A/N ~ Chapter title answerable to the Beatles CD I gave my father last Christmas, which he discovered last Saturday and now insists on playing full volume, all day, every day.
In other news, it's my birthday on Monday. Yes, I turn the big 20, and the wily looks passing between my mother and siblings whenever the day gets mentioned is starting to freak me out just a smidge.
Ambrosia; Yup, that was a joke. Though you're the only one who got it, it seems. Dayum, you just keep coming with the precognition, don't you? Dazzler's powers in this fic (it varies dependant on which universe you look at) are the ability to turn sound into light, and shape light to form words, pictures etc. She's mute, and her control stems from need more than want, after a run-in with anti-mutant mobbers sent her powers into overdrive and effectively made her a human mime.
The Phantom; Shel Silverstein and many others sang me to sleep at night when I was little. It seemed fitting, such a childish piece from such an aged - in all forms of the word - man.
Hootild; Logan shall indeed kick ass. Just give him time.
Ice Princess; Any and all holiday spirit would be good, right now. I'm sick of Politically Correct Christmas - or Winterval, as some bright spark wanted to rename it. Kind of a 'Winter', 'festival' hybrid word, which scares the bejeezus out of me because all my childhood memories of Christmas are taking a dive out the window in favour of carol-free winter concerts and greetings cards featuring a bicycle race. Very festive, I'm sure. If this is the way Christmas is going then I have only one thing to say. Bah humbug. (BTW, in answer to your question, here's a site that explains Bonfire Night much better than I ever could; http://www.bonefire.org/guy/index.php).
Amarth Obstreperous; Mutie Town... well, it's nice and it's not. It all depends on your viewpoint, really. I can't really explain it any better without giving too much away.
Gerri; Mucho Pietro in this chapter for your convenience, babs. As for why he's referred to as 'Brother Time'... well, because here, he's running out of it in a big way.
Ricter; Please don't go? This is really frustrating for me, because my sole argument for convincing you to stay would pretty much ruin a plot point from later on. Pertaining to 'Futures Tense', I'm sorry if it didn't live up to expectations. It's one of the earliest products of the Nutboard, when we were still finding our feet, fiction-wise. The reason I mentioned it with regards to the twins is because each of them is a key player in the text. The focus was meant to be on them individually, not as a pair as such, aside from the part you mentioned. It was just a different interpretation of how their relationship could have gone as compared to 'Judgment Day', was all.
Yodelbean; he stands vindicated, ladies and gents. Punkin' is canon. Thank you. And 'bean - I'm desperate ;)
Silvervine; Your wish is my command. Now where is that bloody wand...?
FrickinEvilPoptart; Can I just say first off that I adore your pseudonym. And thank you for the kind comments - thought the 'bonk' part made me double up with laughter. Where do I reside. Oh, just in Nuendo.
UnknownSource; Rogue will be explained in due course - and she features heavily in this chappie. Many thankies for the lovely comments and analysis. ^_^
Risa; Pissing contest, ha ha ha! And my alliterative skills have not abandoned me, it seems. Ready that fan, girl.
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Thirty-first Fragment ~ Hello, Goodbye
*******************
Kurt sat quivering in a chair that seemed designed to make him feel uncomfortable.
Aside from himself, the only other people in the room were Rogue and the little girl now introduced via Jamie as 'Bairn'. She didn't speak - not ever; but her strange eyes were constantly roving, taking in everything going on around her. She didn't seem like much more than a waif, but the fact that she'd been set to essentially guard the two siblings said more about her than words probably could.
Not that Kurt felt much like starting a fight. His chest ached almost unbearably over his cracked rib, and his breathing was becoming more laboured with every passing hour. Reluctantly, he let go of the legs he'd been clutching to himself and instead settled for twiddling with the tip of his tail.
Rogue sat, doleful and silent in the corner. She'd passed on the chair, and stood with her back pressed against the interlocking walls, eyes trained on the floor.
The room of the building they'd been ushered into not long after arriving was austere and damp, but it had a roof and a door, which stood open, as if daring them to escape. Of Logan there had been no sign when they stepped out of Bairn's portal, and the rest of their group had been swiftly broken up and given over to the 'care' of various members of Mutie Town. The town's hospitality left quite a bit to be desired, but they reminded themselves that the inhabitants were wary because life had taught them to be in order to survive.
All three mutants looked up as a shadow leaked into the room. A figure entered, bustling along on incongruously chubby legs that moved like little pistons beneath the flowery fold of a dress that had obviously been Sunday best at some point.
"Okey dokey," she said in a strange, almost motherly voice that waddled from her lips and drove the tense silence out with a broom. "I'm Layla, the healer. I was told there were people here with injuries, so I popped on over to see what I could do to help."
Kurt's eyes loomed large, like golden pools of light. Layla's pudgy face was graced by a warm smile, and she reminded him of his adoptive mother. Quite suddenly he was hit with a tremendous wave of homesickness, the likes of which he'd never felt since the day the X-Virus decimated the Institute and all hopes of returning to Germany were dashed.
Layla turned at the barely repressed choking sob, features drawing together into a concerned expression. "Oh, you poor things," she said, clicking her tongue and moving forwards towards him and Rogue. "You look all in."
Her hair was wispy and grey, and had been drawn back into a loose bun, speared through with random twigs and sticks obvious picked up off the ground. Her dress was ripped and torn in several places, but had been lovingly darned back to life, and whatever couldn't be mended had been covered with patches of other, rainbow cloth. A tired old cardigan was stretched across her ample bosom, and her feet flopped about in faded leather sandals that buckled at the ankle and left orange rust marks on her bare legs.
Kurt was taken aback at just how much she looked like Astrid Wagner. Only the face was different, and some small part of him was glad of that. To see his adoptive mother now would've been too painful.
Layla's skin was dusty and flushed red, and across her left cheek ran a thin scar like wire where a glass bottle had once caught her. In her hands she carried what appeared to be an old, battered knitting basket, and she set it down on the table - the only other piece of furniture besides a shabby mattress - and began to sort through it, talking all the while.
"I was so surprised to hear that we had visitors. Don't get so many no more, you see. Not for many a moon. Grasshopper don't like 'em usually, unless he's invited 'em himself, but you must be special. He's a good 'un, but life's treated him harsh, so he treats it harsh in return." She turned and knelt by Kurt's side, a piece of cloth and pot of something mushy in her hands. "Hmm, cracked rib. Lift up your shirt, please."
Kurt didn't question how she knew of his hurt, but did as he was bid, exposing a thatch of tousled blue fur. Layla set the pot down and dipped her fingers in it, then rubbed the strange ointment into his side. Kurt was surprised that she touched him without displeasure, and the gloop felt good against his skin as she gently massaged it in.
A stream of words mumbled from Layla's mouth, and she pressed the cloth over him. Around her fingers a faint purple glow crackled to life, and Kurt's insides tingled for a few seconds before she pulled it - and a few blue hairs - away.
"There now. All done. Feel better?"
"J... ja," he replied. And miraculously, he did. The tightness in his chest was gone, and he drew a long, easy breath that flowed into his lungs like silk.
Layla smiled, fat crinkling into pouches like a hamster. "So, good sir, what be your name then?"
"Uh, Kurt. Kurt Wagner. How is the one called Pietro?" he asked, for he had been the one in most need of healing.
Layla sighed. "He'll live, though his wounds were bad. That flatscan actually did a good job of keeping him alive, doncha know. No, he won't die, but some of his wounds may scar. Right little fidgeter, he was. Never wanted to stop still for me to do my job, and went on and on about how he was *supposed* to be hurting, because he was being punished. Poor mite." She shook her head.
Kurt bit his lip, casting a glance at Rogue. That sounded about right for the condition they'd left Pietro in, but somehow, it wasn't any comfort.
"I'm not sure about his ankle," Layla went on. "I've fixed it to a point where he can walk - maybe run if he tries, but not without hurting himself. He simply *wouldn't* let me heal it properly."
"Oh... uh, what were those words for? I've never heard of a mutant needing words to use their powers before."
"I don't *need* them, good sir. They're just phrases that help me concentrate my powers; a sort of meditative mantra. Things go all awry and messy when I don't concentrate. Once, I got distracted from fixing a cut on Scry's head, and practically all his hair fell out!"
"Oh... who's Scry?"
"A clairvoyant, but his talents extend to more than that. We just don't know no names for the rest of what he does."
Layla smiled again, and dreadful pain constricted Kurt's heart. Never had he wished for his adoptive mother so much. He let his gaze wander to the floor, so that he might lessen the pain somewhat. If he couldn't see her, he couldn't be reminded of Heirelgart...
"Danke for the help," he said softly. "I, um... what next? We've been waiting here for hours, but there's been no word on our companions or what we're supposed to do."
"Well, dearie, that all depends on Grasshopper."
Kurt remembered the strange, insectoid mutant from their arrival. Grasshopper looked like someone who'd seen too much, and hardened his heart to keep his sanity.
Would that they'd all done the same.
Plopping the lid back on her pot of mush, Layla folded the cloth and replaced both in her basket. Then she proceeded to cross the room and bend her knees slightly, looking up into Rogue's down-turned face.
"Wotcher, sweetie. You hurt in any way?"
Rogue didn't answer, but her eyes were strangely cold. Layla blinked, unperturbed, and shrugged her shoulders in her odd, motherly way.
"Ah, well, I guess not then. You want to tell me who you are, at least?"
No answer. Then, "Rogue."
"Bit of an odd name, but who am I to talk, eh? I'm one of the few mutants in this whole town who wanted to keep her own name. Everybody else went in for this whole code thing malarky. But I told, Grasshopper, I told him I was going to keep the name my mother gave me, no matter what he said. And if he wanted a real healer around here, he'd stop badgering me about it. Are you staying with us now? Are you joining the town?" She looked at Kurt. "'Cause if you are, he's going to try the same with you, so you'd either better be prepared to stick to your guns, or have your own title picked out. If you let them choose one for you they'll come up with something violent or strange. No room for feelings in this place. But I don't like it. The only reason I stay is because I can do good here, and - oh, Bairn!"
The reason for her sudden exclamation was quite simple. During the stream of babbling words, Bairn had started to wobble, swaying gently from side to side; until, finally, she toppled over altogether and slid to the floor in an ungainly heap.
Layla rushed to the girl's side. After a few moments checking and flitting to places with her hazy purple fingers, she pronounced that the tiny teleporter was suffering from exhaustion.
"I'll bet Grasshopper made her teleport too much weight again. Ooh, he does annoy me sometimes." Gathering the voiceless child up in her arms, Layla shot Kurt an apologetic glance. "Sorry, dearie, but I'm just going to have to pop out for a second. I'll be back in a jiffy, unless someone else beats me to it. Ha, ha!"
And with that she was gone, pausing only long enough to pick up her knitting basket and then flapping out of the door.
Kurt sat, watching her point of departure. He'd learned more about Mutie Town from listening to Layla for five minutes than by spending several hours in the company of its other inhabitants.
He sat, twiddling his toes and trying hard not to think about Germany and his adoptive family.
Rogue surprised him, then, by jolting up out of her reverie with a sharp hiss. Such was the alacrity of her movement that the unflappable Kurt Wagner very nearly fell off his chair, and peered at her with concern.
"Rogue?"
"Come on," she growled, in a tone quite different to her usual one. "Let's go." She started forward and caught his wrist, dragging him towards the gaping doorway.
"Go? Go where?"
"To find the others, of course. You didn't think I was gonna leave 'em all, did you?"
Kurt blinked, frowning. "But Rogue, we have to wait for - "
"I'm not waitin' for nobody until I know that the others are safe!" she snapped, silencing him with a piercing glare.
Kurt gulped, and for some inexplicable reason a knot of worry started to grind the bottom of his belly.
"Are you comin'?"
Glancing fearfully about, Kurt sighed and allowed himself to be hauled out of the room.
*******************
He sat, a broken boy in a broken room.
He had been placed on a stone throne - or rather, two stone blocks put together to resemble a throne.
The room had once been a church converted into a grand temple, but something - correction, some*one* - had destroyed it. Someone by the name of Wanda.
_...Wanda..._
The healer had come, fixed him up a bit. His body was almost wholly repaired, though scars remained on his skin from the burning and beating. His ankle was also still damaged. He could walk now, but not run so good unless he *really* pushed himself.
For some strange reason, he didn't care in the slightest.
Pietro shifted on the hard, cold stone. Behind him was a pile of rubble, and sat atop it like some horrible gargoyle was the face of a man he'd thought dead, and wished so upon occasion.
Magneto's fierce eyes seemed to bore into his back, accusing, and Pietro had only half listened when Layla waffled on about how he was supposed to be their saviour.
Broken, everything was broken.
A sound caught his attention. He looked up, noticed one of the shadows move.
"Who's there?"
A woman, not much older than his twenty years, detached herself from the gloom. Pietro saw that she carried something in her arms; a bundle of torn cloth and gently moving rags.
"I... I'm sorry sir," she whispered, bowing her head low. "I... I only came to... to see you... and... and to make a request. If I may?"
"What kind of request?"
She moved forward. Pietro saw her nearly skeletal frame, her ragged, unwashed hair, her dirty clothing, and her hollow eyes. She presented the bundle before him like some sort of gift or sacrifice.
"Please..." she stuttered, "bless my child, Windswift? The touch of the Lord of Earth's offspring would surely bring good luck to my little one."
Pietro looked down, saw the tiny babe swathed in cloth. Tears streaked its dirty face, though it was silent as it stared solemnly up at him, sucking a pudgy little thumb. It was clear where all the food had gone in this family.
Bring good luck?
Lady Luck.
Lady Luck and Brother Time.
Running out of time...
"Sure..." he said at last, though in truth he thought any blessing he gave would become more of a curse. He seemed to curse anyone he came near. "But... you gotta do something for me first."
The woman blinked, and it hurt to see the enthusiasm in her eyes. "What, mighty Windswift?"
"Do you know... do you know Lance? The one in my group who's gonna be buried?"
She nodded. "Why yes, Grasshopper has promised a funeral to honour him."
"Well, find his body, and search it as carefully as you can. Clipped to his belt you should find a gun. Don't tell anyone, but bring it to me."
The woman nodded again, fervent, and scuttled off. Pietro felt a little guilty of using her so. _But,_ he reasoned, _I've done a lot worse, and it's not as if she'll come to any harm because of this._ The idea that she might be punished for aiding and abetting never entered his fractured mind.
A few moments later, the woman returned, bearing gun as well as babe now. She passed it to Pietro, bowing once again as she did so. If she suspected what he was up to, she gave no sign.
"Thank you," he rasped.
"Will you bless my child, now?"
Pietro sighed. "Okay, okay, I'll bless your kid. What's his name?"
"Uh, it's a her. I called her after the other progeny of Magneto, Wanda."
Pietro blinked, startled; but he nodded. Placing one slender hand on the babe's forehead, he spoke; hoping to whatever God there was that his words would come to pass. "I bless this child, Wanda, that she may grow and live in safety, uh... without fear... without fear of treachery. Or jealousy! And... and that she might always have hope and..." he gulped, "and family."
Not much of a blessing to some, but the best he could think of right now.
"Thank you, Windswift. Thank you!" said the woman, and, taking the child, she hurried away to be reabsorbed by the shadows.
Pietro, once again, was alone.
He was glad. It would make his next action so much simpler.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the world at large. "I just can't *do* this anymore. It's too much. It didn't use to be, but now..."
He took Lance's gun and slowly raised it to his own head.
*******************
Kurt and Rogue slunk along the streets of Mutie Town, using their natural abilities or stolen memories of the same to hug the shadows and avoid any unwanted contact with residents passing by. Rogue was insistent they not be spotted, and though a little concerned at the request, Kurt went along with it.
Truth be told, he wanted to know how the others were faring just as much as she did, and the thought of someone forcing them back into that windowless room was altogether unappetising. After all, he was supposed to be some sort of leader, wasn't he? He was supposed to watch out for them.
_Some leader. I let a member of my team die, destroy the mental stability of others and then wish for my Mommy. Pah!_ The thought spiked into his brain, and he found himself questioning it before waving it away again.
Was he fit to be leader? Logan had probably done more that was deserving of the title. At least he hadn't flaked out and let all... all of *this* happen.
So much pain, so much death. Kurt had thought it was over. This journey to Ororo was meant to be a new start. Four years ago they'd destroyed their world; now they were trying to rebuild it, to forget what had happened and make a new life for them and their children.
Their children...
Kurt thought of Hope, now fatherless, and a lump caught in his throat. Lance would never see another dawn, and Hope would never know him at all. And as for poor Kätzchen...
An image of the blind girl, pale and drawn as she woke up and moved through the day like a robot, entered his head. Kitty, despite her blindness, had always seemed strong and bright. It was she who'd gone after Alvin in the desert; it was she who'd appreciated Kurt so for not patronising her on the bus. Now all she did was take care of Hope, eating little and talking less. She'd been completely silent when Grasshopper and his crew led her away, and hadn't even turned back to see what was happening to everyone else. It was like a light had gone out of her life...
_Snuffed out..._
"Here." Rogue's voice, strangely coarse, cut through Kurt's inner reverie and dragged him back to reality.
He blinked, staring up at the side of an old redbrick building, peeling paint just visible on the mouldering windowsill not three feet above his head. He hadn't even realised they'd halted, nor could remember the trip hence. A glance behind revealed that they were in some sort of alley, but he could see no end to it anywhere. Apparently, he'd been too lost in his own head to notice.
"Why've we stopped, Fraulein?"
Rogue gestured up at the window, loosing his wrist as she did so. "In there," she said simply, and moved towards a beaten metal trashcan laid on its side nearby. She dragged it over, taking care not to make too much noise and upturning it so that it wouldn't roll away. Then she clambered up like it had always been there for that purpose.
Kurt watched her face, but her expression was still inscrutable as she looked down and nodded. It seemed some of their teammates were within, and judging by the way she rattled and jimmied the ancient drop-window, there couldn't have been any inhabitants of Mutie Town inside watching them. At least, none that she'd seen, anyway.
Briefly, Kurt wondered how she'd known to look here, but the thought fluttered away in Rogue's grunting and determined eyes.
With much protesting and squeaking, the window eventually opened just enough to permit a body to slide through. Rogue indicated that Kurt, with his better balance and reflexes, would have more luck than she. He obliged, shinning up the wall and crawling through the slat with ease.
It was large enough to allow at least two of him through, he found, and he dropped to the floor on the interior with only the smallest of sounds, catching Rogue easily when she did likewise. Curiously, she didn't seem unduly bothered with the bodily contact, but he told himself it was just because she was wearing enough protective clothing for it not to be a factor.
Holding a finger to her lips, Rogue crept towards yet another door-less doorway, much like the one they'd passed through to escape their own gaol. Not that the people of Mutie Town were keeping them prisoner or anything, but there was an oppressive, almost stifling aura surrounding the place; like that of fear, loathing, and too many memories, all clustered together. Kurt had felt the self-same feeling before, in Bayville, before all the humans there either died or left. He hadn't liked it then, and he didn't like it now. It made him feel trapped somehow. In a prison without bars.
He peered around the doorway, noting that Rogue must have very good eyesight to see through it from the window. Beyond were a trio of beds, each one occupied with a small body. Two of these little figures were sitting up and facing each other, but the third lay swaddled in bedclothes that had seen better days as sacking.
"Daisy? Ariel?" The words were out before he could stop them, and the two upright figures looked towards the door in surprise and alarm that quickly turned to delight.
"Kurti!" Daisy cried, hopping off the bed and rushing towards him. "Rogue!"
Kurt bent down and enveloped her in a happy hug, overjoyed to see the little lizard girl safe and well, save for a bit of dirt on her face.
"Daisy, liebe, are you alright? They didn't hurt you or anything, did they?"
Her tail lashed back and forth like it had a mind of its own. "No, the people here've all been real nice. Keep calling us 'blessed children', whatever that means. Have you see Logan? Is he here, too?" She peered over his shoulder into the gloom, but to her credit her face fell only a little when Kurt had to tell her that no, he hadn't seen Logan, and didn't actually have any idea where he was.
"Oh. Well, that's okay. Logan can take care of hi'sself just fine."
"I know," Kurt replied with a wry smile. Boy, did he know.
Ariel was a little more formal and removed in his greeting, having not known Kurt or Rogue long enough to exhibit the kind of emotion Daisy did. Kurt was friendly, trying to make the boy feel welcome into their midst and noticing that Daisy had been doing a pretty good job of that already - as evidenced by how closely he stuck to her side, and how she felt the need to re-introduce him to them.
Rogue, however, was rather aloof. She nodded to Ariel, and allowed him to shake her gloved hand, but something was amiss about her demeanour. She kept raising her head at odd moments and looking blankly into the distance of the far corner. Dust motes caught her attention intermittently, and Kurt saw that her fingers were twitching, as if they wanted to ball into fists and hit something at any moment.
_Was ist los?_ he wondered to himself, but felt it prudent to leave Rogue's thoughts to herself. Perhaps she'd been closer to Lance than he'd at first thought, and she was still mourning for him. There was still a blackness at the pit of his own stomach, but part of that was due to guilt more than anything else.
Lance hadn't liked Kurt, as he'd shown in so many words; and Kurt hadn't liked Lance as much as he maybe should've. Now the bad feelings he'd inadvertently nurtured tasted bitter, and some irrational part of his psyche played with the idea that Kurt had wanted something like this to happen.
_No, no, that's not true._ He shook his head, chasing the notion away. Daisy looked at him curiously.
"Whatcha shakin' yer head fer?" she asked, ever blunt.
Kurt blinked. "Huh? Oh, nothing. Just thought I had a flea, liebling." He scratched at his ear to support the comment, and flashed her a smile. "That's all."
If Daisy wasn't convinced, then she didn't show it. Instead, she just folded her arms and asked point blank what was going on here, and what was going to happen to them all in Mutie Town from here on in.
Kurt had to admit that he didn't know, and quizzed the young duo about what people had told them since they arrived, and how come there was nobody staying with them at the moment.
"We had a weirdo man," Daisy sniffed, obviously not impressed. "Called hi'sself 'Scry', but he was all flibberty an' stuff. Went all strange and starey just after he tucked the three of us in, then took off to tell that Grasshopper guy summat. Didn't say what, and didn't say when he'd be back. Just upped and left us on our own, which we was until you two got here."
Kurt blinked. "Entschuildigung, three of you? Who else is here?" His stomach did a little flip-flop despite itself, and when Daisy pointed to the third bed with one scaly finger he fairly rushed over to it in a flurry of flailing limbs.
"Robyn, a' course."
Crouching down, Kurt regarded the tufts of brown erupting from beneath the covers and leaking across the tatty pillow. "Robyn? Liebling?"
Nothing. Then, slowly, so slowly that it almost hurt to watch and keep his fingers still, the corner of the blanket pulled back, and one liquid brown eye peeked out. It blinked sleepily at him, refocusing after a few gluey seconds.
"Kurti?" The voice was croaky with disuse and illness, barely above a whisper. Yet to Kurt it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard.
"Robyn, you're awake!" He stroked her cheek, not embracing her for fear of doing harm to her frail, spindly body beneath the covers. "How do you feel, Tapferes?"
She coughed, setting off alarm bells again, but her answer set them more at ease. "A lot better now. I'm still all achey, but Layla said that's normal, and I'm very brave."
Layla? It appeared Kurt owed the healer even more thank than he'd realised, since she seemed to have chased the very last of Robyn's sickness away. She'd obviously been very busy before coming to visit he and Rogue.
"Kurti?" Robyn sniffed and struggled to sit up. Kurt saw with joy that her eyes had their old shine back, and were no longer so horribly sunken into her furry little face. "Kurti, I dreamed of you. I dreamed you were upset, and you were having a Sad Time. Are you?"
The childlike innocence of the question threw him for a moment, and when he could answer, he instead simply wrapped her in a carefully tender hug.
Robyn seemed surprised, but patted his back, knowing that even if he was having Sad Time, Kurti was too proud to say it out loud. Even to her. For now, she just contented herself in his arms. It seemed like an age since he'd held her, and he smelled just the same. All Kurt.
"God, Liebling, I've missed you," he murmured.
"Why? I haven't been anywhere."
And for the life of her, Robyn couldn't understand why he laughed.
*******************
Rogue watched them, removed from the happy scene by a few steps. It didn't escape her notice how Ariel covertly took Daisy's hand. Nor the brief flash of fear on her face as she pushed him away again. Evidently, Daisy didn't like that sort of thing, but he stayed close to her nonetheless. Closer than Rogie did, at least. Which wasn't difficult, considering.
She tried, she really did, but somehow the momentous nature of the situation just kept bouncing off her. It was as if she was made of ice, and no matter how many times she tried to thaw herself a little, her exterior remained cold. Unbreakable.
Inside, however, she was in turmoil.
It was as if she were someone else, yet her at the same time. Two Rogues, sealed together into the same body. It was... odd. Not like when she'd absorbed people, yet remarkably similar. When she'd used her powers she'd always been aware of the distinction between herself and the foreign persona. She'd always, at heart, been her.
But this... this was something very different. She thought thoughts that weren't hers, and saw things she couldn't see. Not with her eyes, at least. They came in flashes, bursting into her consciousness and then leaving again with such veracity that she had to question whether they'd been there at all. Lucid, yet dreamlike. Painful, but welcoming and soft.
Yet the oddest thing was that she believed they were her when they were happening. They seemed to mingle with what she was seeing now, imparting themselves wholly, until she wondered if she was really standing here, in this room, or somewhere else entirely. Somewhere large and airy, with cold stone pressed against her back.
Half of her wavered around, flitting back and forth, and she resisted the urge to simply crumble to her knees and cry for it to stop. Her ice-queen mien helped a lot with that. She couldn't be weak. She had to be strong.
Weak, not strong.
Her thought? Or the other Rogue's?
Same, but different.
Was there really another Rogue?
Other-Rogue was cold and alone. So was This-Rogue. Both cold. Both lonely.
Same Rogue?
Other-Rogue wanted company. Special company. Company she couldn't have. So did This-Rogue. This-Rogue wanted something; someone she couldn't ever get back.
Same Rogue?
Gone. All gone.
Old refrain.
New sentiment.
Same person?
All gone.
Same Rogue?
Why should she still be here at all? She didn't do anything right.
All gone.
Couldn't even help when she dropped. Only heard the splash, and then it was too late.
One thought, two minds?
Two thoughts, same mind?
So much sadness. Couldn't help her at all with it. Too late. Not worth it, now. Worthless.
Little child in the room. In the arms of another. Poor thing. Needs love. No love here. Icy.
Ask a question, get an answer. But what if the question is, 'can you bring her back'? Would the answer be the same?
Same mind?
Same Rogue?
All gone.
Better to go. Not be a part of all this anymore. Mutants in arms, arms in mutants. Mind in body, body in mind. Soul in... where was the soul kept, anyway? Stashed away where nobody can get it? On show for the world to see?
People wear their hearts on their sleeves, but where do they wear their souls?
Two souls, two bodies. One bond.
Three souls, three bodies, two bonds.
Two souls, two bodies, two broken bonds.
Where to go? What to do? What to say next?
Gone. All gone.
Maybe she'd go too?
Other-Rogue wanted to leave. So did This-Rogue.
Other-Rogue could go. So simple, so quick.
This-Rogue had only feet.
Gone.
All gone.
*******************
Kurt looked up as Robyn's ears twitched, catching a sound and holding it. He gave her a querying look, and she whispered in her husky voice, "Rogue?"
Kurt blinked. Rogue hadn't said a word, and Robyn's face had been pressed into his shoulder, so any gesture the older girl could've made would've been lost. He surmised that Robyn must had exceptionally good hearing, and turned to see what Rogue had said or done to cause the frown now creasing the little cat-girl's face.
"Hey, Rogue, what're you..." He stopped.
Rogue was gone.
*******************
Slowly, inevitably, Pietro raised the gun until he felt the cold kiss of the barrel against the roof of his mouth. Tears were falling from his eyes now, sobs wracking his thin body.
He might have said something poetic and poignant, but there seemed little point with nobody there to hear it. Plus, talking around the barrel was difficult.
"Pie-Pie?"
He opened his cold, cold blue eyes.
A single, haunted figure was standing in the doorway to the ruined temple. She moved forward jerkily, like the souls of her feet had been stung.
It was Rogue.
"Please," Pietro rasped around the handgun. "Please... dun' call 'ee 'at... 'oo can'... 'oo can'..." Words failed him, and gave way to soft, wracking sobs that twitched his finger that much closer to the trigger.
Rogue moved further forwards, her eyes never leaving his broken form. "Put the gun down," she said softly. "Don't do it. It's not what we want."
"We?"
No answer. Rogue continued to move forward. When she was only a few feet away from him, she reached up and ripped one of her tattered sleeves off, displaying the tiny line of austere black numbers tattooed on her arm.
"We were together," she murmured, almost to herself. "Me and Wanda, together in the labs. They did things to us - things that mean we're still together... in some ways. You were always with her, Pie-Pie. Even when they had her strapped to the table, you were always there. Just like she's always with you. Just like she's always with me."
"But s'gone," he said, not bothering to fight the tears rolling down his cheeks. Who was there to look tough for, now? Slowly, he pulled the gun out a little further, until it barely rested on his lips and he could speak properly. "All gone. She linked us, and now she's dead. Because of *me*. My fault... all my fault..."
"Shhhh," Rogue hushed him. "But she's still here, Pie-Pie. She's still here, inside of me. Or maybe I'm in her." She blinked, abstracted. "She loved you."
There was silence then, and they were still. Two fleshy statues, carved in loss and grief.
When Pietro spoke again his voice was quiet, low - dark as the deepest pits of despair. "How do you know?" he asked simply. "How do *I* know?"
Rogue took another, careful step forward. Then another. She brought an arm up, the arm with the numbers on it. Slowly, gently, she put it to his face, skimmed his features with her fingers, almost touching the scarred and pale skin with her own.
Pietro brought his own hand up. With skin nearly as pale as Rogue's, he traced the numbers on her arm, not quite touching her, writing the numerals in the air above her flesh.
Rogue brought her hand to his hair, touching the silver strands gently. She followed the contours of his face, as if learning him by heart, and brought a finger so near his cracked lips she could feel his soft breaths. Further down the hand went, past the chin, the throat, to the top of his ragged shirt. Gently, she pushed against his arm, pushing both it and the gun to his side.
She lingered on the top button, then undid it dextrously. Her hand descended further, undoing the next, and the next, and the next. Pale skin only slightly marred met open air, and he watched her with eyes the colour of giants' tears.
Now his shirt was open, displaying his white chest, pale and hairless. Pietro's breathing quickened, but he did nothing, unable to draw himself away from the strange and terrible movements. The gun lay forgotten in his hand.
Rogue's hands continued their eternal journey, moving within his shirt but never touching. She stopped over his heart.
For a moment their eyes met, held in the other's gaze for a time immeasurable. She moved the palm of her hand forward, flat and so close she could feel the soft heat of his skin. So close she could almost feel the super-fast beating of his heart.
Then, with the tenderness of a mother, the passion of a lover, and the compassion of a sister, she touched him.
What passed between them in that second cannot be described by words. It cannot be written down onto crude paper or splayed on a screen. Nobody could ever cage it in useless vowels or obscene sentences. It can only be guessed at and revered.
And then it stopped.
Rogue's hand stayed on Pietro's chest, but the passing of thoughts, dreams and memories ceased.
Their eyes remained fixed on each other.
"Now you know how I know," she said softly, pulling her touch away.
With a groan of agony and ecstasy and all the feelings in between, Pietro fell into her embrace, and she embraced him in return, hugging him tight and not caring about the closeness, the nearness, the pressing against him like a child that couldn't stand on her own two feet.
"Ro-Ro," he cried into her shoulder.
And for the first time in what felt like an age, Rogue was at peace.
*******************
Kurt was looking around for Rogue when part of the window drifted down behind him and whispered "Knock, knock," in his ear.
He whirled away, holding Robyn protectively behind him, and was caught in an agony of indecision as he noticed that the dusty figure that had spoken was interposed between him and the other two children. He balled uncertain fists, but the man just shrugged and stood aside.
"Where do you get off, doing things like that?" Kurt asked waspishly.
"Same as everyone else, I suppose - making people jump makes me feel cleverer than them. Pathetic, really."
"A bit," Kurt agreed savagely, lifting Robyn back to the mattress and setting her down with Ariel and Daisy. "Why are you even here?"
"That's a bit of an inappropriate question, don't you think? This is Mutie Town, and I am a citizen. You are just a guest - and furthermore, a guest who is not supposed to be here in this building."
"A prisoner, you mean."
Another shrug. "It's been said, and would be a more accurate description. Nonetheless, you'd be best to return to the building you were allotted."
"Why? This is my sister, for God's sake!"
"Because Grasshopper said so. And, frankly, I do *not* think that Grasshopper is currently in any mood to be crossed. Moreover, he's coming to talk to you at some point in the near future, so he'll be somewhat displeased to not find you where you're supposed to be."
"Talk? What about?"
"People have been talking, Kur - oops ..."
"What did you just call me?"
"Kuroops. It's a Sanskrit word meaning 'outsider.'"
"Smooth recovery."
"I did my best." He shrugged, not at all remorseful. "Yes, I know your name. I also know that your Rogue has gone off to find the young Maximoff - uh - let go of me, please."
Kurt had grabbed the figure's tatty collar, stretching the already distressed fabric. "How do you know our names?" he asked, not raising his voice.
"Because, frankly, you're all idiots, and don't know when to keep your mouths shut," the man replied, looking like he might be sneering if he thought it worth the effort.
Kurt scowled and pulled him closer. "I don't like being called an idiot."
The man jerked his neck so that his forehead came within an inch of crushing Kurt's nose. Kurt flinched backwards, but did not drop him.
"Don't be one, then," the man said, and knocked Kurt's grasp on his collar loose without trying very hard. "Mutie Town isn't a nice place to be a Kuroops," he grinned. "We're not nice people if you cross us. We can't do very much, but what we can do, we do, and then some. You'd better retrieve Rogue and get back to your building, sharpish." The man looked slightly to one side, and Kurt followed his glance.
"What are you looking at?" he asked, squinting at the chipped and grafitti'd concrete wall.
"Kurt," whispered Daisy, tugging on his trousers, "the freaky man disappeared."
"That's a bad word, liebling," Kurt said absently, looking at where the man had been standing. If he looked just right, he could see where someone had done a bad portrait in spray paint on the wall, long faded.
*******************
The small craft carrying Magneto and his young lieutenants slowly descended to touch the earth a half-mile from the Mississippi Bridge. Inside, Magneto stood beside Dazzler and Wolfsbane, waiting for the ship to finish running its automatic diagnostics before opening the door.
Peter sat on the edge of his bed, fully outfitted in his Spider suit except for the mask. He held it in his hands and hung his head. He suddenly had a bad feeling about this whole mission. It was a feeling that had nothing to do with his spider sense. When the doors opened, Magneto and the girls would expect him to walk out onto the same Earth he used to be on with Aunt May and Flash and Harry and... and Mary-Jane.
Now, for the first time, he would have to walk it alone, with strangers.
It had been easy on Asteroid M not to think about all those he had lost. After all, he was just a little lost boy flying out in space on a giant rock - the stuff movies are made of. But now... now he would have to face the reality, and he wasn't sure he could take it.
Magneto scarcely noticed Spider Man step into place behind them, but acknowledged the masked youth with a nod when turning to greet the sight before them. The doors had opened, and the four weary travellers looked upon what had once been their home world for the first time in far too long.
"Pietro. Wanda. I've come home. I've come to make it right."
It was scarcely more than a whisper, dampened even further by Dazzler's proximity, but all of them heard it. All of them were thinking similar thoughts.
As the group walked out into the sunlight, they could feel a lingering crackle of electricity in the air, a faint hum of power. Wolfsbane's lips curled back into an instinctive growl - this didn't feel natural.
Spider-Man quickly spun around to check behind him - his spider sense was going haywire. Dazzler shifted from one foot to the other, her feet making no sound on the gravel of what was left of the road leading to the bridge.
Magneto only smiled, his hair and cape blowing softly behind him in the breeze. "She's nearby, or was recently. Spread out and find her, then report back to me."
No-one had to ask who 'she' was, so they spread out.
Dazzler walked a ways down toward the bridge, following Spider-Man's quick pace. Wolfsbane dropped to all fours and began sniffing around, trying to catch a scent.
Dazzler caught up to Spider-Man as he was staring down at the wreckage of a jeep. No bodies were visible, but it was clear there had been a struggle, probably involving mutants.
Is everything okay?
The letters floated lazily past Spider-Man, and he turned to face her. "Yeah, I'll... I'm fine. Let's keep looking, she's probably around here somewhere."
Dazzler nodded and wandered off in the direction of the bridge, while Spider-Man inspected the area around the ruined jeep for any signs of how many people might have been involved in the battle.
By and by, Magneto and Wolfsbane came to join him, after inspecting a few other scarred patches of land.
"What have you found, Spider-Man? Anything useful?" Magneto asked, a glint in his eye that Peter had never seen before.
"Just this jeep, really. There was a fight, but you guys noticed that too. Looks like a lot of people involved, but..." Peter's voice trailed off, proverbial ears pricking. Something was wrong.
Wolfsbane cocked an ear of her own, suddenly silent. She could sense it too. It caused an unconscious growl to ripple across her lip, exposing some fang and not a little gum.
Dazzler was being quiet.
She was always silent, but for the first time since they had met the girl there were no light motes dancing around, no soft glow to certain objects, no sudden, unasked-for bursts of colour around them. Nothing.
Quickly, Peter caught sight of her looking over the edge of the bridge, one hand covering her mouth as tears rolled down her cheeks.
The trio ran to her side and peered wordlessly at what she was looking at.
Amidst a pile of sharp rocks, a torn and broken body lay. Nearby lily pads floated on the water, spelling out a final message from the girl's last bit of power.
Goodbye, Pietro.
*******************
To Be Continued...
*******************
In other news, it's my birthday on Monday. Yes, I turn the big 20, and the wily looks passing between my mother and siblings whenever the day gets mentioned is starting to freak me out just a smidge.
Ambrosia; Yup, that was a joke. Though you're the only one who got it, it seems. Dayum, you just keep coming with the precognition, don't you? Dazzler's powers in this fic (it varies dependant on which universe you look at) are the ability to turn sound into light, and shape light to form words, pictures etc. She's mute, and her control stems from need more than want, after a run-in with anti-mutant mobbers sent her powers into overdrive and effectively made her a human mime.
The Phantom; Shel Silverstein and many others sang me to sleep at night when I was little. It seemed fitting, such a childish piece from such an aged - in all forms of the word - man.
Hootild; Logan shall indeed kick ass. Just give him time.
Ice Princess; Any and all holiday spirit would be good, right now. I'm sick of Politically Correct Christmas - or Winterval, as some bright spark wanted to rename it. Kind of a 'Winter', 'festival' hybrid word, which scares the bejeezus out of me because all my childhood memories of Christmas are taking a dive out the window in favour of carol-free winter concerts and greetings cards featuring a bicycle race. Very festive, I'm sure. If this is the way Christmas is going then I have only one thing to say. Bah humbug. (BTW, in answer to your question, here's a site that explains Bonfire Night much better than I ever could; http://www.bonefire.org/guy/index.php).
Amarth Obstreperous; Mutie Town... well, it's nice and it's not. It all depends on your viewpoint, really. I can't really explain it any better without giving too much away.
Gerri; Mucho Pietro in this chapter for your convenience, babs. As for why he's referred to as 'Brother Time'... well, because here, he's running out of it in a big way.
Ricter; Please don't go? This is really frustrating for me, because my sole argument for convincing you to stay would pretty much ruin a plot point from later on. Pertaining to 'Futures Tense', I'm sorry if it didn't live up to expectations. It's one of the earliest products of the Nutboard, when we were still finding our feet, fiction-wise. The reason I mentioned it with regards to the twins is because each of them is a key player in the text. The focus was meant to be on them individually, not as a pair as such, aside from the part you mentioned. It was just a different interpretation of how their relationship could have gone as compared to 'Judgment Day', was all.
Yodelbean; he stands vindicated, ladies and gents. Punkin' is canon. Thank you. And 'bean - I'm desperate ;)
Silvervine; Your wish is my command. Now where is that bloody wand...?
FrickinEvilPoptart; Can I just say first off that I adore your pseudonym. And thank you for the kind comments - thought the 'bonk' part made me double up with laughter. Where do I reside. Oh, just in Nuendo.
UnknownSource; Rogue will be explained in due course - and she features heavily in this chappie. Many thankies for the lovely comments and analysis. ^_^
Risa; Pissing contest, ha ha ha! And my alliterative skills have not abandoned me, it seems. Ready that fan, girl.
*******************
Thirty-first Fragment ~ Hello, Goodbye
*******************
Kurt sat quivering in a chair that seemed designed to make him feel uncomfortable.
Aside from himself, the only other people in the room were Rogue and the little girl now introduced via Jamie as 'Bairn'. She didn't speak - not ever; but her strange eyes were constantly roving, taking in everything going on around her. She didn't seem like much more than a waif, but the fact that she'd been set to essentially guard the two siblings said more about her than words probably could.
Not that Kurt felt much like starting a fight. His chest ached almost unbearably over his cracked rib, and his breathing was becoming more laboured with every passing hour. Reluctantly, he let go of the legs he'd been clutching to himself and instead settled for twiddling with the tip of his tail.
Rogue sat, doleful and silent in the corner. She'd passed on the chair, and stood with her back pressed against the interlocking walls, eyes trained on the floor.
The room of the building they'd been ushered into not long after arriving was austere and damp, but it had a roof and a door, which stood open, as if daring them to escape. Of Logan there had been no sign when they stepped out of Bairn's portal, and the rest of their group had been swiftly broken up and given over to the 'care' of various members of Mutie Town. The town's hospitality left quite a bit to be desired, but they reminded themselves that the inhabitants were wary because life had taught them to be in order to survive.
All three mutants looked up as a shadow leaked into the room. A figure entered, bustling along on incongruously chubby legs that moved like little pistons beneath the flowery fold of a dress that had obviously been Sunday best at some point.
"Okey dokey," she said in a strange, almost motherly voice that waddled from her lips and drove the tense silence out with a broom. "I'm Layla, the healer. I was told there were people here with injuries, so I popped on over to see what I could do to help."
Kurt's eyes loomed large, like golden pools of light. Layla's pudgy face was graced by a warm smile, and she reminded him of his adoptive mother. Quite suddenly he was hit with a tremendous wave of homesickness, the likes of which he'd never felt since the day the X-Virus decimated the Institute and all hopes of returning to Germany were dashed.
Layla turned at the barely repressed choking sob, features drawing together into a concerned expression. "Oh, you poor things," she said, clicking her tongue and moving forwards towards him and Rogue. "You look all in."
Her hair was wispy and grey, and had been drawn back into a loose bun, speared through with random twigs and sticks obvious picked up off the ground. Her dress was ripped and torn in several places, but had been lovingly darned back to life, and whatever couldn't be mended had been covered with patches of other, rainbow cloth. A tired old cardigan was stretched across her ample bosom, and her feet flopped about in faded leather sandals that buckled at the ankle and left orange rust marks on her bare legs.
Kurt was taken aback at just how much she looked like Astrid Wagner. Only the face was different, and some small part of him was glad of that. To see his adoptive mother now would've been too painful.
Layla's skin was dusty and flushed red, and across her left cheek ran a thin scar like wire where a glass bottle had once caught her. In her hands she carried what appeared to be an old, battered knitting basket, and she set it down on the table - the only other piece of furniture besides a shabby mattress - and began to sort through it, talking all the while.
"I was so surprised to hear that we had visitors. Don't get so many no more, you see. Not for many a moon. Grasshopper don't like 'em usually, unless he's invited 'em himself, but you must be special. He's a good 'un, but life's treated him harsh, so he treats it harsh in return." She turned and knelt by Kurt's side, a piece of cloth and pot of something mushy in her hands. "Hmm, cracked rib. Lift up your shirt, please."
Kurt didn't question how she knew of his hurt, but did as he was bid, exposing a thatch of tousled blue fur. Layla set the pot down and dipped her fingers in it, then rubbed the strange ointment into his side. Kurt was surprised that she touched him without displeasure, and the gloop felt good against his skin as she gently massaged it in.
A stream of words mumbled from Layla's mouth, and she pressed the cloth over him. Around her fingers a faint purple glow crackled to life, and Kurt's insides tingled for a few seconds before she pulled it - and a few blue hairs - away.
"There now. All done. Feel better?"
"J... ja," he replied. And miraculously, he did. The tightness in his chest was gone, and he drew a long, easy breath that flowed into his lungs like silk.
Layla smiled, fat crinkling into pouches like a hamster. "So, good sir, what be your name then?"
"Uh, Kurt. Kurt Wagner. How is the one called Pietro?" he asked, for he had been the one in most need of healing.
Layla sighed. "He'll live, though his wounds were bad. That flatscan actually did a good job of keeping him alive, doncha know. No, he won't die, but some of his wounds may scar. Right little fidgeter, he was. Never wanted to stop still for me to do my job, and went on and on about how he was *supposed* to be hurting, because he was being punished. Poor mite." She shook her head.
Kurt bit his lip, casting a glance at Rogue. That sounded about right for the condition they'd left Pietro in, but somehow, it wasn't any comfort.
"I'm not sure about his ankle," Layla went on. "I've fixed it to a point where he can walk - maybe run if he tries, but not without hurting himself. He simply *wouldn't* let me heal it properly."
"Oh... uh, what were those words for? I've never heard of a mutant needing words to use their powers before."
"I don't *need* them, good sir. They're just phrases that help me concentrate my powers; a sort of meditative mantra. Things go all awry and messy when I don't concentrate. Once, I got distracted from fixing a cut on Scry's head, and practically all his hair fell out!"
"Oh... who's Scry?"
"A clairvoyant, but his talents extend to more than that. We just don't know no names for the rest of what he does."
Layla smiled again, and dreadful pain constricted Kurt's heart. Never had he wished for his adoptive mother so much. He let his gaze wander to the floor, so that he might lessen the pain somewhat. If he couldn't see her, he couldn't be reminded of Heirelgart...
"Danke for the help," he said softly. "I, um... what next? We've been waiting here for hours, but there's been no word on our companions or what we're supposed to do."
"Well, dearie, that all depends on Grasshopper."
Kurt remembered the strange, insectoid mutant from their arrival. Grasshopper looked like someone who'd seen too much, and hardened his heart to keep his sanity.
Would that they'd all done the same.
Plopping the lid back on her pot of mush, Layla folded the cloth and replaced both in her basket. Then she proceeded to cross the room and bend her knees slightly, looking up into Rogue's down-turned face.
"Wotcher, sweetie. You hurt in any way?"
Rogue didn't answer, but her eyes were strangely cold. Layla blinked, unperturbed, and shrugged her shoulders in her odd, motherly way.
"Ah, well, I guess not then. You want to tell me who you are, at least?"
No answer. Then, "Rogue."
"Bit of an odd name, but who am I to talk, eh? I'm one of the few mutants in this whole town who wanted to keep her own name. Everybody else went in for this whole code thing malarky. But I told, Grasshopper, I told him I was going to keep the name my mother gave me, no matter what he said. And if he wanted a real healer around here, he'd stop badgering me about it. Are you staying with us now? Are you joining the town?" She looked at Kurt. "'Cause if you are, he's going to try the same with you, so you'd either better be prepared to stick to your guns, or have your own title picked out. If you let them choose one for you they'll come up with something violent or strange. No room for feelings in this place. But I don't like it. The only reason I stay is because I can do good here, and - oh, Bairn!"
The reason for her sudden exclamation was quite simple. During the stream of babbling words, Bairn had started to wobble, swaying gently from side to side; until, finally, she toppled over altogether and slid to the floor in an ungainly heap.
Layla rushed to the girl's side. After a few moments checking and flitting to places with her hazy purple fingers, she pronounced that the tiny teleporter was suffering from exhaustion.
"I'll bet Grasshopper made her teleport too much weight again. Ooh, he does annoy me sometimes." Gathering the voiceless child up in her arms, Layla shot Kurt an apologetic glance. "Sorry, dearie, but I'm just going to have to pop out for a second. I'll be back in a jiffy, unless someone else beats me to it. Ha, ha!"
And with that she was gone, pausing only long enough to pick up her knitting basket and then flapping out of the door.
Kurt sat, watching her point of departure. He'd learned more about Mutie Town from listening to Layla for five minutes than by spending several hours in the company of its other inhabitants.
He sat, twiddling his toes and trying hard not to think about Germany and his adoptive family.
Rogue surprised him, then, by jolting up out of her reverie with a sharp hiss. Such was the alacrity of her movement that the unflappable Kurt Wagner very nearly fell off his chair, and peered at her with concern.
"Rogue?"
"Come on," she growled, in a tone quite different to her usual one. "Let's go." She started forward and caught his wrist, dragging him towards the gaping doorway.
"Go? Go where?"
"To find the others, of course. You didn't think I was gonna leave 'em all, did you?"
Kurt blinked, frowning. "But Rogue, we have to wait for - "
"I'm not waitin' for nobody until I know that the others are safe!" she snapped, silencing him with a piercing glare.
Kurt gulped, and for some inexplicable reason a knot of worry started to grind the bottom of his belly.
"Are you comin'?"
Glancing fearfully about, Kurt sighed and allowed himself to be hauled out of the room.
*******************
He sat, a broken boy in a broken room.
He had been placed on a stone throne - or rather, two stone blocks put together to resemble a throne.
The room had once been a church converted into a grand temple, but something - correction, some*one* - had destroyed it. Someone by the name of Wanda.
_...Wanda..._
The healer had come, fixed him up a bit. His body was almost wholly repaired, though scars remained on his skin from the burning and beating. His ankle was also still damaged. He could walk now, but not run so good unless he *really* pushed himself.
For some strange reason, he didn't care in the slightest.
Pietro shifted on the hard, cold stone. Behind him was a pile of rubble, and sat atop it like some horrible gargoyle was the face of a man he'd thought dead, and wished so upon occasion.
Magneto's fierce eyes seemed to bore into his back, accusing, and Pietro had only half listened when Layla waffled on about how he was supposed to be their saviour.
Broken, everything was broken.
A sound caught his attention. He looked up, noticed one of the shadows move.
"Who's there?"
A woman, not much older than his twenty years, detached herself from the gloom. Pietro saw that she carried something in her arms; a bundle of torn cloth and gently moving rags.
"I... I'm sorry sir," she whispered, bowing her head low. "I... I only came to... to see you... and... and to make a request. If I may?"
"What kind of request?"
She moved forward. Pietro saw her nearly skeletal frame, her ragged, unwashed hair, her dirty clothing, and her hollow eyes. She presented the bundle before him like some sort of gift or sacrifice.
"Please..." she stuttered, "bless my child, Windswift? The touch of the Lord of Earth's offspring would surely bring good luck to my little one."
Pietro looked down, saw the tiny babe swathed in cloth. Tears streaked its dirty face, though it was silent as it stared solemnly up at him, sucking a pudgy little thumb. It was clear where all the food had gone in this family.
Bring good luck?
Lady Luck.
Lady Luck and Brother Time.
Running out of time...
"Sure..." he said at last, though in truth he thought any blessing he gave would become more of a curse. He seemed to curse anyone he came near. "But... you gotta do something for me first."
The woman blinked, and it hurt to see the enthusiasm in her eyes. "What, mighty Windswift?"
"Do you know... do you know Lance? The one in my group who's gonna be buried?"
She nodded. "Why yes, Grasshopper has promised a funeral to honour him."
"Well, find his body, and search it as carefully as you can. Clipped to his belt you should find a gun. Don't tell anyone, but bring it to me."
The woman nodded again, fervent, and scuttled off. Pietro felt a little guilty of using her so. _But,_ he reasoned, _I've done a lot worse, and it's not as if she'll come to any harm because of this._ The idea that she might be punished for aiding and abetting never entered his fractured mind.
A few moments later, the woman returned, bearing gun as well as babe now. She passed it to Pietro, bowing once again as she did so. If she suspected what he was up to, she gave no sign.
"Thank you," he rasped.
"Will you bless my child, now?"
Pietro sighed. "Okay, okay, I'll bless your kid. What's his name?"
"Uh, it's a her. I called her after the other progeny of Magneto, Wanda."
Pietro blinked, startled; but he nodded. Placing one slender hand on the babe's forehead, he spoke; hoping to whatever God there was that his words would come to pass. "I bless this child, Wanda, that she may grow and live in safety, uh... without fear... without fear of treachery. Or jealousy! And... and that she might always have hope and..." he gulped, "and family."
Not much of a blessing to some, but the best he could think of right now.
"Thank you, Windswift. Thank you!" said the woman, and, taking the child, she hurried away to be reabsorbed by the shadows.
Pietro, once again, was alone.
He was glad. It would make his next action so much simpler.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the world at large. "I just can't *do* this anymore. It's too much. It didn't use to be, but now..."
He took Lance's gun and slowly raised it to his own head.
*******************
Kurt and Rogue slunk along the streets of Mutie Town, using their natural abilities or stolen memories of the same to hug the shadows and avoid any unwanted contact with residents passing by. Rogue was insistent they not be spotted, and though a little concerned at the request, Kurt went along with it.
Truth be told, he wanted to know how the others were faring just as much as she did, and the thought of someone forcing them back into that windowless room was altogether unappetising. After all, he was supposed to be some sort of leader, wasn't he? He was supposed to watch out for them.
_Some leader. I let a member of my team die, destroy the mental stability of others and then wish for my Mommy. Pah!_ The thought spiked into his brain, and he found himself questioning it before waving it away again.
Was he fit to be leader? Logan had probably done more that was deserving of the title. At least he hadn't flaked out and let all... all of *this* happen.
So much pain, so much death. Kurt had thought it was over. This journey to Ororo was meant to be a new start. Four years ago they'd destroyed their world; now they were trying to rebuild it, to forget what had happened and make a new life for them and their children.
Their children...
Kurt thought of Hope, now fatherless, and a lump caught in his throat. Lance would never see another dawn, and Hope would never know him at all. And as for poor Kätzchen...
An image of the blind girl, pale and drawn as she woke up and moved through the day like a robot, entered his head. Kitty, despite her blindness, had always seemed strong and bright. It was she who'd gone after Alvin in the desert; it was she who'd appreciated Kurt so for not patronising her on the bus. Now all she did was take care of Hope, eating little and talking less. She'd been completely silent when Grasshopper and his crew led her away, and hadn't even turned back to see what was happening to everyone else. It was like a light had gone out of her life...
_Snuffed out..._
"Here." Rogue's voice, strangely coarse, cut through Kurt's inner reverie and dragged him back to reality.
He blinked, staring up at the side of an old redbrick building, peeling paint just visible on the mouldering windowsill not three feet above his head. He hadn't even realised they'd halted, nor could remember the trip hence. A glance behind revealed that they were in some sort of alley, but he could see no end to it anywhere. Apparently, he'd been too lost in his own head to notice.
"Why've we stopped, Fraulein?"
Rogue gestured up at the window, loosing his wrist as she did so. "In there," she said simply, and moved towards a beaten metal trashcan laid on its side nearby. She dragged it over, taking care not to make too much noise and upturning it so that it wouldn't roll away. Then she clambered up like it had always been there for that purpose.
Kurt watched her face, but her expression was still inscrutable as she looked down and nodded. It seemed some of their teammates were within, and judging by the way she rattled and jimmied the ancient drop-window, there couldn't have been any inhabitants of Mutie Town inside watching them. At least, none that she'd seen, anyway.
Briefly, Kurt wondered how she'd known to look here, but the thought fluttered away in Rogue's grunting and determined eyes.
With much protesting and squeaking, the window eventually opened just enough to permit a body to slide through. Rogue indicated that Kurt, with his better balance and reflexes, would have more luck than she. He obliged, shinning up the wall and crawling through the slat with ease.
It was large enough to allow at least two of him through, he found, and he dropped to the floor on the interior with only the smallest of sounds, catching Rogue easily when she did likewise. Curiously, she didn't seem unduly bothered with the bodily contact, but he told himself it was just because she was wearing enough protective clothing for it not to be a factor.
Holding a finger to her lips, Rogue crept towards yet another door-less doorway, much like the one they'd passed through to escape their own gaol. Not that the people of Mutie Town were keeping them prisoner or anything, but there was an oppressive, almost stifling aura surrounding the place; like that of fear, loathing, and too many memories, all clustered together. Kurt had felt the self-same feeling before, in Bayville, before all the humans there either died or left. He hadn't liked it then, and he didn't like it now. It made him feel trapped somehow. In a prison without bars.
He peered around the doorway, noting that Rogue must have very good eyesight to see through it from the window. Beyond were a trio of beds, each one occupied with a small body. Two of these little figures were sitting up and facing each other, but the third lay swaddled in bedclothes that had seen better days as sacking.
"Daisy? Ariel?" The words were out before he could stop them, and the two upright figures looked towards the door in surprise and alarm that quickly turned to delight.
"Kurti!" Daisy cried, hopping off the bed and rushing towards him. "Rogue!"
Kurt bent down and enveloped her in a happy hug, overjoyed to see the little lizard girl safe and well, save for a bit of dirt on her face.
"Daisy, liebe, are you alright? They didn't hurt you or anything, did they?"
Her tail lashed back and forth like it had a mind of its own. "No, the people here've all been real nice. Keep calling us 'blessed children', whatever that means. Have you see Logan? Is he here, too?" She peered over his shoulder into the gloom, but to her credit her face fell only a little when Kurt had to tell her that no, he hadn't seen Logan, and didn't actually have any idea where he was.
"Oh. Well, that's okay. Logan can take care of hi'sself just fine."
"I know," Kurt replied with a wry smile. Boy, did he know.
Ariel was a little more formal and removed in his greeting, having not known Kurt or Rogue long enough to exhibit the kind of emotion Daisy did. Kurt was friendly, trying to make the boy feel welcome into their midst and noticing that Daisy had been doing a pretty good job of that already - as evidenced by how closely he stuck to her side, and how she felt the need to re-introduce him to them.
Rogue, however, was rather aloof. She nodded to Ariel, and allowed him to shake her gloved hand, but something was amiss about her demeanour. She kept raising her head at odd moments and looking blankly into the distance of the far corner. Dust motes caught her attention intermittently, and Kurt saw that her fingers were twitching, as if they wanted to ball into fists and hit something at any moment.
_Was ist los?_ he wondered to himself, but felt it prudent to leave Rogue's thoughts to herself. Perhaps she'd been closer to Lance than he'd at first thought, and she was still mourning for him. There was still a blackness at the pit of his own stomach, but part of that was due to guilt more than anything else.
Lance hadn't liked Kurt, as he'd shown in so many words; and Kurt hadn't liked Lance as much as he maybe should've. Now the bad feelings he'd inadvertently nurtured tasted bitter, and some irrational part of his psyche played with the idea that Kurt had wanted something like this to happen.
_No, no, that's not true._ He shook his head, chasing the notion away. Daisy looked at him curiously.
"Whatcha shakin' yer head fer?" she asked, ever blunt.
Kurt blinked. "Huh? Oh, nothing. Just thought I had a flea, liebling." He scratched at his ear to support the comment, and flashed her a smile. "That's all."
If Daisy wasn't convinced, then she didn't show it. Instead, she just folded her arms and asked point blank what was going on here, and what was going to happen to them all in Mutie Town from here on in.
Kurt had to admit that he didn't know, and quizzed the young duo about what people had told them since they arrived, and how come there was nobody staying with them at the moment.
"We had a weirdo man," Daisy sniffed, obviously not impressed. "Called hi'sself 'Scry', but he was all flibberty an' stuff. Went all strange and starey just after he tucked the three of us in, then took off to tell that Grasshopper guy summat. Didn't say what, and didn't say when he'd be back. Just upped and left us on our own, which we was until you two got here."
Kurt blinked. "Entschuildigung, three of you? Who else is here?" His stomach did a little flip-flop despite itself, and when Daisy pointed to the third bed with one scaly finger he fairly rushed over to it in a flurry of flailing limbs.
"Robyn, a' course."
Crouching down, Kurt regarded the tufts of brown erupting from beneath the covers and leaking across the tatty pillow. "Robyn? Liebling?"
Nothing. Then, slowly, so slowly that it almost hurt to watch and keep his fingers still, the corner of the blanket pulled back, and one liquid brown eye peeked out. It blinked sleepily at him, refocusing after a few gluey seconds.
"Kurti?" The voice was croaky with disuse and illness, barely above a whisper. Yet to Kurt it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard.
"Robyn, you're awake!" He stroked her cheek, not embracing her for fear of doing harm to her frail, spindly body beneath the covers. "How do you feel, Tapferes?"
She coughed, setting off alarm bells again, but her answer set them more at ease. "A lot better now. I'm still all achey, but Layla said that's normal, and I'm very brave."
Layla? It appeared Kurt owed the healer even more thank than he'd realised, since she seemed to have chased the very last of Robyn's sickness away. She'd obviously been very busy before coming to visit he and Rogue.
"Kurti?" Robyn sniffed and struggled to sit up. Kurt saw with joy that her eyes had their old shine back, and were no longer so horribly sunken into her furry little face. "Kurti, I dreamed of you. I dreamed you were upset, and you were having a Sad Time. Are you?"
The childlike innocence of the question threw him for a moment, and when he could answer, he instead simply wrapped her in a carefully tender hug.
Robyn seemed surprised, but patted his back, knowing that even if he was having Sad Time, Kurti was too proud to say it out loud. Even to her. For now, she just contented herself in his arms. It seemed like an age since he'd held her, and he smelled just the same. All Kurt.
"God, Liebling, I've missed you," he murmured.
"Why? I haven't been anywhere."
And for the life of her, Robyn couldn't understand why he laughed.
*******************
Rogue watched them, removed from the happy scene by a few steps. It didn't escape her notice how Ariel covertly took Daisy's hand. Nor the brief flash of fear on her face as she pushed him away again. Evidently, Daisy didn't like that sort of thing, but he stayed close to her nonetheless. Closer than Rogie did, at least. Which wasn't difficult, considering.
She tried, she really did, but somehow the momentous nature of the situation just kept bouncing off her. It was as if she was made of ice, and no matter how many times she tried to thaw herself a little, her exterior remained cold. Unbreakable.
Inside, however, she was in turmoil.
It was as if she were someone else, yet her at the same time. Two Rogues, sealed together into the same body. It was... odd. Not like when she'd absorbed people, yet remarkably similar. When she'd used her powers she'd always been aware of the distinction between herself and the foreign persona. She'd always, at heart, been her.
But this... this was something very different. She thought thoughts that weren't hers, and saw things she couldn't see. Not with her eyes, at least. They came in flashes, bursting into her consciousness and then leaving again with such veracity that she had to question whether they'd been there at all. Lucid, yet dreamlike. Painful, but welcoming and soft.
Yet the oddest thing was that she believed they were her when they were happening. They seemed to mingle with what she was seeing now, imparting themselves wholly, until she wondered if she was really standing here, in this room, or somewhere else entirely. Somewhere large and airy, with cold stone pressed against her back.
Half of her wavered around, flitting back and forth, and she resisted the urge to simply crumble to her knees and cry for it to stop. Her ice-queen mien helped a lot with that. She couldn't be weak. She had to be strong.
Weak, not strong.
Her thought? Or the other Rogue's?
Same, but different.
Was there really another Rogue?
Other-Rogue was cold and alone. So was This-Rogue. Both cold. Both lonely.
Same Rogue?
Other-Rogue wanted company. Special company. Company she couldn't have. So did This-Rogue. This-Rogue wanted something; someone she couldn't ever get back.
Same Rogue?
Gone. All gone.
Old refrain.
New sentiment.
Same person?
All gone.
Same Rogue?
Why should she still be here at all? She didn't do anything right.
All gone.
Couldn't even help when she dropped. Only heard the splash, and then it was too late.
One thought, two minds?
Two thoughts, same mind?
So much sadness. Couldn't help her at all with it. Too late. Not worth it, now. Worthless.
Little child in the room. In the arms of another. Poor thing. Needs love. No love here. Icy.
Ask a question, get an answer. But what if the question is, 'can you bring her back'? Would the answer be the same?
Same mind?
Same Rogue?
All gone.
Better to go. Not be a part of all this anymore. Mutants in arms, arms in mutants. Mind in body, body in mind. Soul in... where was the soul kept, anyway? Stashed away where nobody can get it? On show for the world to see?
People wear their hearts on their sleeves, but where do they wear their souls?
Two souls, two bodies. One bond.
Three souls, three bodies, two bonds.
Two souls, two bodies, two broken bonds.
Where to go? What to do? What to say next?
Gone. All gone.
Maybe she'd go too?
Other-Rogue wanted to leave. So did This-Rogue.
Other-Rogue could go. So simple, so quick.
This-Rogue had only feet.
Gone.
All gone.
*******************
Kurt looked up as Robyn's ears twitched, catching a sound and holding it. He gave her a querying look, and she whispered in her husky voice, "Rogue?"
Kurt blinked. Rogue hadn't said a word, and Robyn's face had been pressed into his shoulder, so any gesture the older girl could've made would've been lost. He surmised that Robyn must had exceptionally good hearing, and turned to see what Rogue had said or done to cause the frown now creasing the little cat-girl's face.
"Hey, Rogue, what're you..." He stopped.
Rogue was gone.
*******************
Slowly, inevitably, Pietro raised the gun until he felt the cold kiss of the barrel against the roof of his mouth. Tears were falling from his eyes now, sobs wracking his thin body.
He might have said something poetic and poignant, but there seemed little point with nobody there to hear it. Plus, talking around the barrel was difficult.
"Pie-Pie?"
He opened his cold, cold blue eyes.
A single, haunted figure was standing in the doorway to the ruined temple. She moved forward jerkily, like the souls of her feet had been stung.
It was Rogue.
"Please," Pietro rasped around the handgun. "Please... dun' call 'ee 'at... 'oo can'... 'oo can'..." Words failed him, and gave way to soft, wracking sobs that twitched his finger that much closer to the trigger.
Rogue moved further forwards, her eyes never leaving his broken form. "Put the gun down," she said softly. "Don't do it. It's not what we want."
"We?"
No answer. Rogue continued to move forward. When she was only a few feet away from him, she reached up and ripped one of her tattered sleeves off, displaying the tiny line of austere black numbers tattooed on her arm.
"We were together," she murmured, almost to herself. "Me and Wanda, together in the labs. They did things to us - things that mean we're still together... in some ways. You were always with her, Pie-Pie. Even when they had her strapped to the table, you were always there. Just like she's always with you. Just like she's always with me."
"But s'gone," he said, not bothering to fight the tears rolling down his cheeks. Who was there to look tough for, now? Slowly, he pulled the gun out a little further, until it barely rested on his lips and he could speak properly. "All gone. She linked us, and now she's dead. Because of *me*. My fault... all my fault..."
"Shhhh," Rogue hushed him. "But she's still here, Pie-Pie. She's still here, inside of me. Or maybe I'm in her." She blinked, abstracted. "She loved you."
There was silence then, and they were still. Two fleshy statues, carved in loss and grief.
When Pietro spoke again his voice was quiet, low - dark as the deepest pits of despair. "How do you know?" he asked simply. "How do *I* know?"
Rogue took another, careful step forward. Then another. She brought an arm up, the arm with the numbers on it. Slowly, gently, she put it to his face, skimmed his features with her fingers, almost touching the scarred and pale skin with her own.
Pietro brought his own hand up. With skin nearly as pale as Rogue's, he traced the numbers on her arm, not quite touching her, writing the numerals in the air above her flesh.
Rogue brought her hand to his hair, touching the silver strands gently. She followed the contours of his face, as if learning him by heart, and brought a finger so near his cracked lips she could feel his soft breaths. Further down the hand went, past the chin, the throat, to the top of his ragged shirt. Gently, she pushed against his arm, pushing both it and the gun to his side.
She lingered on the top button, then undid it dextrously. Her hand descended further, undoing the next, and the next, and the next. Pale skin only slightly marred met open air, and he watched her with eyes the colour of giants' tears.
Now his shirt was open, displaying his white chest, pale and hairless. Pietro's breathing quickened, but he did nothing, unable to draw himself away from the strange and terrible movements. The gun lay forgotten in his hand.
Rogue's hands continued their eternal journey, moving within his shirt but never touching. She stopped over his heart.
For a moment their eyes met, held in the other's gaze for a time immeasurable. She moved the palm of her hand forward, flat and so close she could feel the soft heat of his skin. So close she could almost feel the super-fast beating of his heart.
Then, with the tenderness of a mother, the passion of a lover, and the compassion of a sister, she touched him.
What passed between them in that second cannot be described by words. It cannot be written down onto crude paper or splayed on a screen. Nobody could ever cage it in useless vowels or obscene sentences. It can only be guessed at and revered.
And then it stopped.
Rogue's hand stayed on Pietro's chest, but the passing of thoughts, dreams and memories ceased.
Their eyes remained fixed on each other.
"Now you know how I know," she said softly, pulling her touch away.
With a groan of agony and ecstasy and all the feelings in between, Pietro fell into her embrace, and she embraced him in return, hugging him tight and not caring about the closeness, the nearness, the pressing against him like a child that couldn't stand on her own two feet.
"Ro-Ro," he cried into her shoulder.
And for the first time in what felt like an age, Rogue was at peace.
*******************
Kurt was looking around for Rogue when part of the window drifted down behind him and whispered "Knock, knock," in his ear.
He whirled away, holding Robyn protectively behind him, and was caught in an agony of indecision as he noticed that the dusty figure that had spoken was interposed between him and the other two children. He balled uncertain fists, but the man just shrugged and stood aside.
"Where do you get off, doing things like that?" Kurt asked waspishly.
"Same as everyone else, I suppose - making people jump makes me feel cleverer than them. Pathetic, really."
"A bit," Kurt agreed savagely, lifting Robyn back to the mattress and setting her down with Ariel and Daisy. "Why are you even here?"
"That's a bit of an inappropriate question, don't you think? This is Mutie Town, and I am a citizen. You are just a guest - and furthermore, a guest who is not supposed to be here in this building."
"A prisoner, you mean."
Another shrug. "It's been said, and would be a more accurate description. Nonetheless, you'd be best to return to the building you were allotted."
"Why? This is my sister, for God's sake!"
"Because Grasshopper said so. And, frankly, I do *not* think that Grasshopper is currently in any mood to be crossed. Moreover, he's coming to talk to you at some point in the near future, so he'll be somewhat displeased to not find you where you're supposed to be."
"Talk? What about?"
"People have been talking, Kur - oops ..."
"What did you just call me?"
"Kuroops. It's a Sanskrit word meaning 'outsider.'"
"Smooth recovery."
"I did my best." He shrugged, not at all remorseful. "Yes, I know your name. I also know that your Rogue has gone off to find the young Maximoff - uh - let go of me, please."
Kurt had grabbed the figure's tatty collar, stretching the already distressed fabric. "How do you know our names?" he asked, not raising his voice.
"Because, frankly, you're all idiots, and don't know when to keep your mouths shut," the man replied, looking like he might be sneering if he thought it worth the effort.
Kurt scowled and pulled him closer. "I don't like being called an idiot."
The man jerked his neck so that his forehead came within an inch of crushing Kurt's nose. Kurt flinched backwards, but did not drop him.
"Don't be one, then," the man said, and knocked Kurt's grasp on his collar loose without trying very hard. "Mutie Town isn't a nice place to be a Kuroops," he grinned. "We're not nice people if you cross us. We can't do very much, but what we can do, we do, and then some. You'd better retrieve Rogue and get back to your building, sharpish." The man looked slightly to one side, and Kurt followed his glance.
"What are you looking at?" he asked, squinting at the chipped and grafitti'd concrete wall.
"Kurt," whispered Daisy, tugging on his trousers, "the freaky man disappeared."
"That's a bad word, liebling," Kurt said absently, looking at where the man had been standing. If he looked just right, he could see where someone had done a bad portrait in spray paint on the wall, long faded.
*******************
The small craft carrying Magneto and his young lieutenants slowly descended to touch the earth a half-mile from the Mississippi Bridge. Inside, Magneto stood beside Dazzler and Wolfsbane, waiting for the ship to finish running its automatic diagnostics before opening the door.
Peter sat on the edge of his bed, fully outfitted in his Spider suit except for the mask. He held it in his hands and hung his head. He suddenly had a bad feeling about this whole mission. It was a feeling that had nothing to do with his spider sense. When the doors opened, Magneto and the girls would expect him to walk out onto the same Earth he used to be on with Aunt May and Flash and Harry and... and Mary-Jane.
Now, for the first time, he would have to walk it alone, with strangers.
It had been easy on Asteroid M not to think about all those he had lost. After all, he was just a little lost boy flying out in space on a giant rock - the stuff movies are made of. But now... now he would have to face the reality, and he wasn't sure he could take it.
Magneto scarcely noticed Spider Man step into place behind them, but acknowledged the masked youth with a nod when turning to greet the sight before them. The doors had opened, and the four weary travellers looked upon what had once been their home world for the first time in far too long.
"Pietro. Wanda. I've come home. I've come to make it right."
It was scarcely more than a whisper, dampened even further by Dazzler's proximity, but all of them heard it. All of them were thinking similar thoughts.
As the group walked out into the sunlight, they could feel a lingering crackle of electricity in the air, a faint hum of power. Wolfsbane's lips curled back into an instinctive growl - this didn't feel natural.
Spider-Man quickly spun around to check behind him - his spider sense was going haywire. Dazzler shifted from one foot to the other, her feet making no sound on the gravel of what was left of the road leading to the bridge.
Magneto only smiled, his hair and cape blowing softly behind him in the breeze. "She's nearby, or was recently. Spread out and find her, then report back to me."
No-one had to ask who 'she' was, so they spread out.
Dazzler walked a ways down toward the bridge, following Spider-Man's quick pace. Wolfsbane dropped to all fours and began sniffing around, trying to catch a scent.
Dazzler caught up to Spider-Man as he was staring down at the wreckage of a jeep. No bodies were visible, but it was clear there had been a struggle, probably involving mutants.
Is everything okay?
The letters floated lazily past Spider-Man, and he turned to face her. "Yeah, I'll... I'm fine. Let's keep looking, she's probably around here somewhere."
Dazzler nodded and wandered off in the direction of the bridge, while Spider-Man inspected the area around the ruined jeep for any signs of how many people might have been involved in the battle.
By and by, Magneto and Wolfsbane came to join him, after inspecting a few other scarred patches of land.
"What have you found, Spider-Man? Anything useful?" Magneto asked, a glint in his eye that Peter had never seen before.
"Just this jeep, really. There was a fight, but you guys noticed that too. Looks like a lot of people involved, but..." Peter's voice trailed off, proverbial ears pricking. Something was wrong.
Wolfsbane cocked an ear of her own, suddenly silent. She could sense it too. It caused an unconscious growl to ripple across her lip, exposing some fang and not a little gum.
Dazzler was being quiet.
She was always silent, but for the first time since they had met the girl there were no light motes dancing around, no soft glow to certain objects, no sudden, unasked-for bursts of colour around them. Nothing.
Quickly, Peter caught sight of her looking over the edge of the bridge, one hand covering her mouth as tears rolled down her cheeks.
The trio ran to her side and peered wordlessly at what she was looking at.
Amidst a pile of sharp rocks, a torn and broken body lay. Nearby lily pads floated on the water, spelling out a final message from the girl's last bit of power.
Goodbye, Pietro.
*******************
To Be Continued...
*******************