Moving On Chapter 17

By Gimpy


Thick blue thighs pumped feverishly, tender muscles expanding and contorting beyond their scope, edging closer to their breaking point. Torrents of fire lashed and raged against the nerve endings, desperate to stop yet pushing harder as a reckless despair fueled the crushing steps.

The reaper's bony hand pursued the racing woman, she could feel it, see it in the bloody footprints that tailed her with each rock of blue feet along granite. Death was nipping at her heels and she ran from it, ran from the lost innocence that threatened to throttle and the deserving murders that forged a sickness. The sights, sounds and smells of it pounded on her heart and squeezed at her soul. It forced her forward, blind to the ironic nature of her quest. For every morsel of distance she forced between herself and the decay she'd left, she grew closer to an even worse chaos.

The bodies wouldn't outnumber all that had come before. Only one dead and one other verging on its precipice. The infliction wasn't more gruesome then what the soldiers had done to the defenseless, deprived mutants they had held in captivity. What would stifle her more than that, what would clog her throat and steal her breath was who had committed the emotionless, defacing act. With every newly revealed crimson droplet she would feel the girl darken, a girl she loved beyond tangibility.

She knew without fully knowing, without facts that Rogue had spilled blood. With that knew found knowledge Mystique felt her resolve weaken.

Jagged breaths scraped through her as the insurmountable and bold truths starved her lungs. The vision of the lifeless woman, barely clothed, twisted and mangled would sear itself into Mystique's memory where it would remain as a testament to her failure as both mother and protector. The effort to tear her gaze from the ghastly form surpassed all she had exerted up to that point. Where her amber eyes fell afterward forged fury.

The soldier lay plastered in black, painted in red, the reason for his presence becoming blatant as he writhed. He was an angel of death come to extract life, to destroy Rogue before the rescue could be completed. It seemed destiny had sided against him, evident in the gunshot wounds inflicted by a weapon he had brought.

Rivulets of scarlet seeped from the ravaging holes as Mystique crouched at his side, seething her spite. Fish mouthed, he gasped his needs, his wants for a swift end, the gargled syllables stunted but audible despite the pool of crimson lodged in his throat.

"Did you do the same for her?" Mystique crudely questioned motioning to the mangled woman who had become the epitome of destruction, years of unyielding pain contorting her humanity in such violently visible ways.

The man jerked at the question, sputtering beads of crimson from paling lips as he defensively retorted, "Not me, her."

Mystique's harvest eyes flickered, wretched tears slicking the glowing orbs. Shock wanted to rein in the wake of his accusation, disbelief more then willing to follow so she could balk at the baseless notion. She tried to justify it, telling herself the soldier had every reason to lie. He was an instigator, a malicious evil that thrived on creating torment. It was a lie, one she desperately wanted to give in to.

"Where is she?" she demanded, neglecting the man's words and clinging to the angelic pedestal she'd carefully crafted for her adoptive daughter.

"You honestly… love that bitch… like a daughter… don't you?" the weathering soldier spewed, his frail form surging from the floor so his blood-streaked face could invade hers.

Long scaly fingers dug through scraggly brown hair, twisting the strands and wrenching back. A muted cry billowed within the man's stretched and strained neck, veins bulging along his forehead, face shading to a deep red as blood rushed beneath the skin.

"You don't… even realize… the kind of monster… she is." The words came in sporadic bursts, air bubbles forcing more blood from the back of his tainted throat.

"Keep talking, you're only making it worse for yourself," Mystique coldly warned, bitter laughter edging along the sentiment.

A deadened humor illuminated the soldier's dying gray eyes. "You aren't… her mother, best you get…. that through your head… before you end up… like her."

Creases of confusion graced blue scales as the man shifted his gaze. Drawing in shallow breaths, Mystique mimicked him, hesitantly following his stare. The implication refused to register as she once again took in the disturbing sight of the dead woman. Its harrowing meaning barely seeped into Mystique's maddening mind. Slowly she reexamined the only description Rogue had ever given of her mother. Reaching passed the disfigurement of the corpse and filtering through blood and dirt forced reality once again upon Mystique's swiftly crowding shoulders.

The pieces viciously came together, her impermeable grip loosing all strength. The soldier's weakened body could only free fall, colliding with concrete soundly. It couldn't be, was all Mystique allowed herself to think. She refused the pricking of belief, denied it as it surfaced. Gingerly it dawned and crudely it settled until all she had left with was the narrow, impassable idea that there was more to it. There simply had to be more depth, more explanation. That Rogue would mercilessly and viciously kill the woman she truly considered mother was implausible. The first mother had been a tethering for the young woman, a source of strength as much as weakness. (A fact that had Mystique giving way to bouts of jealousy on more then one occasion.) No, Rogue could not have intently and willingly taken this woman's life. The reality, however, did not align with the notion.

Taking the corpse in whole, studying her, a gradual understanding breached her incapability to believe. Beyond any shadow, Mystique knew that this woman before her had been the aggressor. The wounds spoke for themselves, were too blatant to see passed. The claw marks, the restraining bruises… Mystique recognized them, envisioned the defensive attacks that had caused them, knowing each move as ones she had taught Rogue.

Veering back on the coughing, sputtering monster that lay at her feet, her determination found new glory. A fact not lost and most assuredly frightening to the decaying man. Lithely Mystique drew her quivering hand along the officer's blood soaked armor, fingertips grazing through an ocean of crimson until her thumb hovered dangerously above his abdomen.

"You will tell me what you know," she crooned.

A burgeoning protest formed on paling lips.

In response her looming thumb dipped closer to the gaping gunshot wound. "About this complex, the experiments done here, what you wanted with Rogue and what really happened in this room. Then you will tell me where Rogue has gone."

With each new demand for information the pad of Mystique's thumb drew downward until the last syllable was expelled and the appendage jerked suddenly, vanishing within blood and cloth. A strangled scream flourished from the soldier, its sickening sound ravishing through the gutted halls of the complex until it burrowed into five equally sharp and anxious ears of the sluggish X-Men team.

Bobby stumbled at the sound, his already awkward, weighted down movements losing stability. He tripped and floundered, all too conscious of the man whose weight he bared. It was all he could do to stay upright, the jarring easing a startled and pain filled gasp from Scott as a new fire ignited and scoured his throbbing shoulder. Baring all his might, Bobby braced the brunt of the weight onto his tiring thighs, his grip on the older man tightening to keep him standing even if he, himself, fell. Out of the darkness a warm arm wound its way around the weathering young man's waist, a tousle of black hair appearing at his side. The added weight gave balance back to the two men and the huddled group came to a jerky but all out stop. Relief graced them for a moment, Bobby expressing it in a soft kiss along the young beauty's hairline to which Jubilee flushed brightly.

The moment was all but shattered as another scream crashed around them, reminding them of the reason for the near tumble. Scott glanced ahead, his rose tainted vision searching hesitantly for the already irate Wolverine. Guilt swarmed him, the beginnings of self-hatred forming for having cost the group precious time. The seething, piercing glare Logan cast towards him only intensified the emotion.

The Wolverine advanced on the wounded Scott, teeth grinding violently together. Nostrils flaring, mouth tight lipped, Logan grunted at the man before swiveling back around and devouring the path ahead of him. Grounding to a halt mere meters away he turned back, taking two steps towards the small group.

"Summers, so help me! If we're too late!" The snarl passed his thinly drawn lips, the threat open-ended but very real. No longer complacent to the compromised leader, Logan charged off, his poised and arched form vanished from view within seconds, leaving the remaining four to their own devises.

For a sliver of time Scott contemplated resting, allowed himself the guilty, pleasurable idea of finally freeing himself of the damaging pain. The miniscule sliver ended and the leader returned with avenging force. Connecting eyes with Hank, he motioned him forward, silently asking the large man to pick up the scent where Logan had left off. Nodding somberly the mass of blue set a pace just shy of resembling a swift jog.

The space between the lone man and the group swelled with Logan wreaking neck-breaking speeds, surging onwards as he honed in on the gargled and haunting screams of a man tortured. The echo heightened, barreling into the man's sensitive eardrums along with a distinct odor of blood, sweat and death that churned his stomach. Grappling the last corner in his massive palm he used it to slingshot around.

A pair of double doors assaulted his vision, the metal protruding into a dank room, a hollow darkness illuminating from the gaping hole between them. The sight forced Logan to skid to a graceless halt, fear stilling him as his senses doubled their effort to assess the path ahead. A single inhale told him Rogue had in fact been there, had been wounded there. A second inhale devastated him when it revealed her scent was stale, nearly a quarter of an hour old. The third, however, let him know that his blue skinned nemesis occupied it along with a man whose stench of blood coated its entirety.

Silently Logan stalked the open doors, pinhole eyes devouring the expanse as it was revealed to him. Hovering like a wild dog over its prey, Mystique recoiled as he appeared at the threshold. Logan leered at the scene, a shadowed brow rising. The distinct sound of shallow breaths filled the room, sounds of the soldier struggling relentlessly to stay alive. His placid eyes gazed at the ceiling but never saw it. He was blind, oncoming death having warped his vision. Yet he continued as if watching the amber lights cascading back and forth along the concrete. Unabashedly, Mystique mirrored the brow raise, daring him to comment. Logan did not; remaining an observer as the lucid woman leaned over the man.

Sardonically she murmured into his ear, lips grazing his whitening flesh. Softly, melodically she condemned him, vowing to end his life; coldly informing him it was not an act of mercy but that of devotion. His death would not taint her daughter. It would be done by her hands not Rogue's.

Logan simply stood by and watched, appearing calm and composed on the outside. Inside a whirlwind of thoughts were racing as she threatened death, admitted love and then proclaimed her selflessness. It dawned on him then, the truth she spoke of before, the relationship she had tried to share that he had refused. This woman; enemy to their cause, an evil all her own, being so open and blunt with the love she harbored. It astounded the gruff man, gave way to a deep appreciation. Mystique's willingness to take this killing onto herself and off of Rogue was something Logan had never bared witness to. It was complete and unconditional love, a feat he didn't believe actually existed. He suddenly found himself grateful for her presence, glad that Rogue had this woman to turn to. He no longer felt the pang from Rogue's choosing the antagonist over him.

The continuous shallow breaths waned, lost in the abyss of lifelessness forever. It forced the boorish man from thought. He returned his attention in time to watch as Mystique gracefully raised from the floor with a trying frown.

"I know where she is," she whispered in a hushed tone, unwilling to taint the room with boisterous sounds.

"Daughter?" One word, that's all he could muster under the deep and meaningful weight of what had just transpired.

The question would have surprised her had she not been expecting it. Still she struggled with the answer, unsung tears wallowing and glistening in the amber sheen. A tempered jerk of the head was all she could muster as she gingerly made her way to his looming shadow.

"You tried to kill her," Logan forcibly reminded her, more to understand than to accuse.

"Technically," she quipped humbly, "Magneto tried to kill her."

It was a vain attempt at deflection, halfhearted in its execution. It was obvious nothing less then the truth would satisfy, so begrudgingly Mystique gave it.

"I was doing my job," she started listlessly, the words more declaration of guilt then excuse. "A job that has always taken precedence over everything else in my life. Marie knows that… it's why she ran, why you found her…" Mystique couldn't help but pause, uncertain if she should continue. Chancing a glance at the dead woman, Mystique sighed despondently and forced the words as they clogged her throat. "I'm a little fuzzy on the details but I learned enough to know that this can wait. It has to. Marie shot that soldier defensively, killed that woman defensively. She had just cause, but right now she is on the verge of killing a man in cold blood out of revenge."

Mystique watched as her admission settled, watched as the man before her suddenly drew inward, a scowl forming with the weight of it all. He said nothing, lips pressing lightly together, his head tilting to the side. Interest welled within the woman as the Wolverine's attentions drifted away from her.

"The others are coming," he finally barked out, taking Mystique's arm gently, leading her out of the room and into the hall. "Go, find her, stop her."

"You're not coming with me?" she asked seriously, confused.

"There's something I gotta do first," Logan confessed mutely, "I'll be right behind ya."

She glanced to where the stoic man's gaze firmly remained, nodding though she didn't understand. The moment the pressure on her arm released she took off, following the soldier's directions blindly. Logan listened to her retreating form as he waited for the fatigued team to round the corner he had moments before.

A blur of blue saddled the corner first, his momentum already waning as he neared his destination and halting all together when he caught sight of Logan's defining silhouette.

"Where is she?" he questioned, instantly searching for Rogue, going stoic when she was nowhere to be found.

Logan ignored the man and watched as the other three appeared behind the behemoth. Each wheezed harshly, taking the moment's rest to replenish. Logan took the moment to visually check the struggling leader's status. Beads of sweat not born from the excursion slicked his forehead. A graying tint had formed on his skin, the striking red having consumed the makeshift tourniquet soaking through its cotton material. Lines of distress wrinkled his unshaven face which was barely visible from his hunched over position. Bobby leaned with him, worry present but going unvoiced. It was obvious to everyone the man was getting worse, loosing more blood and using too much energy. It made Logan's decision easier to make.

Coughing coarsely, Scott softly waved off the boys concern with a stern but leery smile. Looking up he caught sight of the cryptic and suddenly sullen Logan, his nerves quickly surfacing. "Why the stop?" he breathed huskily, eyes darting to find a reason for the Wolverine's shift.

Sighing deeply, Logan spoke emotionlessly, "I'm goin' it alone."

The words slowly settled, stunning the leader. Forcing himself to stand taller, he stammered out, "Excuse me?"

"This ain't up for debate." Logan's voice remained level, his stare constant.

"I'm sorry, could you say that again?" Scott rebutted sarcastically. "I swear you just gave me an order."

"We don't got time ta argue, Summers," Logan started, trying to keep calm.

"Enlighten me as to why you think you have the right to tell me what I can and cannot do?" the man barbed back, releasing his hold on the boy and staggering forward.

A roll of the eyes followed Scott's attempted display of strength. "You're wounded, just cause ya can walk all on your lonesome don't change that," Logan retorted, releasing a small amount of anger at the arrogance of the leader. "You've become a liability and you know it," Logan pressed, ushering closer to the now seething man.

"I'm still in charge," Scott reminded him hotly as his vision began to swim.

"Ya can barely stand for cryin' out loud," Logan surged, his tone that of caring. "You're slowing us down and we can't afford it."

"I know it isn't my place to say," Hank graciously intervened, Logan's abrupt words making him want to put it more amicably. "However as a doctor and a friend I cannot let the opportunity pass," he reasoned, coming to the leader's side. "Though the amount of blood you've lost isn't fatal, you have begun to show signs of anemia. I cannot, in good conscience, let you go any further. It will only get worse and you know, as well as I, that without all your faculties you become a liability, one we cannot afford as Logan not so gracefully though correctly stated."

Disgruntled understanding began to rear on the angered x-man.

"Right now Rogue's huntin' down the bastard who runs this hellhole and she ain't doin' it so they can talk," Logan added seriously, hoping to sway the man fully.

"She's what?" Scott exclaimed, disturbed by the new insight, wide eyes staring at Logan.

"Yeah," Logan murmured, faintly unsettled himself. "So I gotta move and I gotta do it fast. Can't with you here."

"Marie wouldn't outright murder a man," Scott protested weekly. When no agreement came from Logan, Scott's face fell even further. Disbelief scoured the paling man as he challenged the idea, "Would she?"

A hollow formed in his stomach when Logan diverted his stare. Scott's ears started to ring, his distress circling and expanding. All of a sudden he felt faint and shaky, his heart picking up speed as he started to ask a question he didn't want the answer to.

"Has she?"

Somberly, Logan jerked his head, silently motioning to the open room. It was all he could do. Painstaking as it was, the man deserved to know. It took a moment for Scott to even want to look at the recessing hole and he regretted it when he did.

"It was self-defense," Logan muttered.

Scott balked at the sight, rearing around swiftly. Dizziness consumed when he did, spots converging on his vision. He swayed, Bobby returning to his side, smoothly taking back his weight. The young man didn't dare look into the room. Didn't know how he would react if he did.

"Get to the bird, ready it for quick take off, I'll bring her to ya."

"Okay," Scott murmured, the word flowing barely above a whisper.

TBC…


Author's Note: I started this chapter a long time ago but never got around to finishing it. A little over a week ago I picked it back up. Why has it taken me this long to post? You ask.Simply put I no longer have a beta so I had to reread over and over again to try and get as many of the mistakes as I could. Alas it is done and finally here. Much, Much thanks to all the reviews and begs for more. Hope this was worth the wait.

(more to come, I promise, just needs some rereading)

-Gimpy-