with Weapon X wouldn't have let Belladonna pick them off like fish in a barrel. They would have had the resources for proper precautionary measures. And, Cornelius admitted to himself, they would have been sadistic enough to ensure that they would be the focal point of his subjects' hatred rather than him.

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