Disclaimer: It's all Marvel's. No money made. Suing will profit no one.
Want?: Take ... Have ... just lemme know where it's going :)
Sorry: This has taken sooooo long to do. I'm really sorry, I had block like you wouldn't believe. Apologies to anyone that's been waiting for it to turn up.
Notes: ~ words ~ indicates telepathy.
Thank you: Mitchy, without whose whip this chapter would not have been written, nor would it have been particularly readable. Bow down before her mad beta skillz.
-- 0 --
Later, when he felt more confident of being able to form vowel sounds, Scott decided he was going to make an issue about the fact teleporters treated the mansion security like it had a revolving door. At length. And, possibly, at the point of an optic blast. It was the one clear thought in an otherwise sluggishly aware consciousness, and he clung to it with a passion.
Slowly, outside factors began to encroach. The fact his head was pounding indiscriminately, the smell of ozone was permeating everything and there was a cold wind numbing his face and hands. Either the mansion was suddenly missing a wall, or he was no longer within its relative security. Neither option sounded good.
A sudden jolt bought previously background nausea to the fore. A sound must have escaped him, though he didn't remember making a noise, because a high tenor male voice drifted from somewhere above, answered by a second, rumbling tone that he knew he should recognise but couldn't quite put a name to. Someone he didn't like, that much he knew.
"He's waking up, wanna put him under, or shall I?"
"I know, let 'im wake up, not like he's goin' anywhere."
"Xavier ..."
" ... is being took care of real well. You always such a pansy, or is this a special occasion?"
"Yeah, but what if he sees..."
"Sees what? Anyway, who's he gonna tell? Besides, even he's smart enough not to do that when he don't have his visor on. Wouldn't want to hit one of his little friends, now would he?"
This time Scott heard the small groan he made, given more out of hope thwarted than pain this time. The tone of the last words suggested they had been directed at him rather than the hesitant man, and he nodded as carefully as he could as he croaked out. "I won't open my eyes."
There was just a grunt in response but nothing that suggested his consciousness was about to become an issue again, so at least he was able to make more sense of his surroundings. Something was restraining him at the wrists, ankles and chest to what felt like some kind of stretcher. The surface was cold and hard, he could smell a hint of chlorine and, presumably, at least two people were carrying him. They weren't giving him a smooth journey, either. He was tilted down towards his feet, so the taller was in front, directly in the path of his blast if he lifted his head just enough.
The band around his neck was tight, but not so restricting he didn't have just a little moving room. One shot and worry about the guy behind him after that? He seemed the nervous kind; he'd probably freeze for long enough that Scott could free himself. Assuming he didn't cut his own limbs off in the attempt, of course. Briefly, he considered taking the chance despite the warning. Maybe he would get lucky. But, then again, maybe he wouldn't. Perhaps waiting for a sign the others were waking would .
Finally his mind began to process the fact that the 'little friends' were his friends, and his arms pulled involuntarily against the steel bands restraining them as the realisation sent a cold chill through him, forcing the last of the fog away.
"Is anyone hurt? Who else did you take?" Something between a growl and a snort was the response, striking a chord and prompting a name at last. "Sabretooth, what have you done to them?"
"Shuddup One-Eye. You're all just going on a little school outing. Quiet down or it's bed time, the hard way."
If there were really others here, they could be hurt, badly. Would whoever had taken them want them alive? Sense insisted yes, but fear provided a negative. A flash of smoke and fire invaded his memory. Jean screaming for the Professor before she was abruptly silenced, Rogue and Kitty scrambling to cover Kurt's unmoving form while the walls shook. Storm's fury in the form of a tempest shattering the windows in on them all. Terrible scenarios flashed through his mind, each one worse than the last as imagination stole over blurred memory. How long had he been out of it? A hundred horrible things could have happened in a minute, let alone an hour, or maybe even longer.
Panic over-rode caution, Scott opened his eyes.
-- 0 --
The form of Tatum flickered like a badly tuned television, one moment the smartly dressed shining light of the FOH, the next a looming monster of white skin and dark metal, red eyes gleaming with victory in a fight Xavier hadn't known he was part of until a second ago.
"Essex." The Professor's voice was flat with a degree of loathing Remy would have been surprised he could possess, if he had been paying attention.
"Doctor Essex, thank you. Formalities are so important on these occasions, they make the inevitable violence far more enjoyable. Mr LeBeau, I believe both you and your destructive tendencies may come down from the rafters. I'm afraid Professor Xavier would be quite dead before those cards you're currently charging came anywhere near me."
~ Come down, Gambit. ~
Le Professeur's mind voice sounded calm, which gave Remy some faint hope as he struggled to reverse the charge in the cards. It wasn't something he had a lot of practice in at the best of times, preferring to let the object explode rather than struggle to neutralise the kinetic energy, and under stress it was even harder.
Finally, as his hands began to shake with the effort, the pink glow gave one last flare and disappeared. He dropped lightly down from the beam to land in a cat-like crouch beside Xavier. "
"Bonsoir, docteur. Il n'est pas plaisant pour vous revoir. "
Essex smiled, a blood red slash against the chalk of his features. "No, I don't imagine it is. Tell me, Professor, why is the redoubtable Wolverine attempting to convince me he's a small cat?"
"Because, I imagine, he would prefer you not to realise he's there before he attacks. I suspect he will live with the disappointment."
"With the disappointment, perhaps." The razor smile came again. "But with very little else. Tell him to come in peacefully, Charles."
"No, Nathaniel, I don't think I will. What have you done?" There was a level deliberation to Xavier's tone that Remy found almost chilling. It was as if he'd put all thought of the mansion and the fate of its inhabitants from his mind, as if he had all the time in the world to trade words with the mad scientist.
At the back of his mind he noted the sensation of movement from the shadows surrounding them, sudden enough to make him queasy. The scent of sulphur drifted through the stale air of the warehouse.
Two more people, maybe three, it was hard to tell. Something seemed to be interfering with his spatial awareness and he shut that part of his brain monitoring off. Almost immediately the world took on a greater clarity. Enough that he was able to follow the conversation and see the smug amusement in Sinister's expression.
"Me? I have done nothing but detain you. In fact, feel free to leave. Enough time has passed. Save for Mr. LeBeau, his presence is required."
Remy let his head begin to shake a denial, the cards up his sleeve sliding into his hand in an instant, and he let adrenaline fuel his power as he bled supercharged energy into them. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the wheelchair turn slightly, but whatever Xavier's response might have been he didn't care. Rational thought had no bearing over the paranoia that the Professor would turn him over to Sinister in a heartbeat if it meant rushing to his students' aid, and he'd die before he was in Sinister's tender care once more. Last time the Hellfire Club had afforded him some protection, but not now.
"Required in school too, don't mean Gambit show."
~ Don't. ~
Fear made him unable to obey the command from the Professor, he threw the super-charged pieces of cardboard in an arc of explosive potential and all hell broke loose.
Mister Sinister bought his hands up with a snarl of sudden anger, blasts of pure force incinerating the cards some distance away from him. Before he could begin to truly panic, Remy heard the roar of Wolverine behind him. It was strange how the sound could be so comforting when it wasn't directed towards him.
He ducked. It seemed like a good idea at the time but, without the constant tracking of motion around him, he felt more vulnerable. Sparing a brief moment of pity for those who literally could not see what was coming for them, he opened the channel once more. Now there were four, five, six people heading in.
"Wolverine, we got to leave."
A bestial roar was the only response, and he didn't feel like trying to calm down a berserker-mode Logan at just that moment. He spared a glance for the Professor, whose eyes were blank and sightless. Probably trying to contact Jean, or one of the others. Wonderful, it was one man and his pet attack Wolverine against seven.
His eyes strained, trying to make out the figures his mind insisted were moving towards him. But there were only two that he could see, despite the evidence. Which meant Sinister was somehow messing with his powers. He shut down again and immediately regretted it as a line of fire cut over his shoulder from one of the shadowy figures firing what appeared, from a quick glance, to be a bow.
Gritting his teeth, Remy grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and ran himself and Xavier towards the exit, trying to ignore how vulnerable his back felt. The sounds of the battle faded behind him as his feet pounded on the concrete in time with his heartbeat, both solid, both fast, both sending jolts through his system.
The door seemed far away and, in a moment of sudden certainty, he knew he wasn't going to make it. With one last heave, he pushed the chair out the door. Not a second had passed since it left his hands then there was a millisecond of agony in every nerve of his system. Then . nothing.
-- 0 --
Awareness came slowly, little fragments of random memory pulling her away from something she knew was important, but could never quite grasp under the tangents her thought process inevitably took. It was tempting to just relax back into the fog of sleep, the bed was warm, the sound of rain outside the window soothing in its intensity. But she wouldn't sleep again, she would awake suddenly with her heart pounding from the rush of wasted adrenaline, and she would remember. She knew that much, it happened every night.
"Abbie ..."
Abigail sat upright with a ragged breath, eyes searching the darkness of her bedroom for the source of the soft voice, the fading whisper, she knew lived only in her head. Every night. Sometimes she could go back to sleep, the regularity of it de-sensitising her to the ache that inevitably unfurled in her chest and worked its way up to constrict her throat and burn her eyes with tears she no longer shed.
But not tonight.
Tonight she let the memories in and switched on the small light by her bedside, fingers brushing over the glasses she wore by habit if not need, tapping the lens once to assure herself she was awake. Come dawn the little ritual seemed foolish, even pointless, but it was another of the habits that defined her three a.m.
The shadows made strange patterns on her wall. They seemed so real now, and would seem so surreal in the morning, that she knew. Now was the time to speak, and so she spoke, clearing her voice of the night first.
"Hello Sam. I wrote momma today, she's okay. Everything's fine here, I think that idea I told you about's working. Anyway, it looks like it is,
I mean, they would have got me already if it wasn't, right? Did you have a good day, how's Becky?"
And, as the ritual dictated, she never received an answer.
Want?: Take ... Have ... just lemme know where it's going :)
Sorry: This has taken sooooo long to do. I'm really sorry, I had block like you wouldn't believe. Apologies to anyone that's been waiting for it to turn up.
Notes: ~ words ~ indicates telepathy.
Thank you: Mitchy, without whose whip this chapter would not have been written, nor would it have been particularly readable. Bow down before her mad beta skillz.
-- 0 --
Later, when he felt more confident of being able to form vowel sounds, Scott decided he was going to make an issue about the fact teleporters treated the mansion security like it had a revolving door. At length. And, possibly, at the point of an optic blast. It was the one clear thought in an otherwise sluggishly aware consciousness, and he clung to it with a passion.
Slowly, outside factors began to encroach. The fact his head was pounding indiscriminately, the smell of ozone was permeating everything and there was a cold wind numbing his face and hands. Either the mansion was suddenly missing a wall, or he was no longer within its relative security. Neither option sounded good.
A sudden jolt bought previously background nausea to the fore. A sound must have escaped him, though he didn't remember making a noise, because a high tenor male voice drifted from somewhere above, answered by a second, rumbling tone that he knew he should recognise but couldn't quite put a name to. Someone he didn't like, that much he knew.
"He's waking up, wanna put him under, or shall I?"
"I know, let 'im wake up, not like he's goin' anywhere."
"Xavier ..."
" ... is being took care of real well. You always such a pansy, or is this a special occasion?"
"Yeah, but what if he sees..."
"Sees what? Anyway, who's he gonna tell? Besides, even he's smart enough not to do that when he don't have his visor on. Wouldn't want to hit one of his little friends, now would he?"
This time Scott heard the small groan he made, given more out of hope thwarted than pain this time. The tone of the last words suggested they had been directed at him rather than the hesitant man, and he nodded as carefully as he could as he croaked out. "I won't open my eyes."
There was just a grunt in response but nothing that suggested his consciousness was about to become an issue again, so at least he was able to make more sense of his surroundings. Something was restraining him at the wrists, ankles and chest to what felt like some kind of stretcher. The surface was cold and hard, he could smell a hint of chlorine and, presumably, at least two people were carrying him. They weren't giving him a smooth journey, either. He was tilted down towards his feet, so the taller was in front, directly in the path of his blast if he lifted his head just enough.
The band around his neck was tight, but not so restricting he didn't have just a little moving room. One shot and worry about the guy behind him after that? He seemed the nervous kind; he'd probably freeze for long enough that Scott could free himself. Assuming he didn't cut his own limbs off in the attempt, of course. Briefly, he considered taking the chance despite the warning. Maybe he would get lucky. But, then again, maybe he wouldn't. Perhaps waiting for a sign the others were waking would .
Finally his mind began to process the fact that the 'little friends' were his friends, and his arms pulled involuntarily against the steel bands restraining them as the realisation sent a cold chill through him, forcing the last of the fog away.
"Is anyone hurt? Who else did you take?" Something between a growl and a snort was the response, striking a chord and prompting a name at last. "Sabretooth, what have you done to them?"
"Shuddup One-Eye. You're all just going on a little school outing. Quiet down or it's bed time, the hard way."
If there were really others here, they could be hurt, badly. Would whoever had taken them want them alive? Sense insisted yes, but fear provided a negative. A flash of smoke and fire invaded his memory. Jean screaming for the Professor before she was abruptly silenced, Rogue and Kitty scrambling to cover Kurt's unmoving form while the walls shook. Storm's fury in the form of a tempest shattering the windows in on them all. Terrible scenarios flashed through his mind, each one worse than the last as imagination stole over blurred memory. How long had he been out of it? A hundred horrible things could have happened in a minute, let alone an hour, or maybe even longer.
Panic over-rode caution, Scott opened his eyes.
-- 0 --
The form of Tatum flickered like a badly tuned television, one moment the smartly dressed shining light of the FOH, the next a looming monster of white skin and dark metal, red eyes gleaming with victory in a fight Xavier hadn't known he was part of until a second ago.
"Essex." The Professor's voice was flat with a degree of loathing Remy would have been surprised he could possess, if he had been paying attention.
"Doctor Essex, thank you. Formalities are so important on these occasions, they make the inevitable violence far more enjoyable. Mr LeBeau, I believe both you and your destructive tendencies may come down from the rafters. I'm afraid Professor Xavier would be quite dead before those cards you're currently charging came anywhere near me."
~ Come down, Gambit. ~
Le Professeur's mind voice sounded calm, which gave Remy some faint hope as he struggled to reverse the charge in the cards. It wasn't something he had a lot of practice in at the best of times, preferring to let the object explode rather than struggle to neutralise the kinetic energy, and under stress it was even harder.
Finally, as his hands began to shake with the effort, the pink glow gave one last flare and disappeared. He dropped lightly down from the beam to land in a cat-like crouch beside Xavier. "
"Bonsoir, docteur. Il n'est pas plaisant pour vous revoir. "
Essex smiled, a blood red slash against the chalk of his features. "No, I don't imagine it is. Tell me, Professor, why is the redoubtable Wolverine attempting to convince me he's a small cat?"
"Because, I imagine, he would prefer you not to realise he's there before he attacks. I suspect he will live with the disappointment."
"With the disappointment, perhaps." The razor smile came again. "But with very little else. Tell him to come in peacefully, Charles."
"No, Nathaniel, I don't think I will. What have you done?" There was a level deliberation to Xavier's tone that Remy found almost chilling. It was as if he'd put all thought of the mansion and the fate of its inhabitants from his mind, as if he had all the time in the world to trade words with the mad scientist.
At the back of his mind he noted the sensation of movement from the shadows surrounding them, sudden enough to make him queasy. The scent of sulphur drifted through the stale air of the warehouse.
Two more people, maybe three, it was hard to tell. Something seemed to be interfering with his spatial awareness and he shut that part of his brain monitoring off. Almost immediately the world took on a greater clarity. Enough that he was able to follow the conversation and see the smug amusement in Sinister's expression.
"Me? I have done nothing but detain you. In fact, feel free to leave. Enough time has passed. Save for Mr. LeBeau, his presence is required."
Remy let his head begin to shake a denial, the cards up his sleeve sliding into his hand in an instant, and he let adrenaline fuel his power as he bled supercharged energy into them. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the wheelchair turn slightly, but whatever Xavier's response might have been he didn't care. Rational thought had no bearing over the paranoia that the Professor would turn him over to Sinister in a heartbeat if it meant rushing to his students' aid, and he'd die before he was in Sinister's tender care once more. Last time the Hellfire Club had afforded him some protection, but not now.
"Required in school too, don't mean Gambit show."
~ Don't. ~
Fear made him unable to obey the command from the Professor, he threw the super-charged pieces of cardboard in an arc of explosive potential and all hell broke loose.
Mister Sinister bought his hands up with a snarl of sudden anger, blasts of pure force incinerating the cards some distance away from him. Before he could begin to truly panic, Remy heard the roar of Wolverine behind him. It was strange how the sound could be so comforting when it wasn't directed towards him.
He ducked. It seemed like a good idea at the time but, without the constant tracking of motion around him, he felt more vulnerable. Sparing a brief moment of pity for those who literally could not see what was coming for them, he opened the channel once more. Now there were four, five, six people heading in.
"Wolverine, we got to leave."
A bestial roar was the only response, and he didn't feel like trying to calm down a berserker-mode Logan at just that moment. He spared a glance for the Professor, whose eyes were blank and sightless. Probably trying to contact Jean, or one of the others. Wonderful, it was one man and his pet attack Wolverine against seven.
His eyes strained, trying to make out the figures his mind insisted were moving towards him. But there were only two that he could see, despite the evidence. Which meant Sinister was somehow messing with his powers. He shut down again and immediately regretted it as a line of fire cut over his shoulder from one of the shadowy figures firing what appeared, from a quick glance, to be a bow.
Gritting his teeth, Remy grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and ran himself and Xavier towards the exit, trying to ignore how vulnerable his back felt. The sounds of the battle faded behind him as his feet pounded on the concrete in time with his heartbeat, both solid, both fast, both sending jolts through his system.
The door seemed far away and, in a moment of sudden certainty, he knew he wasn't going to make it. With one last heave, he pushed the chair out the door. Not a second had passed since it left his hands then there was a millisecond of agony in every nerve of his system. Then . nothing.
-- 0 --
Awareness came slowly, little fragments of random memory pulling her away from something she knew was important, but could never quite grasp under the tangents her thought process inevitably took. It was tempting to just relax back into the fog of sleep, the bed was warm, the sound of rain outside the window soothing in its intensity. But she wouldn't sleep again, she would awake suddenly with her heart pounding from the rush of wasted adrenaline, and she would remember. She knew that much, it happened every night.
"Abbie ..."
Abigail sat upright with a ragged breath, eyes searching the darkness of her bedroom for the source of the soft voice, the fading whisper, she knew lived only in her head. Every night. Sometimes she could go back to sleep, the regularity of it de-sensitising her to the ache that inevitably unfurled in her chest and worked its way up to constrict her throat and burn her eyes with tears she no longer shed.
But not tonight.
Tonight she let the memories in and switched on the small light by her bedside, fingers brushing over the glasses she wore by habit if not need, tapping the lens once to assure herself she was awake. Come dawn the little ritual seemed foolish, even pointless, but it was another of the habits that defined her three a.m.
The shadows made strange patterns on her wall. They seemed so real now, and would seem so surreal in the morning, that she knew. Now was the time to speak, and so she spoke, clearing her voice of the night first.
"Hello Sam. I wrote momma today, she's okay. Everything's fine here, I think that idea I told you about's working. Anyway, it looks like it is,
I mean, they would have got me already if it wasn't, right? Did you have a good day, how's Becky?"
And, as the ritual dictated, she never received an answer.