Dark Side of the Moon
By: InnerFathoms
Setting: Few months post-'Ascension.'
Summary: The visions glimpsed from Apocalypse's mind by Charles Francis Xavier start to become a reality on the evening of Rogue's eighteenth birthday. Dear friends are lost, new allies are gained, dreams are betrayed, and the advent of darker days draws near. For Bayville's mutant population, everything is changing and the lines in the sand are fading. As they face the darker depths of what it means to be different, the idealist known as Professor X comes to realize the fragility of his dream. Even the 'greatest mind in the world' is powerless to stop the oncoming trials witnessed from a bleak future where his pupils are no longer the individuals he once believed them to be.
Discretions: A few references here and there. The line near the end of the chapter is the beginning of The Spider and the Fly, a poem by Mary Howitt, published in the early 1800's.
Pairings: Hints at Kitty/Piotr and Carol/Piotr, slight hints at Jamie/Rahne
Genre-Rating: Action, Adventure/Angst/Romance
Disclaimer: I own none of these characters or their histories, as they are licensed to Marvel and I am not making any profits.
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Chapter VI: Fractured
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For a man of such massive stature, Piotr Rasputin often disappeared in a crowd, his presence hardly detected among a group. A casual observer would not see him; not because he was invisible, but a man of such a somber and gentle demeanor could easily fade from view. Nobody meant to forget him, but his silent, pacifistic nature often left him to not be considered. This did not perturb the gentle giant; he was content with listening and only offered his say if it was required of him or important to the group discussion. The Russian preferred to be respected by his actions rather than his words. Besides, with so much going on, Piotr realized that the less he talked, the more he understood. Any inherent naivety on his behalf would only become apparent if he spoke. Being all ears earned him much more respect and incurred others to consider him a thoughtful introvert.
Only sweet Illyana brought out the chatterbox in her big brother.
But the younger Rasputin was tuck safely away back home, having been used as a means to keep Piotr in his Acolyte rank with Magneto, back when there had been a group of Acolytes. When Magneto had seemingly been vanquished at the hands of Apocalypse, Gambit had gone elsewhere, as had Sabretooth, possibly to Canada. Pyro had stayed with the fort, mindlessly replaying their master's demise via news recording. Piotr, known as Colossus then-----and still now, when in uniform-----had revisited his homeland to check on those he held close to his heart. Now, Illyana was fine and peaceful, though she missed her older brother. Piotr had considered bringing her back to America, to the Institute, and he had discussed it with the Professor. Both men agreed on her potential mutation and decided that if and when the young Rasputin experienced her change, then she would become a welcome addition to the X-men.
With his mind on his darling blonde of a baby sister, Piotr neglected to focus on the meeting being held in the briefing room. Scott was leading the discussion, talking mostly with the adults, gesturing furiously and grunting occasionally. He looked the same as he had upon entering through the foyer no more than fifteen minutes ago, claiming that the Morlocks had helped him after an explosion in a restaurant and declaring that Jean and Rogue were in danger. Though the young man could barely hold himself up, Piotr respected his adamancy in alerting the adults to the danger and going over everything that had occurred during the evening. His concern for his missing comrades was evident, especially for the one he called Jean. Exhaustion and fatigue had left their marks on Scott, though he said his injuries had been much worse but had been healed by one of the Morlocks.
Now wearing a pair of ruby shades, having come to the Institute without a pair, Scott continued to talk in a hurried, hushed tone to the Professor, Dr. McCoy, and Miss Ororo. Soot and smoke colored his complexion, mingled with perspiration that only complimented his strung-out look. The front of his shirt was torn open, exposing most of his chest, though no wound was evident. However, dried blood drenched the hanging tatters of his shirt and still graced his torso. A few cuts and bruises were also visible, but the young man in shredded clothing, covered in grime and somehow keeping himself from collapsing, finished briefing the adults before giving the other present X-men a look of both distress and fury.
Kitty gasped, and Piotr felt the need to comfort her. Awkwardly, he drew near her from behind, hoping his looming presence would not frighten the tiny girl. She reminded him of Illyana in some ways, but he regarded her as more than a sister. Even if the feelings were not reciprocal, Piotr could not help but be enthralled by the graceful beauty of the petite young lady standing near him.
"Scott, I'm afraid you are in no condition to assemble and lead a team. I value your concern for your teammates, but endangering yourself will only weaken your chances of rescuing them." Professor Xavier said.
"But Professor, Jean, she, our psychic link! I know it'll lead us to her and the others."
"Yes, but it will be a much stronger connection if you are well-rested and clear-headed."
Scott gave his mentor a stern look, sighing irritably. "I can't, Professor. There's no way I'm going to rest when Jean's been kidnapped! If anything happens to her I'll-----"
"Simmer down, Mr. Summers," Dr. McCoy interjected, gripping the younger man's shoulder. "Rash decisions will only lead to your downfall. If you really care about Miss Grey, which I know you deeply do, you will take some time to calm yourself and organize your thoughts. You can't be her knight in shining armor if you rush off too fast and forget your stead, now can you?"
With an exasperated expression, Scott turned towards Dr. McCoy but could find no words. He swayed a bit and the doctor steadied him.
"Please, Scott, go lie down. Take a shower, clean yourself up, and we will process all the information you have given us. I will search for Jean through Cerebro. Logan is already out searching for their scents. Focus on collecting yourself before coming back here. Understood?"
Scott nodded glumly but complied with his mentor's request, leaving the room with Dr. McCoy, who insisted on running a quick physical first. As the two exited the briefing room, quiet chatter ensued while the Professor spoke with Miss Ororo one-on-one.
Surprisingly, Kitty appeared in front of Piotr, demanding his attention.
She grappled his arm, staring up into his expressionless face high above her head. "Can you believe all this? I mean, the bombing, the kidnapping, everything! It's like everyone decided that today was "anit-mutants" day."
"Da," Piotr began, dubious of how he would continue. "It is…most alarming."
Kitty smiled at him oddly. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." Her giggles brought a scarlet hue to Piotr's cheeks, which he hid by turning away from the young girl and looking elsewhere in the room. The demon-looking mutant, the iceman, and the fire girl were all talking to one another. He could not remember their names. He had exchange no more than friendly greetings with anyone in the trio. The only X-men he'd actually talked to were the Professor, Miss Ororo, Gambit, and little Kitty Pryde.
From the corner of his eye, Piotr found the brunette hurrying towards the group of young mutants, seeking conversation that he could not provide. Defeated, Piotr glanced towards the adults and then the younger mutants, unable to interact with either faction. Not for the first time, the soft-spoken Russian felt a twinge of isolation creeping through him. For one who never spoke aloud, hardly anyone except the empathic or observant noticed his downcast mood.
A tall blonde with soft features and a comforting smile took notice. Piotr looked up to see her standing in front of him; fleetingly, he glanced away, embarrassed at his obvious broodiness. He didn't want to appear as in need of sympathy or pity.
"You look like you're new here," the young lady said. He continued to keep his face away from her angelic one, refusing to allow her to see his shyness.
"Da, I am Colossus, no, Piotr." He gave a sheepish smile, finally turning towards her and offering his massive hand. "Piotr Rasputin, from Russia."
"Carol Danvers, from Bayville." She suppressed a giggle and a blush, taking his hand in a crushing handshake. Failing to disguise his grimace and surprise, Carol gasped and apologized. "Sorry about that! I obviously don't know my own strength."
She gave another innocent, friendly smile, and looked down at her feet, pushing a gold lock of hair back behind her ear. Piotr joined her in the feet-watching, unable to come up with anything witty or interesting to say in response.
Much to his dismay, Carol took a step closer and forced his gaze to her face. "I can relate. I'm really new here. I'm…I guess you could say I'm the newest member."
Piotr beamed, feeling like he was no longer the outsider in this tightly-knit group of mutants. "That is…good to know, Miss Danvers."
Carol giggled and looked down at her feet again, while Piotr attempted to chuckle with her and instead only exhaled audibly. He looked over at the other young mutants and saw Kitty watching him over her shoulder, distracted from the conversation. Upon noticing his gaze, her eyes widened and she pretended to be looking past him and adjusting her bangs. Then she spun around and threw her arm around the one with the tail, squeezing the blue boy.
Crestfallen, Piotr averted his gaze back to Carol and saw her smiling at him. It was a wonderful sight that soothed the awkwardness of the situation, until he felt comfortable enough to initiate conversation himself. "What are…your powers?"
"Super strength, flight, invulnerability, and a "seventh sense" perception that's pretty much the equivalent of eyes in the back of my head. I'm guessing super strength for you, too, Piotr."
"Da, super strength." He considered the term, its feel foreign on his tongue. Super strength. It made him sound like a comic book hero. Was that who the X-men were? Or were they just everyday people with extraordinary talents trying to fit in, using their skills much in the same way as other city officials use theirs to keep the town and its citizens safe.
"And? Don't tell me that's all," Carol chided him.
Struggling with the urge to blush, Piotr said, "And also invulnerability."
"And?"
"The ability to transform my skin into organic steel."
Carol's brow furrowed. "Steel? Hm, sounds cool…"
Piotr wanted to show her, to marvel her with his growth and shiny alloy skin. He was Colossus, after all, a codename that resonated with indestructibility and brute force. On the inside, he was a man named Piotr with dreams of being an artist and a niche for empathy and sensitivity. The powers he possessed did not dictate his character; Piotr had seen what power and control did to others-----specifically, Magneto.
"X-men," the Professor called from the front of the briefing room, "I want all of you ready and prepared for the mission. We'll be leaving in thirty minutes. You are dismissed until then."
Piotr watched the group of younger mutants disassemble and exit the room, Kitty being among them.
"Keep this to yourselves, as well. The New Mutants are not a part of this mission as of now."
The departing mutants nodded and left the room through the wide threshold leading into the corridor, while the Professor called Carol to see him.
"See ya later," Carol told Piotr, as she walked away, leaving him alone once more. With no other reason to wait around, Piotr held his head high despite the burden it took and exited the briefing room after his fellow teammates. From afar, Carol winked at him, and everything became a little brighter.
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The water was scalding-----somehow soothing. The steam was suffocating-----somehow comforting. Scott Summers allowed the fiery deluge spilling from the shower nozzle to wash away all the dirt and grime on his skin, creating a tiny eddy of dark color near the drain. He watched it circle wildly, wondering if more than just filth was disappearing down the drain, lost forever.
Breathing deeply, Scott's lungs filled with hot water vapor, causing him to cough but hardly care. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, pausing as he watched the dirty rivers flow near his feet. Because of his ruby goggles, the blood on the tile floor looked too much like the washed away grime. He could not discern it, but he knew it was there, running down his body like crimson scars, cutting along the contours of his wet body.
His dark hair stuck to his skull like a wet mop, tendrils of bangs plastered to his cheeks and the goggles. Humorlessly, Scott wondered how odd he would look if someone stumbled in on him in the shower with the goofy goggles tinted red. They were too tight and made him self-conscience, even if he was alone in the bathroom. They were meant to keep him from ravaging everything in his line of sight.
The red eddy continued to dance near the drain, blood and filth and grime and sweat; he felt like the very fabric of his being was sinking into the pipes beneath him through the drain. His anger and rage ebbed, washed away by the burning spray guzzling into his chest and turning his complexion irritably rose-colored. The sensation told him he was alive, and as long as that was true, he would not rest without Jean. Whatever pain she was going through was infinitely worse than a too-hot shower; Scott didn't want to feel comfortable while his girlfriend waited patiently for him, probably locked up somewhere dark and cold, vulnerable.
The sound of the shattering tiles did not register with Scott, and neither did the flare of pain in his knuckles. Only the scarlet threads flowing from the broken skin caught his attention. He blinked behind the goggles, focusing on the fracture in the wall, tiles smashed by his fist. Glancing down at his raw knuckles, he saw the water integrate with his blood and turn it into a pinkish hue. The hot water seared along his cracked skin with much more discomfort. Tenderized, the nerves prickled at the heated liquid burning into the bloody cracks lacing his knuckles. He sneered through the pain and punched the wall again-----once, twice, and a third time before the momentum used to quickly cock back the punches threw him off balance.
He slipped and crashed onto the floor, banging his head against the glass door but not cracking it. His elbows took the brunt of the fall; pain blossomed in each joint. His foot kicked into the knob controlling the water temperature, twisting it enough to cool the surge splashing his face and filling his mouth. His tongue scalded and his face burned, Scott spit out the water and sputtered, basking in the relief at the onset of a lukewarm temperature.
Guiltily, he leaned forward and reached for the knob, intending to finish the shower with the boiling water that he had started it with. His hand stopped, hovering over the knob as the blood flowed freely from his mangled fist. Fresh blood escaped into the drain, a scarlet exodus that disturbed Scott enough to where he moved backwards along the floor and leaned his head against the wall. The showerhead's stream fell at his feet.
Looking down at himself, Scott inspected his skin aflame with irritation. The rosy complexion covered his pectoral muscles, descended along his abdomen and crept up his neck while spreading along his shoulders. He was breathing heavily, each expansion of his chest aching as the scalded skin stretched. Silently, he brought up his hand and distinguished the bloody deltas seeping from his second and third knuckles. The torn skin glowed with redness beneath the pooling blood, and, absent-mindedly, Scott placed his fist in his mouth, sucking on the tender area.
He rejected the coppery taste, spitting out a mix of saliva and blood that splattered onto the glass door. Scott watched it ooze down the clear surface, oddly captivated. Pieces of broken tiles converged at the drain, hindering the eddy and causing the dark water to pool in front of Scott's feet.
In this surreal, numbed state, Scott reached out to Jean once more, focusing on their psychic rapport above all else. He ignored the sound of the water, the taste of the blood, and the pain in his fist. He closed his eyes to the clouding steam, nullified his senses and opened up his strongest connection.
Naked and even more exhausted, feeling fetal and scattered, wet and blood-washed, Scott Summers reached out with all he had, ready to forsake his consciousness to whet his desire to hear her voice, no matter the cost. Even one word, so long as he knew and could confirm that his redheaded angel was alive…
'Jean…'
The painful silence stabbed through his heart, but Scott refused to let the adversity and defeat smother his clinging hopes.
'Jean…'
Scott slumped with his back to the wall, his fist dropping and bouncing on the tiled floor, his chin dipping onto his chest and his eyes disappearing behind the ruby goggles. Consciousness seeped out of him like the blood in his mouth, snaking down the corner of his lips, raining onto his chest and slinking over his side, touching the floor and fleeing along the tiles, disappearing down the drain, lost forever.
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When the cordless phone in the corner of the counter rang, Jamie Madrox was in the middle of balancing a late-night snack. He paused with an armful of potato chips, craning his head over his shoulder to glance back at the noisy device glowing in the shadows beneath the cabinetry. A familiar tingling sensation overcame him, accompanied by a light-headedness that almost lost him the potato chips in his arm. Exhaling, he felt the clone separate from his body, and with a small mental note indicating the potato chips in his arms, his newest copy relieved him of the snack while Jamie went to answer the phone. Satisfied, the youngest resident mutant's fourth duplicate followed his small army of doppelgangers, also carrying an assortment of snacks.
Jamie answered the phone on its fourth ring. The other end of the line reeked of static and heavy breathing, much to Jamie's dismay. "Hello?"
"Who's…dis?"
Frowning, Jamie replied, "Who's this?"
"Yes, yes…who is dis?"
Jamie's brow furrowed as he continued. "No, who is this?"
The caller cursed loudly on the other end, in between bouts of racked coughing. Realizing his plight with a tinge of embarrassment, Jamie said, "Sorry, sorry-----this is Jamie. May I ask who is calling?"
He'd been brought up in a mannerly household, and Jamie darkened over his forgetfulness. The caller sounded distressed and irate, but Jamie knew better than to reply with such meandering laziness. It was late, yes, but the call sounded important and the self-cloning mutant condemned himself for bypassing his manners.
"Who?"
"Jamie Madrox. Who is this?"
"…Rogue…" The voice was low enough as it was, even without the added static.
Though Jamie thought he heard correctly, he was confused. "Rogue?" The caller sounded like a male, though the thick accent almost eluded him.
"No…it's Remy."
Brow furrowing for the second time, Jamie scanned the name through his brain, vaguely recalling its familiarity from somewhere.
"Remy who?"
More cursing, this time in another language. At least, the caller's tone suggested vulgar language, possibly in French, which was a language Jamie could only fathom with "wee wee" and "derrière."
"Get an adult!"
"Hey," Jamie cried, shouting into the phone. Being the youngest member of the younger mutant team had lasting effects on the youth. Being treated like a child-----which he was-----but in a condescending way hit a tender spot. "I'm not a kid, Mr. Remy! Just tell me what you want-----I can handle it!"
More French cursing. This was getting boring and painful to listen to. It was the worst sales call he'd ever heard.
"I'm hanging up now!" Jamie declared to the caller, reveling in the empowerment fueling him. No one could treat him like a kid and expect him to comply. He would show Mr. Remy-no-last-name and hopefully keep him from calling the Institute and bugging anyone else. Jamie hated prank calls, especially when they interrupted his plans to indulge in a late-night junk food fest before bed.
"Non, please-----" As he clicked off the phone, Jamie grimaced regretfully. The caller sounded more desperate than infuriated and truly in need of assistance. The power of playing the dominant role, of ending a conversation on his own accord for his own reasons, had gone to his head. It wasn't often that the youthful mutant had a chance to one-up someone bothering him.
Contemplating a STAR66 hit which would redial the last number that called, Jamie was oblivious to his teammate and older mutant strolling into the kitchen.
"You know, they say thinking too hard damages your brain, kid."
"Huh?" Jamie blinked and looked around the room. "No they don't!"
Ray merely chuckled as he opened the pantry, plucking the beaded string to light up the bulb dangling in the enclosed space. "Were you talking to someone on the phone?"
"Um…yeah, some guy. Sales guy, possibly." Jamie bit his lip.
From the pantry, Ray made some derogatory remark about phone salesmen, laughed at his own joke, and knocked over some cereal boxes. Jamie wasn't listening as he stared at the cordless phone sinking into the corner of the countertop, as it was overpowered by hodgepodge messes and clutter dominating the surface.
"Hey, Jamie, you seen Jubes lately? I wanted to apologize about something."
The phone sank farther away in Jamie's perception of sight, as a horrid feeling grew from seeds of unease in his gut. He felt as if he'd just hung up on a dying man. The thought made him shudder.
"Hey, deaf boy!"
No phone salesmen would know Rogue, would they?
"Jamie, you out there?"
Remy…the name sounded more haunting the longer he thought about it. He was certain that he'd heard the name before recently.
A hand gripped his shoulder and spun him around jerkily; Ray glared down at him. "Lost in thought again? That can't be healthy, kid."
"Shut up, Ray! I'm not a stupid kid!" The response came automatically, sounding redundant after so many uses. He was almost sixteen; Jubilee and Rahne were no more than six or seven months older than him, and Ray wasn't even eighteen yet. Just because he was the only resident mutant under the age of sixteen-----with one month left-----did not warrant the abuse he received from the likes of certain teammates. He wanted to punch Ray in the face-----even if the guy was five inches taller and nearly thirty pounds heavier.
Just as Jamie was ready to bring in reinforcements to teach Ray a lesson in picking on a duplicating mutant, the phone rang.
Jamie jarred his hip against the side of the countertop in his dash to snatch up the phone. Taken aback, Ray watched with wide eyes as Jamie smashed his finger on the answering button, giving a strangled cry of "Remy?"
The other end was silent; then, a haughty laugh. "Where're your manners, boy? Or have parents stop teaching that hello is the polite thing to say when you pick up the telly?"
Jamie resisted barking at the voice on the other end, and instead asked, "Who is this?" The three words were becoming his mantra for the night.
Instead of answering, the caller gave another belittling laugh, and Jamie almost slammed the phone back on its receiver base. Biting back the tides of anger, remembering how guilty he felt for hanging up on the previous caller, Jamie waited for a reply.
"I'm sorry, but I don't have time to play game with little children. I need to speak with Charles."
"Who?"
An aggravated sigh and then, "Professor X as the calls himself these days. Sounds too pretentious if you ask me."
"May I ask who is calling?"
"Sheesh, kid! If I wanted to play twenty questions I would go on a bloody game show! Just let the old man know I'll be paying him a visit soon. He will know who I am. Make sure he gets the message, boy."
"Yeah, whatever," Jamie muttered, banging the cordless phone back into its base and sighing.
"Gee, Jamie, have you ever considered a career as a secretary? You seem to take phone calls so well."
"Pull that stick outta your butt or leave me alone, Ray!" Jamie stormed past the older boy and shouldered him out of the way. "Mess with me again, and one of my clones will smother you while you're sleeping. I don't think they can charge a clone with murder, do you?"
Ray's eyes narrowed before he broke out laughing, slapping the island countertop with his hand and bending over. A moment later, he looked up and ducked beneath a knife cutting through the air above his head. It clattered on the tile behind a bewildered Ray. "What the hell, Jamie?"
"Quit being a baby. It was only stainless steel." He reached for the knife block and slid a frighteningly shapely mezzaluna out its designate space. "How good's your dodging skill?"
Electricity crackled along the older boy, bright blue energy scarring the air around his bare torso. "Quit screwing with me, Jamie. I'd electrocute you before you suffocated me."
For the third time, much to Jamie's dismay, the phone rang. He dropped the knife and pointed at the phone. "Answer it!"
"Expecting a date or something?" Ray asked, but surprisingly he conceded and walked over to pick it up. "Xavier's Institute for Gifted Freaks, Berzerker speaking."
Jamie frowned, unable to fathom the reasons to why Ray would say such a thing. Was he really bitter towards his placement and home, or was he just shooting the breeze?
"Who? Remy? Remy who?"
One moment, Jamie was across the kitchen listening intently. The next, he was on Ray's back, prying the phone from the startled mutant's hand. "Jamie! What the-----"
He pushed off Ray, shoving the other mutant into the counter and quickly blurting an apology into the phone.
The caller-----Remy-----sounded out of breath and semi-conscious, almost delirious. "Rogue?"
"No sir, sorry. I haven't seen Rogue all night."
"Hey, she got kidnapped."
"What?" Jamie looked at Ray with wild eyes. Why was he always the last to know of these things? Some things never change, he supposed glumly. "Sorry, what, Remy-sir?"
"De Morlocks…"
"What about them?"
"What's he sayin'?"
Remy groaned and drifted away, speaking in a deathly quiet voice that made Jamie want to shoot himself in the foot for being so inconsiderate with their last phone conversation.
"Dey comin' t'…kill…"
"Kill? What're you talking about?"
"Kill who? Give me the phone, Jamie," Ray demanded, but Jamie stepped back from him and out of arm's reach.
"Kill the Morlocks?"
Ray stopped reaching and froze. His knees buckled without Jamie's notice. "Are you there? Remy, sir?"
"S'not much time…Gotta save de Morlocks…X-men…"
A splashing sound startled Jamie, and then static assaulted his eardrum. As he tore the phone away from his ear, an operator's voice came on to inform him that the line had been disconnected. Jamie wondered if Remy had dropped the phone in some kind of water. Sewer water, possibly.
When Jamie looked at Ray, he found the older boy staring at the floor, his muscles quivering. Jamie remembered last year's episode with Evan's mutation and how Ray revealed his past ties with the underground group of mutants.
"'Ey, boyo! What're ye up to?" Jamie turned his head to spot his closest friend walking into the room in a simple night gown, her reddish-brown hair cascading along her shoulders. For the second time that night, Jamie forgot his manners. "What're ye starin' at, boyo?" Rahne asked, smiling. "Like ya never ever seen a lass in her nightwear?" The lycanthrope mutant giggled and glanced over at Ray, looking as if he was ready to puke on the floor. "What's the matter, Ray?"
"Rahne," Jamie started hesitantly, "do…do we know anyone named…Remy?"
The girl tilted her head at him, tapping her chin with her pointer finger. "Oh, of course! The new guy with the trench coat! Quite the charmer! Gambit's his name, or Remy, I think."
If he was more flexible, Jamie would've put his foot in his mouth and bit down hard. A wave of nausea and worry washed over him, but thankfully the countertop was within reach.
"Rahne, get the others," Ray said, his tone causing Rahne to jump. It was feeble and soft, disturbing. "Whoever's close. Tell them to grab their uniforms and we'll all change in the van. Tell them it's an emergency-----life or death."
"O-okay then. Meet you in the garage."
"Go!"
Rahne scampered out of the kitchen, nightgown flailing near her ankles. Ray looked over to the other boy. "You, too!"
Cringing, Jamie left Ray in the kitchen and dashed along the hallway to the elevator. He saw Rahne taking another route, morphing into her wolf form as she entered the foyer and darted up the staircase.
Two minutes later, Jamie hurried along the dormitory hall, knocking on doors until he reached his own. Roberto and Sam stepped out from their respective rooms, questioning the younger mutant with alarmed glances. "Grab your uniforms and meet in the garage! It's an emergency!"
Jamie disappeared into his room, stripping off his shirt and pants as he moved towards his closet. He ripped open the doors and snatched at his uniform, the sleek material durable in his hands. The Professor promised new uniforms for the older team of X-men, while the New Mutants were consent to continue using the all black body suit with matching belt, gloves, and boots. The fabric was elastic and comforting, also very breathable. Tight but not too tight, Jamie was glad that spandex was out of the question. They were form-fitting but in a good way. They didn't make him self-conscious, and at the same time, there were more reasonable perks, especially whenever the girls were battling near him.
He pulled the bottoms over his boxers and slid into the top, zipping it up over his chest and adorning the gloves and boots. He stopped, remembering that Ray had told them to grab their uniforms and change in the car. Too late to abort, Jamie scooped up the belt and rushed out the door, trailing Sam and Roberto who clutched their uniforms in their hands.
The trio reached the garage right in front of Rahne and Jubilee. Ray and Alex appeared behind them.
"Get dressed in the van."
"What?" Jubilee cried, stamping her foot down. "Either tell us what's going on or let us change in private!" She motioned between herself and Rahne.
"We're saving some old friends. Get in the back and change. Nobody will look at you."
"Oh, right! Like I trust you guys."
"Get it done, or stay here, Jubilee!" Ray shouted, storming off towards the driver's seat.
"What about the others?" Sam asked.
"Forget it, they're busy. Do you wanna prove yourselves or not? Come or don't come."
As Ray started the van, Jubilee and Rahne climbed in through the back, while Sam rode shot gun. Jamie, Alex, and Roberto loaded into the mid-section seats. The van shot out of the garage while narrowly missing the rising door with its roof. Jubilee screamed in the back as Ray veered to the right, throwing her against the back doors.
Jamie suppressed a laugh, reminding himself that the situation was too serious to take lightly. And the fact that Ray would stop the car, come back and beat him until he didn't find anything funny. Jamie sighed, beginning to worry about the trouble they were getting themselves into tonight.
As Ray jerked the car to the left and sped towards downtown Bayville, everyone else cried out while trying to change into their uniforms. Jamie closed his eyes and leaned back, realizing that it was going to be a very long night.
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The water is still running in the bathroom. She opens the door, gently, anticipating. Steam wafts in her face, caresses her skin with vaporous strokes. It is hard to breathe, but she moves in, turning towards the steam-clouded mirror. She wipes it, leaving a clear streak the arcs downward and to the left, revealing his blurred visage in the mirror.
The dark mane, the lightly tanned skin, the ruby-colored goggles. He is slumped in the shower beyond the glass door, modestly blocked by the towel that hangs between them. In the mirror's reflection, she sees tiny blood spots adorning the shower pane, and she wonders silently. There is no need to look at him in this state; she knows his identity, she knows his condition. She does glance briefly at the bloody whirlpool above the drain. The blood is from his hand; not excessive but apparently self-inflicted. She taps her fingers to the pane, tracing the bloodspots absent-mindedly. She reaches in, keeping her eyes on the shower nozzle, as she turns the water off. In the bathroom, the lights go off with the flick of a switch.
In full uniform, Scott Summers steps out into the corridor, locking and closing the door behind her. The guise is much too easy. The sound of rain beginning to beat on the outer structure of the mansion sings fittingly. She can sense the storm arriving, its advent arousing her. Quietly, she moves through the corridor towards the elevator. There's not much time-----the group needs a leader. And lead she will…like the spider to the fly-----'"Step into my parlor" said the Spider to the Fly.'
Her assignment has begun.
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Author's Note: Well, what do you think? Will the X-men be able to save their missing members? Will the New Mutants protect the Morlocks? Will the 'real' Scott usurp his doppelganger? And who is the mysterious caller who knows Charles Xavier? Too many questions? Take some guesses; the answers will pop up eventually in the story. Please review! I would really like to know how this is going, character-wise, plot-wise, et cetera. If you have any questions, ask! Comments and feedback are much appreciated! It lets me know how things are going on the readers' end! Feel free to make predictions or suggestions as well. Much thanks to everyone who has been reading the story; if you have but have not reviewed before, please feel free to drop one and let me know if you're enjoying the progression of the story! Thanks for reading, and please continue to enjoy!
Next Time: Chapter VII: Grave
The New Mutants face down their toughest battle yet, while the other X-men infiltrate the warehouse in search for their missing. And what of the captives? Lots of action and battles to come, along with more twists and turns.
-fathoms-