Chapter Four
Scott Summers tossed and turned, then finally sat up. His mind was too full to sleep. Moving carefully so as not to disturb his sleeping wife, Scott exchanged his flexible 'sleep visor' for his ruby-quartz glasses, slid his feet into his bedroom slippers, and padded silently out the bedroom door. If anyone had asked, he would have said he was just going down to the rec room to see what was playing on TV. Deep down, though, the responsible leader in him knew there was no way he'd be able to sleep until Ororo had returned home, safe and sound.
Scott grabbed the remote control and turned on the TV, then he stretched out on the long, comfortable sofa and sighed. The first twelve channels he flipped through were mainly infomercials and news broadcasts in Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese. After a few more flicks, the image of a ragged man with long hair and a scraggly beard being rescued by a small, wooden sailing ship caught and held his attention.
Scott frowned. Something about this movie seemed familiar. He could almost remember - no, he could remember watching it with Kurt ages ago, long before the disastrous face-off against the Gray Gargoyle. The crazy elf had been going on and on, comparing this movie to some earlier version from the 1930s or something. Scott hadn't paid much attention at the time, but he knew he could remember the title. It was right on the tip of his tongue...
"You're watching the 1975 TV classic, 'The Count of Monte Cristo' starring Richard Chamberlain and Tony Curtis. Coming up next, don't miss Stewart Granger and Mel Ferrer in the movie that boasts one of the longest sword duels in swashbuckling history: the 1952 film adaptation of Rafael Sabatini's 'Scaramouche'. Then at three, lighten up with Danny Kaye and Basil Rathbone in 'The Court Jester'. It's an all night movie marathon, right here on..."
Scott snapped his fingers as he listened to the announcer's voice, a smile spreading across his face. Of course! 'The Count of Monte Cristo' - one of those corny old sword-fighting flicks Kurt had always been so keen on. His smile broadened as he recalled how positively exuberant the elf used to get whenever one of those musty old things came on TV. And, tonight there was a marathon! If Kurt had been there with him right then, he would have been in heaven!
Scott blinked at that thought, then swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat, his heart sinking as he ran his hand slowly through his hair.
He should have gone with Ororo. He had given in to her far too easily, allowing his own guilt over Kurt's condition to make her argument for her. And now, she was out there without any back-up or support, determined to face a schizoid madman...alone.
Scott's gaze hardened behind his visor. That creature Storm was so determined to confront was not their Kurt, not by any stretch of the imagination. He was disturbed, angry - sadistic! For all intents and purposes, he was the demon he appeared to be, a violent, hate-filled monster. And, most of that burning hatred was directed at the X-Men.
Scott sighed through his teeth, staring at the commercials without really seeing them. If anything happened to Ororo, it would be entirely his fault. He had let her walk straight into a snake pit, and he had done it knowing this snake was particularly deadly, its poison the very fact that the good, open-hearted man he had once been still held such sway over their hearts. Kurt Wagner been the soul of the team for so long; he had been such a dear friend to them all. If they allowed themselves to hope he could return to them, if they let him get too close, Belasco could, and would, use their own guilt and pain to destroy them - and he would extract cruel pleasure from every moment of it.
The movie had returned, but Scott couldn't stand to watch it any longer. He turned off the TV, then slammed the remote down on the coffee table. Frustration and worry seethed through him, and he began to pace the room. If Ororo didn't return in three minutes, he was heading out to find her, no matter the risk. Belasco had already stolen Kurt from them. He wasn't about to let him take Ororo too.
The distant sound of the front door opening cut into Scott's dark thoughts. The X-Men's leader dashed down the hallway to the foyer, nearly tripping on the edge of the patterned rug in his hurry.
Ororo was there, leaning limply against the back of the door, her mocha features cloaked by the darkness of the room. The moon, which had been shining brightly while Scott was in the rec room, was now obscured by clouds, and a light, drizzly rain had started outside.
"Ororo?" Scott asked as he slowly approached her, treading carefully through the darkness. "How did it go?"
Ororo looked up, her wide eyes glittering in the dim light of the streetlamp by the driveway, her damp hair appearing almost gray. Then, before Scott could react, the normally stoic Ororo was in his arms, clinging to him desperately as she sobbed brokenly against his chest.
"He's there, Scott," she whispered hoarsely into his shoulder. "It's Kurt. I saw him. He spoke to me."
Scott frowned, stroking her back as she continued to cry.
"Ororo, what's wrong with your voice?" he asked as gently as he could. "What happened out there?"
Ororo just shook her head, her wet clothes, hair, and tears leaving a damp spot on Scott's nightshirt. Scott's frown deepened, and he broke her embrace to seek out the light switch.
"No, Scott!" Ororo croaked as she realized what he was doing. "Don't! It's all right. I—"
But it was too late. Bright light flooded the foyer, causing them both to squint and blink as their eyes adjusted.
Ororo stood straight, stoic and aloof as she met Scott's gaze without anger or shame. Scott gasped, then glared as he caught sight of the bruises on Ororo's slender neck.
"Did he do this to you," he demanded, advancing on her in fury.
Ororo didn't answer, her expression calm and unwavering.
The red, multi-faceted lenses of Scott's glasses began to glow.
"Don't you dare defend him, Ororo," he snapped. "If Belasco hurt you, you have to tell me."
"Yes," Ororo acknowledged after a long, tense pause, her hoarse voice barely above a whisper. "Belasco did try to hurt me. But Kurt let me go. I think...I think he was trying to protect me."
Scott furrowed his brow over his shades.
"What do you mean?"
Ororo shook her head, raising one hand to her bruised throat.
Scott scowled, then sighed, reaching out to put a brotherly hand on her shoulder.
"Come on," he said. "Let's get you down to the medbay. We can talk about this once you're better."
Ororo nodded, allowing Scott to lead her to the stairs.
Outside, the soft, drizzling rain continued to fall.
To Be Continued...
