It's late. I'm horrid. I know. Enjoy anyway!
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10/? -- Interludes
Had A Bad Day Again
ChaosCat
4 October 2003
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The redhead levitated herself off the ground, using an impressive display of telekinetic to fling Riptide away from her. The fair skinned youth bounced off the pavement a few yards away.
Out of the entire team, it was the youngest of them, Riptide, which showed the least amount of restraint. His sadistic tendencies would have to be curbed in order to increase his effectiveness in battle. The boy's mutation had surfaced early, giving him the ability to spin his body at an incredibly fast rate while secreting calcium fortified bone shurikens through his skin and hurl them with enough force to shatter concrete. It was a deadly combination.
However, it was the redhead, Jean Grey, that possessed even more impressive abilities. Although she seemed to be using her telekinesis primarily on a defensive basis, the potential for an offensive assault was apparent to the trained eye. She was truly stunning creature with that red hair and those green eyes. The perfect blend of genetics.
Another of the combatants stepped into view. Ruby quartz glasses slightly askew, this was the team leader, Scott Summers. Cyclops. With a tilt of his glasses, a blazing red streak burst from his eyes. There was enough power there to level a mountain, if properly harnessed. Yet another intriguing specimen.
The tape of the battle paused, leaving the audience with a view of the two senior members of that elusive mutant group called The X-Men. Frozen in action as they were, it was impossible not to see the power at their disposal.
"Fascinating."
The clinically detached voice could have been talking about something as bland as the weather. The speaker leaned back in his chair, peering at the two mutants on the screen before him. In the darkened office, the shadows played along his features, emphasizing the paleness of his skin and sharpness of his chin. The doctor had discarded the lab-coat for the moment, opting for a simple button-down shirt and black slacks.
"Indeed." The perfectly cultured, slightly British purr could have only one owner.
She smiled, running fingers through her long silky burgundy mane. The smile was not an entirely pleasant one, although any expression would look lovely upon those features. Betsy Braddock had been a model in her younger years, before she joined S.T.R.I.K.E. and taken on that ridiculous codename "Psylocke." Despite the training that the woman had received, she'd been rather simple to corrupt. And once she was corrupted, Malice had made herself quite at home.
The knockout figure had stayed with Betsy, only enhanced with the physical training she'd received as one of S.T.R.I.K.E's operatives. But then, the Doctor always chose the best specimens to be her hosts, didn't he? From behind Betsy's eyes, Malice smiled.
"Everything went according to your orders," she continued. "The operation went smoothly."
"And the operatives?"
Psylocke/Malice straightened slightly, now on her guard. The doctor never asked questions unless they had a purpose. If her answer wasn't to his satisfaction, she might soon find herself upon the cutting table. Then she'd find herself in need of a new host body. She'd grown rather attached to this one.
"Beta team performed as well as to be expected." Choosing her words carefully, she pressed onward. "However, it is my belief that – "
"They lack efficiency."
"Doctor?" She was not surprised with his judgment. She had known the misfit group of mutants were lacking. With the exception of Arclight, the brawny female street punk, none of the members of Beta Team had seen combat before. That was apparent from the way they had handled themselves in the field.
"Remove Beta Team from fieldwork for the time being. They require additional training. And perhaps a bit of tweaking."
Malice only nodded. She knew the 'tweaking' he referred to was undoubtedly unpleasant. Perhaps, if she were lucky, he'd let her watch. That was a tantalizing thought.
On her own, Malice was little more than an incorporeal virus. However, when she infected a host, not only did she gain control of the body, but also the memories, thoughts, and abilities that the host possessed. With her empathic abilities enhanced by having a host body with telepathic abilities, she relished experiencing the pain of others. From where she was imprisoned deeply within her own mind, the psyche of Betsy always found these experiences horrifying. Perhaps that was part of the reason Malice enjoyed them so much.
"Riptide is out of control. Unless I am able to curb his self-destructive impulses, he shall have to be scrapped." He was talking to her now. She knew better than to think him speaking to himself. The Doctor said nothing unless he wanted it to be heard. "Vertigo is useless without the element of surprise. Intensify her combat training immediately."
"Certainly." Malice/Psylocke purred. "To their credit, they were able to hold the X-Men into position long enough for me to brush past the psychic's shields."
"You did well, Malice." His voice conveyed no compassion to go along with the praise however. It was much as one would speak to an animal that one wasn't convinced could comprehend the words. "I don't believe Charles Xavier will be a problem in the near future."
Malice/Psylocke smirked. "Then we shall continue on schedule?"
"When Alpha Team returns from their assignment, yes." The doctor steepled his hands, tapping forefingers together in thought. "I will require all my Marauders for this task."
Tilting her head to the side, Malice frowned, her 'borrowed' telepathy picking up the signature of another, approaching the lab.
"Graydon Creed is here to see you." She didn't bother hiding her distaste for the man.
"Ah yes, Mr. Creed." The doctor smiled. "I have been expecting him."
"I see." Malice only scowled.
"Is there something you want to say, Malice?" He raised a brow at her.
"Why do you insist upon using him, Doctor?" She inquired. "The man is an insect."
"Indeed he is. However, he is an insect with money." The doctor replied blandly. "An insect that remains useful to me, for now."
"I see."
"Show him in, Ms. Braddock."
"As you wish, Dr. Essex."
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Studying the playing card in his hand, Remy LeBeau frowned. It was the Queen of Hearts. How ironic. Wordlessly, he gave the card the tiniest bit of charge. The kinetic energy flickered, surrounding the paper with a yellowish glow. Once it was charged to his satisfaction, Remy flicked it away from him. The playing card fluttered through the air lazily before landing squarely within the small metal trashcan. There was a flash followed by a bang as the tiny explosion put another ding in the side of the can. Usually this particular exercise helped calm his nerves. On this Monday afternoon, however, Remy was in an exceptionally foul mood. The source of this irritability was easy to discover, if one knew the source.
He'd been stood up.
He'd waited in that restaurant for two hours. Waiting for that auburn haired vixen to show up. Rogue had never shown. He was left sitting at the table for most of his Saturday night. And he still could not quite believe it.
He'd been stood up.
Was that possible? It'd never happened to him before. How could one girl withstand his charms to such a degree? Granted, he hadn't his charm power on her, not after the first time they'd met. It was of a challenge that way. Remy Lebeau didn't need to use his mutant abilities to get women. He had been certain she would accept his offer. Especially after Friday night when they'd met at the theater. That had been a spot of luck, hadn't it? Of all nights for St. John to wander off. And of all places for him to wander to.
Rogue hadn't shown.
It was a severe blow to his ego. He had thought the girl liked him. She'd certainly seemed friendlier to him last night. After she had initially tried to kill him that was. It wasn't as if he was stalking her or anything. He'd only been doing as he was told. Magneto had ordered him to keep an eye on her, after all. Although Remy wasn't entirely certain why. Magneto never told anyone his plans.
So Remy was only doing his job. And having a bit of fun in the process. He could admit that to himself. He hadn't objected to the task, once the Master of Magnetism had assigned it to him. The femme was attractive; there was no denying that. And with those powers of hers. Well, the opportunity was too much for the thief in him to pass up. She was just another passing amusement to be conquered.
Then why couldn't he banish the sight of those big gray-green eyes of hers? The way she had looked up at him that night. Like a little stray kitten, so tired of being kicked and abused and yet too stubborn to ask for help. Yet hoping that someone would. There was something within that cold façade she tried so hard to erect that made him want to take care of her. To make her laugh.
He snorted, flicking another of the charged playing cards lazily into the trashcan. Who was he kidding? He was a thief. Nothing more than that. He hadn't been anything better since he'd left New Orleans, no matter what he might want to believe.
"Going soft, Lebeau," he muttered aloud. "Going soft."
His thoughts were put on hold as footsteps echoed down the hall. From the sounds of it, St. John and Piotr had returned. The Russian's stride was hard to miss, his footsteps heavy and measured. St. John strutted a bit, his jaunty walk echoed in the sound of his steps.
"The lesson for today, Tovarisch? Next time your extremely weight teammate is doing reconnaissance on an icy precipice . . .do not leap on his back and yell 'Chicken fight!'"
"Jeez, if I ever see an icy precipice again, it'll be too soon!" St. John grumbled, blithely ignoring his comrade's warning. "Freezing my arse off ain't my idea of reconnaissance."
As the two Acolytes passed the doorway, St. John paused, popping his head in, unruly hair (Remy wasn't entirely certain what color it was supposed to be) sticking out in all directions beneath the navy toboggan. He grinned in typical St. John fashion, which made him look slightly manic. That wasn't too far off base. Granted, St. John was eccentric without his lighter, but when he was burning stuff, he was even more unbalanced.
"Still brooding?"
"Gambit doesn't brood." Remy didn't bother look at him.
"That's what I thought."
"Is Gambit still brooding?" That was from Piotr, whose massive frame was now filling most of the doorway.
"Non."
"Sure is." St. John nodded sagely. "Looks like women troubles to me."
"I agree."
"Listen, hommes-"
"You can always tell when I fella's got woman troubles."
"I do not doubt it." Piotr was clearly humoring the Australian.
"I had this one mate who had this ex-girlfriend-"
"Hommes." Remy sighed.
"-and was she ever hot!"
"Oh?" Piotr raised a brow.
"Boys.."
"Too bad she was completely bonkers! Let me tell ya!" St. John shook his head, looking up at Piotr. "Women aren't nothing but trouble, mate! Let me tell you about the time - "
St. John found his 'pep-talk' put on hold by the crackling playing card that fluttered between the two of them. The card spiraled lazily towards the ground. The Australian blinked, and then looked up at Piotr.
"Uh oh."
The two men scrambled out of range just as the card hit the ground, and exploded in a flash of yellow energy, blinding them for just a moment. The card did no damage other than be a general annoyance. By the time they'd regrouped enough to take another look into the study Gambit was gone.
"I hate it when he does that."
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It had been raining for the past three days. Lightning crashed against the dark backdrop of the night sky periodically. The storm had been quelled some from its initial fury, when people had feared a hurricane, practically unheard of in this part of the country. The Bayville weatherman was at a loss as to the cause. But of course, he'd never seen the tears of a Goddess, even if she was a mortal one.
Rogue sat on the front porch, the wind rocking the porch swing back and forth slowly. She'd sat in that house until she could bear it no longer. It was stifling, constricting with the nearly tangible layers of grief and panic that had begun to descend upon the Institute. Then she'd retreated. To sit on the porch and pretend that Kitty wasn't upstairs crying, even though the girl had no tears left to cry. Pretend that Scott wasn't still sitting in the med-lab, waiting desolately for some sort of news. Ignore the bleak helplessness on Ororo's face every time she passed the woman. Pretend that the Professor and Jean weren't lying downstairs, looking so pale. Dead but for the rhythmic rise and fall of their chests.
The southern girl ran a hand through her short auburn hair, letting out a sigh. By the time she and Kitty had made it back to the Institute, they'd found it in chaos. Logan had beaten them back in the X-Jet with the others in tow. Jean had collapsed. The other three were wounded. And the Professor . . .
He had been screaming she'd been told. Logan hadn't given her the details, but he'd said enough. The Professor had been screaming so horribly that at first, no one had known what the sound was. Ororo had been the first to find him. Storm had burst through the door of his study, ready to face some dreadful enemy attacking the Professor. What she had discovered was far worse. He'd been in the middle of a seizure, limbs flailing wildly and spouting odd, disjointed bits of speech. They thought he was trying to speak to Scott. Logan had arrived soon after. Together the two of them had managed to keep the kids out of the room and attempt to help him best they could. Then, Logan had taken the Jet out to find the others. He hadn't reached them a moment too soon.
That had been four days ago. Neither he nor Jean had regained consciousness yet, although their conditions had stabilized. Everyone was starting to get nervous now. Rogue could practically feel the tension rising within the Institute. They hadn't a clue as to what had happened to the Professor, only that it seemed to be linked to Jean's current condition. Of the mysterious mutants who had attacked them, there was no sign. The mansion had been on full alert since the incident, but it was too late to help the Professor and Jean.
Mr. McCoy had done all he could for them and they had still shown no signs of awakening. They'd scarcely been breathing when they'd first been brought in. He had gotten them stabilized, but now he was at a loss. They had no physical trauma to speak of. He had found it most perplexing. Without a psychic, they had no hopes of reaching either of them. Now it seemed there was nothing left to do but wait, as agonizing as that was. No one was certain that the two of them would wake up at all, as frightening as that prospect was.
Scott hadn't left the med-lab since Friday night. He just sat there, next to Jean's bed. Kitty and Rogue had alternated bringing him food and begging him to sleep. He'd thanked them with a certain bleakness in his voice, and yet refused to leave her side. The look on his face was utterly heartbreaking. He really loved her. Rogue knew that now. It was more than some silly school crush. Anyone who just looked at him could tell that. All Rogue's hopes that perhaps someday he would look at her like that were shattered with just a simple glance.
She'd always known that, hadn't she? Scott was far beyond her reach. Maybe that is why she liked in him the first place. He was sweet if a bit stuffy at times, and his faith in people was unshakable. He hadn't given up on her, had he, even after Mystique had tried to kill them both on that field trip. After all, what was she? A lonely little Goth girl with poison skin. A freak among freaks. Rogue frowned, realizing that she was just feeling sorry for herself. She couldn't afford to do that right now. Not with everything going to hell in a hand basket.
Chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully, Rogue was so caught up in "what if" thoughts that she didn't hear the front door open. The sound of the door slamming shut made her jump visibly. She turned toward the sound, brushing her mussed hair from her face as the smell of a freshly lit cigar registered in her brain.
Decked out in faded denim jeans and a cowboy hat, Logan chewed the end of his cigar pensively. He grunted at Rogue in greeting, giving a slight nod of the head. The hat was tilted at an almost jaunty angle, Logan's wild black hair sticking out from beneath. He was even wearing the leather jacket, wasn't he? The sight of him made her fight to keep a smile from crossing her face. She watched him stalk across the porch. The stocky man didn't walk, he definitely stalked from one place to another. He reminded her of some massive predatory animal.
"Going somewhere, Cowboy?"
He paused, giving her an odd look. Smoke from the cigar wafted around his head.
"Yea." His voice was gravelly. "Out."
Logan turned, walking off once more.
"Oh" was Rogue's only reply. She couldn't help but be slightly disappointed at his cold tone. Of course, Logan wasn't really friendly with anyone unless someone forced him to be.
She looked down at her shoes. The sneakers were beginning to show some signs of wear, she noted with disinterest. Logan was leaving again. It struck her as odd that he was leaving through the front door. It would have been quicker to leave through the garage. He never told any of them where he went. Rogue often wondered if he even told the Professor or Storm. Somehow she doubted it. She wished that she could just get up and leave sometimes. Just forget school and her responsibilities and go. But she had nowhere to go to. Mississippi was no longer home. She'd burned that bridge when she'd left Mystique, hadn't she? It still hurt, thinking of Irene. She'd known who Mystique was and what the woman really wanted and yet hadn't warned her. It hurt a lot.
She wouldn't be going anywhere for a while. With the current events as they were, Storm and Beast had initiated the order that none of the students leave the grounds. It was for their own protection. Rogue knew that. That didn't mean she had to like it.
Logan cleared his throat.
Rogue jerked her head up, surprised that he was still here. She looked at him blankly for a moment. He exhaled sharply, the sound suspiciously like a growl, and looked at her meaningfully
"Jesus, Kid. You look like someone kicked your puppy."
"Huh?"
"Well, Stripes. You coming or not?"
"What?"
"You staying here to mope like the rest of the place? Or you going with me?"
There really wasn't any decision to make. Rogue pulled herself off the swing and was down the steps in record time. Logan looked down at her, raising a bushy eyebrow. Then he turned and started toward the garage.
"What about curfew?" She queried. She didn't find it odd that her first question wasn't where they were going. Logan probably wouldn't tell her that anyway.
Logan just snorted depreciatively, not bothering to answer her. Obviously, he didn't care much for that rule. Rogue smiled despite herself, now knowing why he'd chosen to leave via the front door.
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Jean was floating in the darkness. She didn't know how long she'd been there, nor how she'd arrived at such a strange place. There was no fear within her, only a sense of calm. She was complete in a way she'd never experienced before.
Yet the calm did not answer the questions slowly rising to the surface of her thoughts. They were jumbled, chaotic. She pushed them down for the moment, merely enjoying the peaceful waves lapping over her. She liked it here. It was nice.
But where was here?
Jean wasn't entirely sure. Her memories were hazy. It felt as if there were something that had happened a long time ago that she should remember. It niggled at the back of her mind, demanding attention. She knew instinctively that she could only stay here for so long. There was somewhere else she needed to be. Things that needed doing. Scott would know. He always knew what - Scott!
The world suddenly came sharply into focus, color and light exploding around her. Jean stumbled, falling to her knees. The impact was much less painful that she might as expected, as she had fallen into a plush carpet of grass. Jean blinked, looking up.
She was sitting in the middle of a soccer field. Not just any soccer field, but the one at Bayville High. She ought to know it, considering how many hours she'd spent practicing on this very same field. How on Earth had she gotten here of all places?
Jean.
She jerked her head up, looking for the source of the voice.
Don't be alarmed.
She knew that voice.
"Professor?"
Hello, Jean.
Jean rose to her feet, looking around. There was no sign of Xavier. She was still in uniform, she noted absently. How long had it been since the battle? She remembered the blonde girl with the strange green streaks in her hair. And the spinning boy with the spikes. There had been someone else. Someone hiding. She'd reached out to locate them . . . and then there was only pain. So much pain she couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Now she was here.
"Professor? Where am I?"
That isn't an easy question to answer, Jean. After the attack on your psyche, your mind was thrown from your physical form. Your telepathy has become so highly evolved that instead of dying, your mind projected itself outward to the astral plane. In effect, your mind has separated from your body.
Jean listened attentively, beginning to feel a little uneasy.
To accomplish such a feat at such a young age is astounding, Jean. I'd always known you'd be capable of it, but I hadn't thought it would happen this soon. Consider this an out of body experience, if you will. For now, you are safe here, but I cannot determine the effects it will have on your psyche if you remain here indefinitely.
"How do I get back?"
It won't be easy, as this is your first time. However, I believe I can help.
"Why can't I see you, Professor?"
My situation is a bit more complicated.
"What's wrong?"
I haven't much time to explain, Jean. But you must listen carefully. Once you've reached consciousness again, you will no longer be able to communicate with me. I've much to tell you and time is of the essence.
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Whew. Realize that was short. But hey, had to get –something- out for you folks ^.^ This was an interlude of sorts, before the action picks up again. Next chapter should have a bit more fun in it. Hopefully. Yes, all things will eventually be explained, including what is up with Jean and the Professor. But we got to see the villain finally, even if everyone already knew who it was ^.^ You guys are so clever.
As stated before, none of the characters I am using are mine. They all belong to Marvel. I just hope I did a good job with the Marauders (what few of them I've used thus far).
This chapter is out today because Cajun Spice aired today. Remy/Rogue, and even Pyro fans rejoice!! Why is this chapter so late? Well, a combination of a broken computer and writers block would just about do it. Hopefully am back on track for the next chapter. But suggestions are always helpful!
Now for the Shout-Outs!
Great heap lots of thanks to: Ruby-servantof-eli, Katrina5, Desert-Rose 6, Andi, Yumiko, sarah, bunny angel, cool-chick-rae, Alwaysright1,
Aro – I want my cookie now! And I want a big one!
WeebleWobbleChic -- Thanks for the quote ^.^ I actually just watched that episode not that long ago.
PomegranateQueen – you are too kind, really. Glad that you got involved in my story. You don't know how much I appreciate hearing you say that! Hope you keep reading and enjoying!
Tainz -- Yeah, these baddies ain't cool. Or maybe they are just really cool. What happened to Jean will be explained better in an upcoming chapter.
Sabby13 – Glad you liked the Marauders. They've always been a favorite of mine, even if they never seem to live up to their potential. Pyro is another of my favorites, and I love writing him all crazy. (And from watching Cajun Spice this morning, I am glad to see I wasn't far off base)
Ishandahalf -- Yeah, I love Kitty/Piotr fluff. It's so much fun to write too. Of course, I don't love it as much as I love Rogue/Remy fluff. Only hope I get to write that sometime in the future. Provided those two place nice with each other.
Makura Koneko – Don't worry, plenty more of the Kitty/Piotrness to come in the future. At least, I hope so. ^.^ They seem to get along terribly well, don't they?
FreakRogue -- you wanna be my friend? Are you SURE about that?
Lady Vixen – There is nothing I enjoy more than a review from you! You know that, don't you? You write really nice critiques of my chapters, for which I am really grateful for.
Love it? Hate it? Review it and let me know.