New Orleans
"Easy, chere. If ya would be so kind as t' be puttin' Remy back on da ground, we could get dis settled, non?" Gambit glanced uneasily from the ground below him to the woman holding him, her eyes flashing.
"I mean it, Remy. Start talking." Ororo settled them gently on the sidewalk.
"Oui, but not 'ere. We 'ave to go. Dey know we're 'ere." Gambit grabbed her hand and pulled her through the reemerging crowd. Takes more than a little freak thunder storm to ruin Mardi Gras, he thought pushing past several tourists with none too gentle force.
"Gambit, slow down." Ororo yanked her hand free of his. He turned and gave her a desperate look. "Whatever is troubling you we can face it together," she said, her voice calming as an ocean breeze. "Just talk to me, my brother." Her face showed the depth of her concern.
Gambit reached out and touched her cheek. "Ah, padnat, I am far removed from 'avin' brotherly t'oughts 'bout you. And for what it's worth, I am terrible sorry that I dragged you into dis." He took a quick look around. No one yet- maybe they hadn't been seen…
"Into what, Remy. I still do not understand. What are you so afraid of?"
"No time, Stormy. We have to move." He took off his sunglasses and looked her straight in the eyes. "Trust me."
No hesitation from her. "Always, my friend."
Gambit's insides turned at her unconditional trust and friendship. She had readily come to his aid, without knowing the full circumstances of what he was involved in. All Ororo had needed to know was that her friend was in trouble and he needed her help. The rest was inconsequential. Gambit knew he was not worthy of such loyalty. What he had almost done was eating away at him, and he needed to get them out of there before it was too late. "Let's move!"
A dark figure stepped out of the alley directly in front of them, cloak billowing around its feet. "Lebeau."
"Sorry, mon ami, but you 'ave the wrong man." Gambit stepped in front of Storm, hoping she would take a hint and stay behind him. "'xcuse us."
"I am afraid I must insist that you and your companion accompany me. My party is anxiously awaiting your arrival." The dark figure continued as though Gambit had not spoken. "I will be your escort."
Something in the dark figure's voice turned Ororo's blood to ice. It was deep and velvety, eerily soothing yet utterly terrifying at the same time. She noticed that the air had gone stale, the wind dying down to nothing. She sent a mental call for the winds, but nothing moved, not even the slightest breeze.
"…Gambit…"
At the sound of her voice the cloaked figure's head shifted slightly. There was a lengthy pause before the voice commanded once more that they accompany him. Deciding it best not to risk an outdoor fight in such a populated area Storm nudged Gambit between the shoulders. He refused to budge. "Remy, we can not risk a fight here," she whispered. "We go."
"A wise choice," the figure murmured, sending a fresh batch of chills up her spine. With a soft swoosh of his cloak the figure turned and lead the way down the crowded sidewalk, never once having to tell anyone to move, or step aside, they simply parted before him.
After what felt like only moments they found themselves in front of a large plantation style home. Old shutters banged against the sides of the house, peeling the faded paint. A wrought iron gate cried in protest against its hinges, swinging back and forth, eerily in the absence of a breeze. Looking over her shoulder Storm realized they were well outside the city. She was confused having traveled such a great distance in just a few moments, but not so confused as to miss the opportunity to stop and face the cloaked figure.
"This is far enough, stranger. We go no farther until you give me some answers." Her voice crackled with authority.
"Did our friend not already tell you? Tsk, tsk, Lebeau."
Gambit stepped forward, red on black eyes blazing. "I've changed my mind. Deal's off." He grabbed Storm's hand, squeezing to the point of pain. There was something desperate in his grip. Gambit was afraid, Storm realized. Very afraid.
"You gave your word. You can not take away what was promised. We made a deal, signed in blood." The cloaked figures voice dropped an octave causing every hair on Ororo's body to rise. "We will have what was promised to us." The voice was almost a hiss now.
"I said no." Gambit pulled a deck of cards out of his back pocket. The threat was clear. For a mutant who can charge objects with kinetic energy a deck of cards could be a valuable and powerful weapon. However in this case they appeared useless as with a wave of his hand the dark figure sent Gambit to his knees, clutching his chest.
"Run…Stor..my…"
"Enough!" Storm knelt beside Gambit, her hands searching for injury. He groaned, face turning white, then purple. "Stop!" She felt fear welling up inside.
"You can save him." The cloaked man whispered. "Just give us what he owes."
"N-n-n-no," Gambit struggled to breathe. His body began to convulse.
Storm rose, her voice clear as a crystal lake, and just as pure. "Enough, stranger! Whatever he promised you, you shall have!"
"Your word," the figure demanded.
"You have my word." At once the convulsions left Gambit's body.
"Padnat, no!" He tried to rise. Ororo reached down, placing a restraining arm on his shoulders.
"Easy, Remy. All will be well." She glared at the dark figure, eyes blazing. "What is it that he owes. What is it that he promised?" she demanded.
"You--witch! He promised us you." The snarl came from behind and Storm could feel her composure leaving. Hot, moist breath fanned her neck.
"Creed…"
New York
The thundering skies had settled leaving behind only a distant grumble and a sprinkling of rain. Funny how even the smallest shower made him think of her. The scent of freshly fallen rain causing his breathing to become labored with pent up, unreleased emotions. He was finishing up the last of ground's patrol, and knew that now was not the time for his mind to be wandering in those directions. That was always his problem, he reflected. It never seemed to be the right time, at least not for him. Wolverine gave himself a mental shake; "Don't go feelin' sorry fer yerself'," he grumbled aloud.
From his vantage point in the courtyard Wolverine could see that several lights in the mansion were still lit. Some of the kids were studying, some playing in the rec room, others just reading alone. Life at the institute was proceeding in its normal fashion, well as normal as any place crawling with 'gifted' people could proceed. But for Wolverine it didn't feel normal, nowhere near; instead, it felt empty and hollow. Unintentionally his gaze wandered to the balcony outside the large attic loft that was home to his closest friend. No lights there. She was still gone with that Cajun'. Gone where? He didn't know. Didn't care, he lied to himself. The skin over his knuckles began to itch, and he angrily scratched at it.
The clouds were parting, revealing a low hanging moon, casting mysterious and dark shadows over the estate. Something didn't feel right. He lifted his head, sniffing. Nothing out of the ordinary there. He let his claws extend from the back of his hands -snikt-. Wolverine had learned a long time ago to trust his instincts, they'd saved his ass more times than he could remember. As his senses became more alert, the feeling of apprehension steadily grew. He felt a tug on his psyche.
Logan.
"Chuck."
My office. Now.
Normally Wolverine took exception to anyone treading in his skull, but there was something in the professor's voice that told him to let it slide. With a quick puff off his cigar Logan headed for the mansion at preternatural speed.
Once inside he headed straight to the Professor's office. The nagging sensation that something was wrong growing every step of the way. "Enter," Xavier's voice rang out before Wolverine could knock.
Seated behind a desk of dark mahogany Charles Xavier looked every inch commander and chief. He had a commanding presence that demanded respect. He and Wolverine had more conflicts than most, but each definitely held a great deal of respect for the other. On either side of Xavier stood Jean and Cyclops, both wearing their uniforms.
"You called." Wolverine took a seat in one of the two plush chairs in front of the desk, placing his booted feet on the edge, crossing his arms, looking very comfortable. He gave Cyclops a feral smile in greeting. The slight straightening of Scott's spine was the only indication that Wolverine got under his skin. Sensing his irritation Wolverine's smile turned into a nasty grin.
Xavier gave both men a disapproving stare. "I have reason to believe that Storm may be in very serious trouble." Xavier began without preamble.
Logan's head snapped around, he straightened and leaned forward, grin gone. Xavier read the questions running through their minds and despite the circumstances found himself oddly comforted by their collective worry and obvious caring for their fellow member. They were a family, after all.
"What kinda trouble?" Logan's tone was soft and dangerous.
"I am uncertain. I have not been in close contact with Storm for a few months now, but approximately two hours ago my mental link with Ororo was abruptly severed, and I haven't been able to reestablish one."
There was a moment of silence in the room as the implications of what Charles had said registered. "That's about the same time she called," Scott interjected. "We had a bad connection and got cut off."
Wolverine turned on him, teeth bared. "And that didn't seem odd t' ya?"
Scott stood ramrod straight, his tone defensive. "She sounded fine. Storm can take care of herself, she isn't another one of your damsels in distress, runt."
Snikt- "Wanna run that by me again, One-eye?"
Enough! Both men jerked at the voice in their heads.
"Thank you, Jean." Xavier backed his wheelchair from behind the desk and began 'pacing' the carpet. "If Ororo was making phone calls two hours ago, and our psychic connection was cut off about the same time, we have a timeline to work with. We simply do not have enough facts to jump to any conclusions, however. It is my inability to reach her that worries me. We must find her and make certain she's all right."
"Well, where the hell was she?"
"I didn't ask," Scott's voice was still defensive, but traces of self-doubt were creeping in. Should he have known something was amiss, should he have demanded an exact location from her? Jean placed her hand on his arm, her face turned up with concern. She could always sense his feelings. He missed their closeness. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
Logan could feel his anger mounting and struggled to contain it. She had called? Ole One-eye had gotten to hear the smoky velvet of her voice? Had she asked about him? Did she miss him? Did she think about him at all? Or was Gumbo keeping her too busy? A low growl formed in his throat.
"Well, Chuck, you musta known where the Cajun' was takin' her."
"To be perfectly honest, Logan, no I did not. I trust Storm to make her own decisions, and I do not question them."
" It is a privilege she has earned." Scott added.
"Wonderful." Wolverine rose from the chair. "So what's the plan? Take a few shot in the dark guesses at where they might be? That the plan, boy scout?" The two men glared at each other, neither moving save for the rise and fall of their chests.
"Ya'll could always check the caller id," came a voice from the doorway. "Or, heck, maybe ya might try askin' me if Ah know where my man has run off ta." Rogue shrugged her shoulders. "Call me crazy, but that's where Ah'd start. Professor," she greeted. "Got here as fast as Ah could." A crumbled letter was hanging from her limp fingertips.
"Thank you for coming, Rogue. Please fill us all in on what you know." Xavier could easily pull the information from her mind, but he respected each individual and their right to privacy.
"I got this from Remy in today's mail." She laid the worn letter on top of the desk. "It ain't good news." It was then that Wolverine noticed how red rimmed her eyes were, how pale she looked. He caught the scent of tears as she walked past him.
"Ah'm sorry. Ah shoulda known. He was actin' so strange before they left. Like he wasn't comin' back." She took a deep breath. "He ain't." Rogue looked at her feet as she spoke, her words barely audible.
"Continue, please." Xavier gave her a gentle mental nudge.
"We all know that before Remy was an X-Man he did some shady things. But this…" Rogue's lower lip trembled slightly.
"Go on," Wolverine growled, his stance aggressive.
"Remy got word that one of the people he owed big to was wantin' to settle up. Wanted to make a trade." She took a breath, unable to continue. "Professor..?" she turned to Xavier, her breaking heart in her eyes. Help
Charles closed his eyes, his mind skimming over Rogue's. He felt her pain, her aching loneliness, and her fear.
"My God," he whispered breaking contact. At once he commanded, "Cyclops ready the Blackbird. You, Jean and Logan depart immediately."
"Professor? What is it?" Jean asked.
"Gambit is trading Storm to clear his debt. Move, my X-Men!" The team needed no further urging, exploding from Xavier's office and making their way to the Blackbird launch area at breakneck speed.
We'll find her. Jean sent a wave of encouragement to Wolverine. In return she received images of Gambit bloodied and screaming. A rage so consuming, for a moment it took her breath.
"Ah'm comin' too!"
"Only if you wanna see Gumbo gutted!" Wolverine leapt the three stories from the elevator to the hanger floor without breaking stride.
"Hold on, 'Ro. I'm comin' for ya, darlin'!"