Thanks for all the kind reviews! Hope you enjoy!
* * * * * * * *
Storm stared out the window of the den, into the pitch-blackness of the night sky. No stars could be seen because of how overcast it was, and she realized that this was a direct result of her growing apprehension. Inwardly, her unborn child twisted and kicked, as if he or she sensed the mood, and was restless because of it.
Bobby Drake looked up from the TV he had been trying to watch. "You know, Ro, boring a hole in the window with your eyes isn't gonna make him come home any faster."
Storm turned to him, "What?" She asked, having not paid the least bit of attention.
Bobby grinned in spite of himself. "I wouldn't worry about Remy. He'll come home eventually."
All she could do was nod and try to get comfortable next to him on the sofa. She knew he was right, but it wasn't when he came home that was bothering her. It was the condition she fully expected to find him in when he did. One glance at her, and Bobby seemed to understand. He gave her a sympathetic look and said, "Hey, I know you're upset. I don't blame you. You want me to go out and find him for you?"
"No, Robert, but I thank you for the offer." Sighing, she turned back to the window. "It just seems that nothing has gone right ever since I found out I was pregnant." Perhaps these are signs from the Goddess that I am not meant to parent this child.
Bobby looked from the TV, on which Baywatch had just started, to his friend, who obviously needed someone to talk to. Man, why do I have to be such a nice guy all the time? He gave Pamela Anderson a small wounded glance before switching off the set. Storm turned when he did, wondering why he would turn off his favorite show. Even though she found it utterly distasteful, it was not like Bobby to be that understanding. He gently touched her shoulder. "You wanna talk about it?"
She smiled at her friend. Maybe she had underestimated how sympathetic he was. "I am not sure there is anything to talk about, Bobby. And I appreciate you making the gesture, but I am not sure you would really understand."
"That's not true!" He protested. "What makes you think I wouldn't understand? Just 'cause I'm a guy?"
"Well," Ororo began, "Yes. But also because you are young. And you don't understand what a huge responsibility becoming a parent is."
Bobby frowned. Sometimes he hated being the youngest X-Man. Okay, so he wasn't as mature as some of the others. But that didn't mean that they had to treat him like a kid all the time. "Okay, so I don't know jack about the kind of pressures you're under." But I do know that being a parent completely changes your life." He shrugged. "And I honestly think that you'll be a totally cool mom, Ro."
"You really think so?" She had to laugh at that.
"Oh, yeah!" Bobby said nodding. "Think about it. You'll be the only mom around who could like, cancel school by creating a blizzard or something. And instead of carpooling kids around, you can just fly them around. Man, all the kids are gonna, like, think you're the coolest mom ever."
"What a life that shall be," Storm said. "Who would have thought that I'd go from being worshipped as a Weather Goddess in Africa to being worshipped by the neighborhood children as a bringer of snow days?" She smiled at Bobby, thankful that he had made her feel happy again, if only temporarily.
"Everyone worries about what kinda parent they'll be, Ro," Bobby assured her. "And as for Gambit," he shrugged. "I may not like the guy at times, but he usually comes through in the end. He'll get it threw his thick, Cajun head that you don't want a drunk for your baby's father eventually."
Storm nodded. Bobby was right. She wasn't going to sit around and worry about Remy. If he wanted to be a part of this baby's life, than he was simply going to have to give up the drinking, that was all there was to it. She kissed Bobby on the cheek, and stood up. "Thank you, Robert. You are a good friend."
Turning a deep shade of crimson, Bobby cleared his throat nervously. "Um...sure. Anytime." He turned away and switched the TV back on, planning to get lost in his fantasies of drowning on the beach and the silicone club having to perform CPR on him. Storm rolled her eyes, and headed for her room.
* * * * * * * *
As quietly as possible, Remy opened the front door and set to work disengaging the alarm. Inside, it was pitch black, and it was a good thing that he was very familiar with alarms, otherwise he would have had to turn on a light to put in his code. It flashed red, and Xavier had set it to go off after 30 seconds if it was breeched. But even though the code was complicated, and it was pitch black, Remy's fingers adeptly flew over the keypad, and when he was finished, the light flashed from red to green. "System disarmed." It said, in the Professor's voice.
"Ssh." He whispered, as if the computer could hear him. It would automatically turn back on in 60 seconds, so he did not have to stick around to reactivate it once he was in the hall. As quiet as a mouse, or at least as quiet as the master thief he was, he made his way in the dark toward the staircase.
Suddenly, a light came on and a voice called, "Freeze, you're under arrest!"
Remy jumped back instinctively, and a glowing card appeared in his hand faster than the human eye could have caught it. But before he could throw it, he was very relieved to see that it was just Bobby. He took a deep breath, and reabsorbed the kinetic energy of the card. "Jesus, Drake, you tryin' to give me a heart attack or what?" What was with everyone trying to scare the hell out of him lately?
Bobby grinned, pleased that he'd taken off ten years of the man's life. "Maybe," he replied, getting a stern look on his face. "Do you know what time it is, young man?"
With a snort, Remy headed upstairs. "Funny, mon ami. Ha ha. You're lucky my head hurt too much to bother wit' you."
Bobby paused for a second, then headed upstairs after him, and grabbed his arm. "Maybe I was kidding. But seriously, how can you do this every night? Man, don't you get sick of barfing every morning and stuff?"
But Remy simply shook free and continued to his room. "I'm used to it."
Bobby moved in front of him, blocking his path. "Storm was worried about you." He said, trying not to be angry.
"She always worried 'bout me. Mind your own business, Drake." But as he said it, Bobby grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him against the wall. He was shorter, and usually not as strong, but he had caught Remy off guard, and he was more than a little tipsy as it was. "Damnit, LeBeau, I'm serious." He said, holding him pinned to the wall. "She was really worried. How can you do this to her, especially when she's worried enough about having the baby and all?"
"I'm sure Stormy 'preciates your concern for her welfare." He replied, shoving the younger man out of his way. "But I can take care a'myself, Stormy, and the baby, too."
Bobby glared at him, his anger surfacing. "Yeah, sure." He mumbled sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want a drunk for a father?"
Remy spun around, his red eyes blazing with anger even through their drunken glaze. "I'm not a drunk!" He yelled, louder than he intended to.
Cocking an eyebrow, Bobby said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I mistook that lovely aroma of fresh cut flowers on your breath for mere Jack Daniels. Silly me."
Remy shoved open his bedroom door, giving him a look of pure acid that few people would not have been at least a little disturbed by. "Stay outta my business, Drake. You'll only get yourself hurt. Now, ain't it past your bedtime?" He asked with a smile, before slamming the door in his face.
For a second, Bobby considered freezing the lock and trapping him in there. But it wouldn't really do any good because Remy was the best lock picker that he had ever seen. So with all the restrain he could muster, he turned and headed to his own room. He couldn't believe what a dick the guy could be sometimes. Man, if I had a chance with Storm, and she was having my baby, I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize it. No matter how weird the circumstances of the baby may be. He shut his door, and flopped on his bed. "They're supposed to be best friends and all, but I totally wouldn't blame Storm if she didn't let her kid have anything to do with him."
* * * * * * * *
Seated at his desk inside the central headquarters of the Friends of Humanity buried deep in the thick pine forests of northern Maine, the man responsible for the creation of the agency sat with his second-in-command officer. They were in charge of not just the two-hundred or so men in this building, but every soldier who was a part of the F.O.H. around the country. It was not an easy job, but one that both felt an absolute one. They survival of their species was at sake. A species that could not, and must not be contaminated with mistakes of nature. Mutants.
At the moment, however, they were each furious. Something had happened. Something terrible. A murder. And they were trying to decide what to do about it.
"Barry Statler's death must be avenged." The second-in-command officer was saying to his superior. "Jesus, I grew up with 'em. He was a good man. Left behind a wife and two kids."
"I know," the other said. "And believe me, this will not go unpunished. Barry Statler will have his revenge."
The first man leaned forward in his chair anxiously. "The only problem," he said, "was we don't know who is responsible."
The head-man slammed his fist against the desk in frustration. Barry Statler had been the best recruiter the F.O.H. had ever had, and probably would ever have. He was third in command of the main branch, the nerve center, if you will, of the entire organization. He'd gone up to various parts of Canada to do some scouting. Talent search, he'd liked to call it. That had been two months ago, more than a month since he'd been due back. They'd traced him to the middle-of-no-where Alberta, miles away from the nearest city. The last person to see him alive was a waitress in some bar. She remembered seeing him there one Friday night about a month ago. Left with a guy she'd called Jim. According to the waitress, he was the best cage fighter the place had ever seen. And Statler had informed them that he was going to try and recruit this Jim. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he must be the one to have killed him. Where the Hell he was now was anybody's guess. Certainly he wouldn't be stupid enough to stay around there after killing somebody. So now they were left with the obstacle of finding this Jim, whoever he was.
"We have a description from the waitress." He told his superior. "We're running it through every database we can. But even that could turn up nothing."
The other man agreed. But before another word could be said on the subject, a third man came running into the office. "Sir!" He said. "You won't believe this. We have excellent news." He thrust out a manila envelope. The man in charge took it, deciding to ignore Sgt. Fox's serious lack of decorum for busting in announced. Inside, he found several pictures, blown up. "What is this?" He asked.
Fox grinned maddeningly. "The last picture, sir. You have to see the last picture. It's fuckin' Pulitzer material!"
His superior obliged, and on the last photo of the bunch he saw two men. He recognized one immediately. But who was the other? The picture appeared to be taken on a crowded street. Stores could be seen, but he didn't really recognize anything specific. The camera was, however, obviously focused on these two men.
"Sir," Fox said. "That's him. The man that killed Statler. He matches the description from the waitress to a T."
The second man jumped to his feet, looking over his superior's shoulder. It didn't take more than a glance for them both to realize Fox was right. It had to be him. Suddenly, everything was following into place.
"Have you got an ID?" The superior asked Sgt. Fox.
Frowning, he shook his head. "No, sir. But we know that he doesn't live in Canada. Look at the jeep's plates. New York tags."
The second man jumped in. "Have you tried tracing the plate number?"
Fox nodded. "Came up empty. Fake name, fake address. This guy really likes to keep anonymous. But sir, look who he's with. If he..."
The superior waved his hand. "You're right. This is too much of a coincidence. He definitely lives in New York. Salem Center, or nearby, I'll bet."
"What should we do about it?" The second man asked, feeling that familiar feeling of anxiety, this time mixed with excitement.
The superior thought for a second. There were many possibilities. He felt like a kid in a candy store. "I think," he said. "The best thing to do is not to rush into anything. Remember our main objective. Getting this guy is really just the icing on the cake. I think its time we start making the mutant population of Salem Center a little nervous." Motioning to his officers, he explained exactly what would go down over the next few months.
"But, sir," the number two man said. "We were ordered to kill him," he pointed at the second man in the picture. "Are you sure its safe to bring him here?"
"We will kill him," the superior promised. "But there will just be a slight delay in that order. First, we find out who he is, and where he is" he pointed to 'Jim,' "and then we..." grinning, he made a slashing motion across his neck.
The three men beamed. It was a good plan. A brilliant plan. It had to work. It would work.
After sending his men out of his office to get started on their new mission, he sat back down at his desk, and picked up the surveillance photos and grinned at the two men in it. One, of course, was this Jim, the murderer of Barry Statler. The other was the man they'd been hunting for weeks now. "Enjoy your freedom, Mr. LeBeau. Soon, very soon, you won't get the chance to. Ever again."
Ah, I love it...there's nothing like a good cliff-hanger. Don't worry, I won't make you wait too long...
* * * * * * * *
Storm stared out the window of the den, into the pitch-blackness of the night sky. No stars could be seen because of how overcast it was, and she realized that this was a direct result of her growing apprehension. Inwardly, her unborn child twisted and kicked, as if he or she sensed the mood, and was restless because of it.
Bobby Drake looked up from the TV he had been trying to watch. "You know, Ro, boring a hole in the window with your eyes isn't gonna make him come home any faster."
Storm turned to him, "What?" She asked, having not paid the least bit of attention.
Bobby grinned in spite of himself. "I wouldn't worry about Remy. He'll come home eventually."
All she could do was nod and try to get comfortable next to him on the sofa. She knew he was right, but it wasn't when he came home that was bothering her. It was the condition she fully expected to find him in when he did. One glance at her, and Bobby seemed to understand. He gave her a sympathetic look and said, "Hey, I know you're upset. I don't blame you. You want me to go out and find him for you?"
"No, Robert, but I thank you for the offer." Sighing, she turned back to the window. "It just seems that nothing has gone right ever since I found out I was pregnant." Perhaps these are signs from the Goddess that I am not meant to parent this child.
Bobby looked from the TV, on which Baywatch had just started, to his friend, who obviously needed someone to talk to. Man, why do I have to be such a nice guy all the time? He gave Pamela Anderson a small wounded glance before switching off the set. Storm turned when he did, wondering why he would turn off his favorite show. Even though she found it utterly distasteful, it was not like Bobby to be that understanding. He gently touched her shoulder. "You wanna talk about it?"
She smiled at her friend. Maybe she had underestimated how sympathetic he was. "I am not sure there is anything to talk about, Bobby. And I appreciate you making the gesture, but I am not sure you would really understand."
"That's not true!" He protested. "What makes you think I wouldn't understand? Just 'cause I'm a guy?"
"Well," Ororo began, "Yes. But also because you are young. And you don't understand what a huge responsibility becoming a parent is."
Bobby frowned. Sometimes he hated being the youngest X-Man. Okay, so he wasn't as mature as some of the others. But that didn't mean that they had to treat him like a kid all the time. "Okay, so I don't know jack about the kind of pressures you're under." But I do know that being a parent completely changes your life." He shrugged. "And I honestly think that you'll be a totally cool mom, Ro."
"You really think so?" She had to laugh at that.
"Oh, yeah!" Bobby said nodding. "Think about it. You'll be the only mom around who could like, cancel school by creating a blizzard or something. And instead of carpooling kids around, you can just fly them around. Man, all the kids are gonna, like, think you're the coolest mom ever."
"What a life that shall be," Storm said. "Who would have thought that I'd go from being worshipped as a Weather Goddess in Africa to being worshipped by the neighborhood children as a bringer of snow days?" She smiled at Bobby, thankful that he had made her feel happy again, if only temporarily.
"Everyone worries about what kinda parent they'll be, Ro," Bobby assured her. "And as for Gambit," he shrugged. "I may not like the guy at times, but he usually comes through in the end. He'll get it threw his thick, Cajun head that you don't want a drunk for your baby's father eventually."
Storm nodded. Bobby was right. She wasn't going to sit around and worry about Remy. If he wanted to be a part of this baby's life, than he was simply going to have to give up the drinking, that was all there was to it. She kissed Bobby on the cheek, and stood up. "Thank you, Robert. You are a good friend."
Turning a deep shade of crimson, Bobby cleared his throat nervously. "Um...sure. Anytime." He turned away and switched the TV back on, planning to get lost in his fantasies of drowning on the beach and the silicone club having to perform CPR on him. Storm rolled her eyes, and headed for her room.
* * * * * * * *
As quietly as possible, Remy opened the front door and set to work disengaging the alarm. Inside, it was pitch black, and it was a good thing that he was very familiar with alarms, otherwise he would have had to turn on a light to put in his code. It flashed red, and Xavier had set it to go off after 30 seconds if it was breeched. But even though the code was complicated, and it was pitch black, Remy's fingers adeptly flew over the keypad, and when he was finished, the light flashed from red to green. "System disarmed." It said, in the Professor's voice.
"Ssh." He whispered, as if the computer could hear him. It would automatically turn back on in 60 seconds, so he did not have to stick around to reactivate it once he was in the hall. As quiet as a mouse, or at least as quiet as the master thief he was, he made his way in the dark toward the staircase.
Suddenly, a light came on and a voice called, "Freeze, you're under arrest!"
Remy jumped back instinctively, and a glowing card appeared in his hand faster than the human eye could have caught it. But before he could throw it, he was very relieved to see that it was just Bobby. He took a deep breath, and reabsorbed the kinetic energy of the card. "Jesus, Drake, you tryin' to give me a heart attack or what?" What was with everyone trying to scare the hell out of him lately?
Bobby grinned, pleased that he'd taken off ten years of the man's life. "Maybe," he replied, getting a stern look on his face. "Do you know what time it is, young man?"
With a snort, Remy headed upstairs. "Funny, mon ami. Ha ha. You're lucky my head hurt too much to bother wit' you."
Bobby paused for a second, then headed upstairs after him, and grabbed his arm. "Maybe I was kidding. But seriously, how can you do this every night? Man, don't you get sick of barfing every morning and stuff?"
But Remy simply shook free and continued to his room. "I'm used to it."
Bobby moved in front of him, blocking his path. "Storm was worried about you." He said, trying not to be angry.
"She always worried 'bout me. Mind your own business, Drake." But as he said it, Bobby grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him against the wall. He was shorter, and usually not as strong, but he had caught Remy off guard, and he was more than a little tipsy as it was. "Damnit, LeBeau, I'm serious." He said, holding him pinned to the wall. "She was really worried. How can you do this to her, especially when she's worried enough about having the baby and all?"
"I'm sure Stormy 'preciates your concern for her welfare." He replied, shoving the younger man out of his way. "But I can take care a'myself, Stormy, and the baby, too."
Bobby glared at him, his anger surfacing. "Yeah, sure." He mumbled sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want a drunk for a father?"
Remy spun around, his red eyes blazing with anger even through their drunken glaze. "I'm not a drunk!" He yelled, louder than he intended to.
Cocking an eyebrow, Bobby said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I mistook that lovely aroma of fresh cut flowers on your breath for mere Jack Daniels. Silly me."
Remy shoved open his bedroom door, giving him a look of pure acid that few people would not have been at least a little disturbed by. "Stay outta my business, Drake. You'll only get yourself hurt. Now, ain't it past your bedtime?" He asked with a smile, before slamming the door in his face.
For a second, Bobby considered freezing the lock and trapping him in there. But it wouldn't really do any good because Remy was the best lock picker that he had ever seen. So with all the restrain he could muster, he turned and headed to his own room. He couldn't believe what a dick the guy could be sometimes. Man, if I had a chance with Storm, and she was having my baby, I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize it. No matter how weird the circumstances of the baby may be. He shut his door, and flopped on his bed. "They're supposed to be best friends and all, but I totally wouldn't blame Storm if she didn't let her kid have anything to do with him."
* * * * * * * *
Seated at his desk inside the central headquarters of the Friends of Humanity buried deep in the thick pine forests of northern Maine, the man responsible for the creation of the agency sat with his second-in-command officer. They were in charge of not just the two-hundred or so men in this building, but every soldier who was a part of the F.O.H. around the country. It was not an easy job, but one that both felt an absolute one. They survival of their species was at sake. A species that could not, and must not be contaminated with mistakes of nature. Mutants.
At the moment, however, they were each furious. Something had happened. Something terrible. A murder. And they were trying to decide what to do about it.
"Barry Statler's death must be avenged." The second-in-command officer was saying to his superior. "Jesus, I grew up with 'em. He was a good man. Left behind a wife and two kids."
"I know," the other said. "And believe me, this will not go unpunished. Barry Statler will have his revenge."
The first man leaned forward in his chair anxiously. "The only problem," he said, "was we don't know who is responsible."
The head-man slammed his fist against the desk in frustration. Barry Statler had been the best recruiter the F.O.H. had ever had, and probably would ever have. He was third in command of the main branch, the nerve center, if you will, of the entire organization. He'd gone up to various parts of Canada to do some scouting. Talent search, he'd liked to call it. That had been two months ago, more than a month since he'd been due back. They'd traced him to the middle-of-no-where Alberta, miles away from the nearest city. The last person to see him alive was a waitress in some bar. She remembered seeing him there one Friday night about a month ago. Left with a guy she'd called Jim. According to the waitress, he was the best cage fighter the place had ever seen. And Statler had informed them that he was going to try and recruit this Jim. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he must be the one to have killed him. Where the Hell he was now was anybody's guess. Certainly he wouldn't be stupid enough to stay around there after killing somebody. So now they were left with the obstacle of finding this Jim, whoever he was.
"We have a description from the waitress." He told his superior. "We're running it through every database we can. But even that could turn up nothing."
The other man agreed. But before another word could be said on the subject, a third man came running into the office. "Sir!" He said. "You won't believe this. We have excellent news." He thrust out a manila envelope. The man in charge took it, deciding to ignore Sgt. Fox's serious lack of decorum for busting in announced. Inside, he found several pictures, blown up. "What is this?" He asked.
Fox grinned maddeningly. "The last picture, sir. You have to see the last picture. It's fuckin' Pulitzer material!"
His superior obliged, and on the last photo of the bunch he saw two men. He recognized one immediately. But who was the other? The picture appeared to be taken on a crowded street. Stores could be seen, but he didn't really recognize anything specific. The camera was, however, obviously focused on these two men.
"Sir," Fox said. "That's him. The man that killed Statler. He matches the description from the waitress to a T."
The second man jumped to his feet, looking over his superior's shoulder. It didn't take more than a glance for them both to realize Fox was right. It had to be him. Suddenly, everything was following into place.
"Have you got an ID?" The superior asked Sgt. Fox.
Frowning, he shook his head. "No, sir. But we know that he doesn't live in Canada. Look at the jeep's plates. New York tags."
The second man jumped in. "Have you tried tracing the plate number?"
Fox nodded. "Came up empty. Fake name, fake address. This guy really likes to keep anonymous. But sir, look who he's with. If he..."
The superior waved his hand. "You're right. This is too much of a coincidence. He definitely lives in New York. Salem Center, or nearby, I'll bet."
"What should we do about it?" The second man asked, feeling that familiar feeling of anxiety, this time mixed with excitement.
The superior thought for a second. There were many possibilities. He felt like a kid in a candy store. "I think," he said. "The best thing to do is not to rush into anything. Remember our main objective. Getting this guy is really just the icing on the cake. I think its time we start making the mutant population of Salem Center a little nervous." Motioning to his officers, he explained exactly what would go down over the next few months.
"But, sir," the number two man said. "We were ordered to kill him," he pointed at the second man in the picture. "Are you sure its safe to bring him here?"
"We will kill him," the superior promised. "But there will just be a slight delay in that order. First, we find out who he is, and where he is" he pointed to 'Jim,' "and then we..." grinning, he made a slashing motion across his neck.
The three men beamed. It was a good plan. A brilliant plan. It had to work. It would work.
After sending his men out of his office to get started on their new mission, he sat back down at his desk, and picked up the surveillance photos and grinned at the two men in it. One, of course, was this Jim, the murderer of Barry Statler. The other was the man they'd been hunting for weeks now. "Enjoy your freedom, Mr. LeBeau. Soon, very soon, you won't get the chance to. Ever again."
Ah, I love it...there's nothing like a good cliff-hanger. Don't worry, I won't make you wait too long...