Chapter 17: Metal and Fire
Jeanne-Marie was exactly where Warren knew he'd find her—in the Library. But this time, she wasn't poring over books on Caravaggio and Rembrandt. Instead she was simply standing there, looking out the window. Looking as if her mind were a million miles away.
For a minute, he just watched her. Pale skin glowing in the afternoon sun that poured through the window in a rush. As if it couldn't wait to touch her. Jeanne-Marie Beaubier attracted light—he'd felt that since he'd first met her, even if he hadn't known that was what it was back then. Seeing her now, standing there, silent and beautiful… it was suddenly so obvious. She was a creature of light. It was in her, it was all around her, it clung to her.
Whatever the Professor wanted to say about the darkness inside her… Warren knew the truth. Jeanne-Marie—or Aurora, he'd call her whatever she wanted to be called—had brought light to him. He couldn't stop loving her for it even if he wanted to.
He ruffled his wings slightly. They were feeling restless from so long holding still. He hadn't been out to fly since the attack, and that last hour in Xavier's office had been icing on the cake of pain.
She heard and turned to look over her shoulder, paused for a minute with her face half in the light and half in shadow. He smiled, gently. Caravaggio couldn't have placed her better.
"Hey, Aurora," he offered, starting to limp over to her. His ankle wasn't hurting so bad, so he'd left the crutches in the hall. He hoped Hank didn't catch him at that… or Jean. But they really were impossible to maneuver, what with the wings and all.
"Oh, don't," she waved her hands at him, letting him know he ought to stop hobbling. She was in front of him in seconds and carefully threw her arms around him. "How are you feeling darling?"
He put his arms around her. Her hair smelled like… strawberry? Something sweet and comforting and fruity. He ignored the changes in her he could already feel. Something in the way she'd walked toward him—as if she was ready to meet him head on. Something in the way she spoke—confident and sure. There was nothing subtle about it… she was different since she'd been in there with Xavier.
He'd seen her like this before. But this was more complete. This was obvious. This was for real.
"I feel great," he said, deciding he'd ignore the pain in his ankle. "How about you?"
She pulled away slightly and looked up at him, still smiling. So certain.
She was still all light. She was still her. She was just more… Aurora.
He let his hands drop to her sides, wrapped his fingers around hers. It was all the same to him. He knew it. He'd loved her when she was shy and scared, and he loved her when she was demanding and playful. The two sides shared more than a few characteristics. Playfulness, intelligence, humor… and that light. Sometimes he felt like he should squint when he looked at her. Sometimes it was like looking at the sun. It hurt him, though he wasn't sure exactly where.
"Yes, of course," she grinned up at him. "What did Xavier want to talk to you about?"
Her tone suggested that she knew and found it amusing. Warren smiled right back. Cleverness. There was another trait she had, no matter what kind of mood she was in. "Well, you for one." He told her what she already knew.
She cocked her head and led him gently to a nearby loveseat, "And what did he have to say?"
"Honestly?" It was a rhetorical question. He sat himself in the seat and she made herself comfortable nearby, her leg just barely brushing against his.
She looked excellent in jeans. Particularly jeans that fit… like that. God help him. He was going to hell.
"He said that you seem determined to remain stable, and he doesn't foresee things changing as easily as they used to. Apparently… Aurora…," he wasn't sure how much she could handle. Xavier had suggested he not talk to her too much about it, since she would only claim not to understand and it would probably frustrate Warren in the end. But that seemed so ridiculous when he was looking her in the eye.
She was no little girl. She had some problems… some very big problems, yeah. But she was a grown woman. He wouldn't treat her like a child. "You're happy where you are. I mean… with who you are."
She only smiled, looking satisfied. It was a beautiful, slightly smug expression. It made him want to kiss her. "What an investigator that man is. Let's rename his office 221B Baker Street."
For a moment Warren was truly flummoxed. Two-two-one-bee… oh god. Sherlock Holmes! He laughed out loud and leaned back on his wings to let them cradle him in the loveseat, still holding one of Jeanne-Marie (Aurora)'s hands. Apparently she'd gotten mildly sarcastic as well.
But he wasn't scared. She was still her.
"That was kinda my thought," he admitted his agreement. "But I think he was playing the dad, too," he continued, a little more thoughtfully. "You've been through a lot. He just wanted to make sure I wasn't messing around. Feel me out." Make sure he was committed. Which Warren could honestly appreciate—although Xavier's judgment had come under question recently, the man hadn't lost it completely. He was looking out for his own. Which made the decision Warren had recently come to, pertaining to the X-Men and his role within the organization, all the easier for him.
She grinned, "To keep me from being hurt? Oh, isn't he adorable!" she appeared genuinely amused, and possibly touched by the news of Xavier's concern. She appeared to have no such qualms about his intentions… but he felt the need to check, just the same.
"You know you don't have to worry about me, right?"
The smile never left her lips, and she squeezed his hand. It reminded him of… how they used to be. Reassured him that it wasn't gone, just changed. And all relationships changed… they only failed when the people didn't change together. "I know, Warren. That's why I love you."
And at that moment, any leftover misgivings Warren might've had about Jeanne-Marie Beaubier were swept away as if by a tidal wave. Just to hear her say those words. She said it plainly, matter-of-factly. As if she hadn't just made the angels sing, or his heart burst inside his chest, or his head start to spin.
"I love you too," he finally choked out. "I really do."
She didn't appear to be having the same difficulty breathing as he did. As if she'd accepted it long ago, with that simple grace she leant nearly everything she did. She juts grinned at him and said, "You'd better."
His face was starting to hurt. He wanted to kiss her… but he thought that might be… a little too cheesy. The moment was already candycoated, and he was very aware that he was enjoying it a little too much to be manly. But to hell with it. How could he not?
She laughed at the expression on his face, or maybe how tightly he was holding his hand. He couldn't really tell. But it wasn't cruel, just… joyful. A little indulgent, maybe. But he didn't mind one little bit. It snapped him back into reality and he laughed too, softly. "There's another thing I wanted to talk about. I'm going to stay."
She looked up, eyes flashing brightly as she realized what he meant. "With the X-Men?"
He nodded, already pleased with her reaction. The intentness of her gaze told him she was happy with that implication. It was just what he'd hoped for. "Full time," he affirmed. "I might have to break it to my parents eventually… but I think it's something I have to do."
She pulled her hand out of his and clapped happily, face lit up in a perfect smile again. "This is wonderful! We'll have so much time together!"
And, Warren reminded himself, he'd be doing something with what he'd been given. And he wouldn't be on his own anymore. He could make a difference here.
But if he was honest with himself, the extra time with Jeanne-Marie wasn't exactly just an added bonus.
"I'm glad you're glad," he admitted, still grinning but now with relief. "I wonder if you'd mind meeting my parents when they come back to New York for Christmas? I mean, before I tell them. I'd like them to know more of us… and know you."
Not that he was planning on telling his parents any time soon. But he'd have to eventually. He'd have to face up to who he was. But one step at a time.
"I'd be honored," she squeezed his hand again, quickly. "Won't this be fun?"
He felt his smile turn slightly wry. "Probably not. But they'll be in London till Christmas, so around then."
"Of course, whenever you like."
As stable as she really did seem… he found it remarkable in that moment. Looking at her, happy, eager, so alive and unafraid, it seemed impossible for just a second. She was the same, but different. He knew how it was possible, technically speaking… but how?
"You do sound a lot better than you did just before you spoke with the Professor," he commented, still in that moment of awe.
"I feel fantastic," she shrugged as if it were nothing. "I guess I just got tired of being run by that mousy little bitch."
He blinked. She was… talking about herself. As if it were someone else.
Xavier had warned him about this… but god, if this wasn't the biggest roller coaster ride of a conversation he'd ever been on. Up, down and all around in ten minute's time.
She continued, oblivious, "I'm not a weak woman, and I was tired of being scared. I'm only worried about my brother and my friends now… have you heard any news?"
His brain stalled momentarily as he tried to digest what she'd just said and the ease with which she'd said it.
He loved her. But he had a long way to go before he'd understand.
"Last I heard," he finally managed, "they were in talks with a brainwashed Magneto."
Aurora pouted, "Jean told me that a few hours ago."
Warren's mind focused for just a moment on those who'd gone to Transia. Mostly on Jean-Paul. He knew he was lucky to have a vote of confidence from Aurora's brother… but he wondered if he'd lost it considering what had happened to them. Jean-Paul knew Warren had been wary of this treatment and tried to convince her not to go through with it… but would that be enough?
And what with Pietro and Wanda… and what he knew was going on in Transia right now… Warren really expected a clip in the jaw when Jean-Paul returned. And he'd heard how Jeanne-Marie had bawled for nearly an entire day, inconsolable, once she'd realized that she couldn't touch her brother anymore. How broken had Jean-Paul been when he'd heard?
"… About your brother…," he ventured, hoping she'd speak on the subject without further prompting. He didn't want to upset her by leading her in a particular direction, and he wasn't sure he could (upset her or lead her). But he didn't want to take more chances than were necessary with her.
She shrugged, as if it were nothing, "Forget it, pretty. He'll recover. He's just under a lot of stress."
He felt his eyebrows raise of their own volition, an outward expression of his sudden disbelief. This was the girl who'd supposedly cried all day yesterday? She seemed almost… callous. The way she'd been with Jean-Paul after her injury not a week before, the way the Beaubiers had clung to each other as if it was keeping them alive… and now she shrugged this off?
"Maybe we could get Langkowski to… work something in reverse."
She narrowed her eyes at him. And he honestly felt… threatened by it. "Absolutely not."
His mouth worked, but no sound came out. He wasn't even sure what to say to that. It wasn't quite a violent reaction… but it brooked no argument, just the same. That was… new.
"I said no, Warren," she said, preemptively. "I will not let her have control again. I will not be weak. Jean-Paul will understand."
Warren simply nodded. He still felt speechless, but forced himself to agree aloud. Even if he didn't agree in his heart. Not one little bit. "Of course. Of course he will."
Alright. Now… he was a little scared.
"Well hello little love birds, how goes the recovery?"
Warren looked up and his stomach dropped into his feet. Of all people at a time like this… the thief had just entered the room, and he looked like he wanted to stay for a little chat.
Maybe now would be a good time to go home and get some of his things. This was really the last thing Warren wanted to deal with right now.
Jean-Paul was about to drive Rogue half crazy with his mothering.
Sure he wasn't saying anything much, but did that fool honestly expect Pietro not to come along? For a best friend and fuck buddy, or whatever they were calling it these days (god forbid someone should be honest and call them boyfriends), Jean-Paul sure didn't seem to know Pietro all that well.
"Pietro, maybe you should stay—,"
Pietro cut him off, as expected, "Shut up, tinkerbell. I'm fine."
They all knew Pietro wasn't fine. But they all knew goddamn well Pietro was coming into that laboratory when they got there. And even Scott couldn't argue with that. Yet that very same conversation had gone back and forth probably ten times while they were all just on the way to the Citadel on the mountain, with only small variations on the theme. But when she said small, she was meaning like… miniscule.
If she wasn't so happy to see them together, god help her but it was true, she would've knocked one of them out just to shut them up.
But finally they'd gotten in and out of the castle thing, much to the shock and amazement of the crew who'd been sent there on recon an hour or so back. Rogue included. Sure enough, when Pietro tried to open the door it swung wide. The place definitely looked lived-in, in a weird oversized and medieval way… but there were none of the so-called Knights Pietro kept babbling about to be found.
Rogue wasn't surprised. She didn't think Pietro would lie about his sister being trapped, and that whole Magneto episode had pretty much proven his story straight up. But she wouldn't put it past him to make up something as demented as half-human half-animal Knights that had inducted him into their secret society.
In fact, it was right up his twisted self-centered alley, if she gave it much thought. Which she was trying not to do. She was mostly just glad they had something to focus on, something to do, and that they were halfway to getting things back to normal. She was glad to hear Jean-Paul bitching (even though she still wanted to hit him) and she was even glad Pietro was functional again.
When he'd first come in…
Yeah. She didn't much want to think about what he'd looked like then. Rogue had honestly thought that he was… dead. And she was so thrown off by that thought, so incredibly fucking sad at it…
Yeah. Not thinking about it. Mission and… stuff. Damn right.
Sam was just ahead of her as they made their way down the tunnels Pietro had lead them to, talking with Scott quietly about The Plan, such as it was. The minute Magneto radioed they were going to bust in and tear shit up. If they were calling that a plan these days, Rogue wasn't gonna argue. Damn fools overplanned everything anyhow, if you asked her.
"Jean-Paul, I can walk—,"
"You're favoring your right leg!"
"What the fuck are you—?"
"Quiet," Storm hissed from somewhere behind those two.
Rogue shot a smug grin over her shoulder at Jean-Paul.
He narrowed his eyes at her.
She turned back toward the front of the line stretching down the endlessly black underground passage in front of them. Smiling, but smugly. She'd been so worried on the plane over here… man, she was just glad the Bitch was Back.
Suddenly there was a loud blip sound from somewhere in the vicinity of Scott. And everyone froze, breathless, for just a moment.
Nothing. Rogue looked forward, trying to make out Scott's expression in the dark of the tunnel. He looked up, first at Sam, then over at Lance.
"Let's rock this place," Lance growled.
Rogue sighed. Jean-Paul snorted behind her. But she heard a definite, "Let's do it, yo!" from somewhere in the back.
Rogue was one of the first into the fray—she leapt past the massive pile of what she figured used to be the laboratory door and slid along the side of the room, Pietro and Jean-Paul not too far behind her. It took a second for her to figure out just what, exactly, was going on in there… there was a lot of flying metal and loud banging, and a couple of piles of rubble. And what was supposed to be the lab, according to Pietro, looked more like a warehouse for scrap.
At the moment she found a decent position for herself, behind a mattress that looked kinda like something she'd seen in hospitals that was leaning up against one of the walls. Best place she cold figure to get away from the whirlwind of metal happening. She was pretty sure that Magneto in Khakis was over by the far wall controlling it, but hell if she could see him very well. And hell if she could see what the whirlwind was centering around—it looked like another pile of metal junk to her. She looked over her shoulder at Pietro and shouted over the various clangs and bangs, "You think you can talk some sense into daddy?"
Pietro opened his mouth, but Scott's voice came over the communicators before he could reply. Pietro looked pretty damn irritated about that, but he didn't get a chance to complain, for once.
"Magneto's over there on the far right, and that's Sinister in the middle of that whirlwind. Storm, see if you can—,"
There was no end to that order, though. Before he ever got to tell Storm what she was supposed to see if she could do, Sinister literally stepped out of that impossible whirlwind of sharp pointy heavy projectiles. Rogue watched, narrowing her eyes in concentration, as he punched what had probably been a very expensive piece of heavy medical equipment as it came careening toward his head. The chunk of metal stopped mid air and literally folded around his fist, then dropped to the ground. Other pieces of debris were bouncing off the guy right and left.
Rogue took a deep breath. She'd never seen him before, not in person… he really did look like some kind of vampire… a vampire with Colossus's powers, or… something. Jesus, he was downright terrifying in a way.
Or he would've been, if Rogue hadn't been trying to figure out just how to take the fucker down and find Wanda so they could get the hell out of here. But if the guy could basically tell Magneto's powers to fuck off like this…
Well, she might just be the girl for the job.
"Storm," Cyke's voice came over the communicator again, "try and distract him so I can get a clear shot, maybe I can do some damage. Avalanche, take your team and find Wanda."
Rogue opened her mouth to ask if Pietro had any suggestions. But she never got that far.
"You little shit," a female voice growled from not so far away.
She spun on her heel, ready to pounce, but Pietro was already on the ground. And the green-haired bitch, who Rogue knew to be the Marauder called Vertigo, was jumping toward him. And she had this look on her face. Like she'd never hated anything more than she hated Pietro Maximoff.
Hell. Maybe Pietro really had single-handedly kicked all their asses…
Na.
Rogue hit the ground, ready to intercept and knowing that Jean-Paul would take care of Pietro. She lifted her legs in the air in preparation for a little gymnastic stunt—
But a howling ball of fur and slime intercepted her target before it got anywhere near her (or Pietro, for that matter, who was now nowhere to be found, probably somewhere safe thanks to Northstar's scary mad speed.) Vertigo took the hit square in the back and it knocked her out of midair, almost bending her in half. The ball of fur and slime turned out to be a scary conglomerate of Nightcrawler and Toad, who were arguing about something Rogue couldn't and didn't want to understand. Whatever, the bitch was on the ground.
She kipped up to standing and took the three steps separating her from Vertigo in one giant leap. Kurt was standing up nearby, looking mightily pissed off and brushing some slime off his uniform. But his eyes suddenly rolled upward and he staggered as Vertigo raised her head, glaring at him.
Kurt went backwards immediately. Rogue didn't hesitate—Kurt would be fine. He'd had worse falls. She ducked downward and reached out grabbing Vertigo by her wild green hair and jerking backward, hard. "I had about enough of your sickness, lady," she informed her prey. She touched the woman's bare forehead with her other hand, then let her limp body drop to the ground.
A rush hit her and she staggered slightly. Every time was the same, but completely different. This time a wave of anger and hate flushed through her entire body, lit up her veins and left her bitter and all… tight. Her entire body just felt tight and she just wanted to kill the sons of bitches who had fucked everything up…
Deep breath. Rogue closed her eyes, finding herself in the wash of Danica van Fleet's anger. She pulled herself out of it, pushed away the spoiled, power hungry brat daddy's girl and brought herself back again. Then she opened her eyes.
And almost started laughing. Toad was standing there, hunched over the limp form of Nightcrawler, who he was holding up in his spindly Toady arms. His amber eyes were wide in shock and he seemed to be having some trouble keeping Kurt's head from lulling back at what looked like a breakneck angle. "Uhhh, little help here, Rogue?" he stuttered, sounding truly frightened.
"Get him out of the way," she suggested (alright, more like barked, but it was that or laugh. And there really wasn't time for that crap right now). "And try not to get too much slime in his fur while you're at it."
Fred reached upward and grabbed a gigantic piece of flying metal out of the air, then cracked it in half and dropped it on the ground. Sam was damn sure to keep right up on him. That boy was his ticket to Wanda, and he wasn't about to let himself get knocked stupid before he found her just because Magneto was having some kind of aneurysm all the sudden. No sir.
He'd gotten this far, God knew how.
"I think that's her," Lance yelled in his general direction. "There's only one thing left nailed down in there," he nodded toward the gigantic hollow of a room behind Magneto, "And it looks like a bed."
Sam went up on his toes, but Fred was… well, in the way. "If you say so," he agreed. "Let's get it done."
Lance's eyebrows went together in definite amusement, "Did you just say git 'er done?"
Sam felt his jaw drop. "I… uhm…"
"If you did, I swear to god I'll never let you forget it, you big redneck."
"Hey!" Fred protested. "I like Larry the Cable Guy!"
Sam was fighting the blush that was rising in his cheeks. He definitely hadn't said "git er done." Even if he kinda thought Larry the Cable Guy was funny too. Like hell he was gonna admit it now that Fred had! In fact, he was actually pretty relieved when a huge, flat piece of metal came whirring through the air in their direction and they had to duck to get away from it.
"Goddamn, that was close," Lance grumbled from nearby somewhere.
"I got something closer for you."
Sam looked upward trying to find the source of that statement. Sure didn't sound like Fred…
Aw shit. Riptide. He was sure looking like someone had tried to feed him to hungry pigs, but it was Riptide just the same. He was standing there all bruised and battered and grinning, holding out some mighty shiny looking knives to them. Like he was offering them.
Sam scrambled to his feet and fell back into a defensive stance, Mr. Logan's lessons coming to him like second nature now. He was ready for this. He should definitely be there. Yeah. He was so totally ready for—
Shit!
Sam sprang upward and felt an ominous breeze flash by his face. A flashing hurricane of knives came at him and near 'bout took his head off, but he'd moved just in time. He heard Lance scream (more like yelp, but that was probably as close as Lance came), and when he landed the ground was shaking under his feet. He spun to see Riptide whirl, off balance from the mini-earthquake Avalanche was throwing at him. But he still whirled right into Lance, tearing Lance's uniform almost in half and clean off one side of his torso.
And there was blood. A long gash in Lance's side that… well, it looked like some kind of special effect on a slasher movie. But instead of making Sam feel sick, it made him angry.
Just before he could spring into Cannonball mode and take down Riptide himself, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Wolverine standing beside him. "You get to Wanda," he nodded sideways. Sam peered around him as Blob picked up a chalk-white Avalanche, like he was so much dry firewood. And sure enough, Lance had been right. That was Wanda in that bed. Strapped down.
Sam's throat clenched and he nodded. Wolverine went after Riptide, and Sam rocketed to the other side of the room.
Scott hunkered down low, edging along the wall opposite Magneto to get as close as he could to the emerging figure of Sinister. Eyes blazing red, the mad scientist was still punching gigantic blocks of metal at a nice leisurely pace, as if he were simply waiting for Magneto to wear himself out.
Scott didn't like what that indicated about Sinister's abilities and endurance. Not one little bit.
He also knew that Sinister was not oblivious to the entrance of the X-Men—he'd seen the man's eyes follow Vertigo over to where Rogue, Quicksilver and Northstar were setting up shop, and he knew Sinister was well aware of Wolverine following Blob, Avalanche and Cannonball toward where they hoped to find Wanda.
Now if only he could get a shot and be sure he wouldn't end up hitting some spinning metal and sending it into one of his own people, maybe they could calm this situation down. And then get the hell out of Dodge.
He nodded at Storm and she threw back her arms, causing his hair to blow in front of his visor wildly (Really needed that haircut). She split through the storm of metal and created a kinda of tunnel for herself, a path directly to Sinister. Scott slid further down against the wall and put his hand to his visor. He turned the juice all the way up. He wasn't taking any chances with this one, once he got his shot.
If he got his shot.
If all else failed, he'd just blow the roof off this mountain and they could make their exit that way. Sure, it'd damage the Transian countryside a little, but it was a small price to pay to get his people out ASAP. This had a funny smell on it. A vendetta kind of smell. Not that he ever was, but Scott was not fucking around this time—vendetta was something he didn't want his people within a hundred miles of.
"Essex, stop," Storm commanded, in that way only a weather goddess could manage. Scott felt all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up—partially from the static electricity crackling around her in her protective weather vortex, and partially just at the sound of her voice. Sometimes he thought the woman was pure Bene Gesserit, with The Voice and all.
"You cannot win this battle—stop and talk to us!" Storm continued.
Sinister turned to look at her, but Scott could read absolutely nothing on the man's cold, undead-looking face. And those red eyes gave absolutely nothing away either.
Scott glanced up at the ceiling, which was already cracking slightly. He figured out why when he felt the ground moving faintly under his feet—Avalanche was really pissed off, somewhere. He steadied his feet and looked back downward, focusing in on Sinister. The man was still watching Storm, his apparent force field causing random metal objects to bounce off him now and again. Scott almost had the shot…
When a random woman appeared between them; dark haired, pretty, and completely freaking out of place. Just like she'd wandered in from some other room in her sleep, and had only just awakened. To this… of all things. "Who is that?" Scott barked into his communicator. "Get her out of here, someone. Shadowcat, are you close enough?"
But the woman was wandering toward Magneto now, and the metal that had been flying through the air dropped to the ground suddenly and with a painful ringing sound. It echoed through the lab for a moment and Scott closed his eyes to try and get rid of the headache. When he opened them, Sinister was facing the sleepwalker lady… and holding his hands out in front of him. Magneto was doing the same on the far side of the room, but in a welcoming way. "Magda, hurry!" he yelled.
And it all made sense, suddenly. Wherever the hell she'd come from, Magda Lensherr, Wanda and Pietro's mother, had wandered into the middle of this at the worst possible time ever. God. Dammit.
A loud burst of sound and energy came from Sinister suddenly, obviously intended for the now unprotected Magneto. "I'm on it!" Kitty's voice came in response, almost simultaneous with the energy burst.
To Scott's eternal surprise, she was on the opposite side of the room from where he'd expected her to be on. And her idea of being "on it" was trying to take out Sinister herself, apparently. She hit his back just as the crackling energy beam left Sinister's hands, phasing him halfway into the floor then sitting on his back.
But it was too late. The energy bolt slammed into Magda Lensherr's back, folding her in half, then leaving her curled into a ball on the floor.
Scott grabbed at the wall behind him as the floor started to tear itself up and all the metal in the room suddenly crashed toward its center, and Sinister, at once.
This was not turning out to be his day at all.
"It's fine Remy. How goes it with you?" The Quebecois beauty replied, smiling sweetly. Remy had heard some rumors about her since he'd been around. And he had to admit, they were intriguing.
But mostly, he'd interrupted them to irritate Worthington. Not that he wished the man any ill will… just that he was a curiosity. And Remy was stunningly bored, having been stuck in the medbay for an entire day just because some jackass had ripped his arm up real good.
So maybe he'd have himself a little experiment.
"Fantastic," he answered Jeanne-Marie's question. "Remy just got a few scrapes up his arm, s'all. Nothin' he ain't seen before, eh?"
"Must you talk about yourself in third person?" Worthington groused, looking up at him from his perch next to his sweet little fille.
Interesting reaction. He knew damn well that the man was still sore about that incident with the spider stone and his crap security… but it was too hard not to poke at the wound to get a reaction at times like these. He never thought he'd admit it, but he was actually missing John's inane questions and company at the moment. And with the Chaton disappeared to Transia to help the others out, his options for entertainment were severely limited. It was either search for the barely recovered Johnny god knew where in this huge house, or come up here and irritate Worthington.
As far as Remy LeBeau was concerned, his choice was clear.
"Come on now, Wings, some of us never went to fancy private schools. We gotta embellish with what we got to work with," he made himself comfortable in the first chair he saw, sprawling his legs out in front of him but careful to watch the sling around his neck. Which contained his wrecked arm. Which he was not altogether so happy about, as a matter of fact.
He was hoping Riptide would take some pretty serious injury during this whole adventure. Then he'd feel a little better about it.
To his surprise however, the moment Gambit got comfortable Angel stood up, ruffling his wings with what was definitely irritation. Remy had no idea how the man managed to communicate that through wing-language, but it was obviously something Worthington had practiced. "I have to go home and get some things. I'll be back soon."
He wasn't talking to Remy. In fact, Worthington was pretending Remy did not exist, as far as he could tell.
Not very polite for a high society type, was he?
" Alright, I'll be here," Jeanne-Marie smiled up at Worthington, then looked back to him. "Remy, you're staying too?"
He took her to mean staying as in joining up with the X-Clan. So Gambit nodded, "That's right, chere."
"I'm glad to hear it," she told him. Genuinely. Remy could read a woman pretty well, if he did say so himself, and Jeanne-Marie Beaubier was looking pretty damn honest at the moment. Smiling and bright eyed. Nice eyes, too—little bit cold, but kinda… wild.
He'd heard some whispers about her in the medlab, sure. Something about her and her Prettier Than Thou brother and some kinda crazy. But she seemed fine to him, anyhow.
Gambit smiled back, tipping his head in his most gentlemanly fashion. "What's not to be glad 'bout?"
Worthington made some kind of strangling noise at that point, then ruffled his feathers and started out of the room just like that.
Huh. Well that wasn't what he'd been going for. Jeanne-Marie followed Worthington with her eyes until he was out of the room, then looked down at the floor. She was narrowing her eyes, like she was thinking fairly hard about something… and something not really all that pleasant.
Gambit felt his brow furrow as he watched her. It was like some black cloud had suddenly centered over the girl, and she was… someone else. Just like that. He had a funny feeling in the back of his head, like he got sometimes.
Either way, he wasn't taking his chances by asking her to entertain him at the moment. And really… he couldn't just let this go, could he? "'Scuse me, chere, Remy gon' see what's wrong with this birdbrain."
She looked up at him, eyes slightly wider. Like she was surprised to see him there. But she didn't say anything as he stood to go, just nodded at him.
Gambit suddenly got the feeling that she… bit. Which was odd—he'd surely never expected a sweet thing like Jeanne-Marie Beaubier to give him that kind of message. Huh. He had to wonder what'd happened all the sudden.
He didn't say anything else, just followed Worthington's strangely light footsteps to the foyer. The superchicken was on his way out the front door when Gambit finally spotted him. He hurried his steps, in that manner he'd cultivated so long ago that didn't appear to be him speeding up at all. Just a subtle elongation of his long-legged steps that carried him to the door before it closed. He put one hand on it, stopping it about six inches from closing, and said, "Hey, Worthington. Seem a little out of sorts."
Warren didn't even look back. He just kept walking toward the shiny little Mercedes in the cul-de-sac, head slightly down, wings pulled up tight. "Why are you following me? Don't you have something to steal somewhere?"
Remy stepped out on to the front porch, looking upward at the bright sun. Warm sun. Felt nice—the air was cold but the sun was warm. Always liked this kind of weather—never felt like this in New Orleans. He gave no indication that he gave two shits if Worthington stopped to entertain him or kept going. But he said in his smoothest of voices, "Look now, we gon' be teammates—,"
"That accent really is ridiculous," Warren snapped, suddenly stopping in his tracks and turning around. "Could you lay off?"
Remy raised his eyebrows, but that was the only indication he gave of surprise. He'd seen Worthington's ineffectual sputtering when it had been announced that he'd be helping with the Transia effort, he knew how the man felt about him and that was precisely what was spurring on all this attention.
But he honestly hadn't expected the mild mannered cultured boy to get a little vindictive on him. Hadn't know he'd had it in him. Nevertheless, he continued as if Worthington hadn't spoken at all. "So I think we need to put all that behind us. You know it wasn't my fault when I broke into your house. Was under mind control. Anyhow, not my fault your security was so easy to get by—,"
"You just contradicted yourself, you know."
Remy felt his eyebrows climb a little higher. Now that had just sounded… spiteful. He looked at Worthington carefully, noted the tightness in the man's shoulders, the way his wings were drawn tight against him and his jaw was flexing.
Wasn't any way he was this aggravated with Remy. Not a chance.
Remy suddenly wondered what, exactly, he'd interrupted. And if his timing hadn't made him even more of an enemy than he'd already had in Warren K. Worthington III.
At this point, of course, he wasn't real sure he cared to have the man as a "friend" anyhow. But it bore thinking about, just the same.
Course, it could just be pure jealousy. So Remy pointed out, "I ain't thinkin' to move in on your fille." Since that was the point that had not been addressed as yet.
Worthington shook his head quickly, like he was trying to shake off some thought he didn't much like. "Well just keep it that way," he muttered. It wasn't quite half-hearted, but it wasn't half as vindictive as the last statement had been. "And keep the hell away from my things."
Remy put a hand to his chest, as if he'd been hurt by the statement. He wasn't, not one bit… but it sure did tell him a lot about the man. Not necessarily why he was really being such a bitch… but something about his character.
Worthington liked to lash out… but probably didn't do it very often. He wasn't real expert at it.
"Don't be like that, Wings, I'm tryin to make a nice brotherly gesture."
Suddenly, Warren took a few steps in his direction so they were at a decent distance from one another. Remy thought of it as "punching distance." If they wanted to, they could get into it right here and now. But angry days or not, Remy didn't think Worthington had the stones for that kind of action. Remy himself wasn't interested in it either… but he was interested in the man himself.
Not just because he was bored and wanted to aggravate the man who'd been a bastard to him since he'd gotten here, either. He was actually just curious, now.
"I don't know how you talked Xavier into letting you stay, Cajun, but I don't like it," Warren said plainly.
Remy raised his eyebrows again and smiled, pleasantly. Honesty. That, he could understand. "Got just as much right as you," he pointed out. Not because he thought it was true, but because he thought it was the wrong thing to say to Worthington.
He was right. "You do not," Warren insisted, narrowing his eyes. "You were one of the bad guys."
Remy put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a pack of reds. He lifted one out, careful that it wasn't the lucky, and shrugged at Worthington. "So was Quickie and his sister. Seem to me this lot mighty concerned about them currently, non?"
"I don't like you," Warren pointed out.
Remy almost laughed. Partly from delight, but partly because Worthington was downright bad at this. Remy was wondering, at this point, if the man had ever actually confronted anyone about anything before. The conviction was there in his voice, but… something about him was still a little too non-threatening.
Remy managed to keep a mostly straight face and pulled out his lighter, "Not sure I like you either, mon ami."
There were only two reasons to whip out the Cajun French on anyone (though both of them were part of the Show). For emphasis, be it sarcastic or real. Or for the Charm Factor.
In this case, it was definitely sarcasm.
"I'm not your ami," Warren groused, now decidedly more grouchy old man sounding than anything else. He turned toward his car again and Remy fell in beside him, lighting his cigarette.
"Just tryin to be brotherly and all. Nothing Remy can do if you don' want it." But he was almost certain now that the majority of Warren's problems at the moment wasn't him. Why else would he back down so fast, or sound like the aforementioned grouchy old man instead of the angry alpha male? It just made no sense, otherwise.
"Go butter up some other X-Man," Warren muttered, "I have other things on my mind."
His theory proven, Gambit simply stood on the pathway for a moment, watching Warren get into his car and pull away. He inhaled the deep rich smoke from his cigarette and considered his position carefully. Cyclops and Angel didn't seem too excited about him hanging around. Shadowcat and Wolverine (much to Gambit's surprise) had been downright supportive lately, though. Hm. He supposed he could've called the people who'd hate on him…
Couldn't help but wish he knew which side of the fence Rogue was on, though.
"So tell me, mate, are you or are you not trying to move in on his… what was that word you used?"
Gambit turned his head, blinking slightly. He'd been thinking and had let down his guard—hadn't even noticed Johnny coming up on him. A moment ago, he'd been thinking it might be nice to have the man's inane questions and company. Now… he wasn't so sure. Too much to think about.
"What?" was all he said.
"Fille!" Johnny announced, his Australian accent damaging the word in a distinct way.
Gambit dropped his cigarette on the path and stepped on it, then put his hands in his pockets and started back toward the house. "Johnny I think you need some more dem drugs. Or less."
"How does a Romantic Hero deal with a woman who's already taken?" Johnny was right beside him.
"What you talkin' bout! Swear to god, boy, you been touched…"
"… He's not wrong…"
Remy shot Pyro a sidelong glance to see who the hell he was talking to. Far as he could tell, they were the only two nearby.
House full of crazy people, and he was electing to stay. Had to wonder who was really the crazy one.
Kurt had always enjoyed the American expression, "The shit hit the fan." There was something comically graphic about it that worked pretty well to lighten up even the most serious of situations. Which was usually his goal.
On the Shit Hit The Fan scale of 1-10, however, Kurt had to admit that this was a definite 11. And he suddenly understood very well why sometimes, that graphic illustration of a situation gone madly awry wasn't funny. Even toilet humor couldn't save it.
Also, he was in a foul mood because he was still covered in slime from waking up in Todd Tolansky's arms not so long ago. And he'd just teleported a bleeding and very seriously battered Avalanche back to the X-Jet, where there was absolutely no one to help him. He'd weighed his options and decided to come back and evacuate the others after the best attempt at bandaging he could make. Now that he was back, things really didn't look like they were in a much better spot than they had been when he'd pried Lance out of Freddy's arms about five minutes before.
The shit had long ago hit the fan and was now splattered pretty much everywhere.
At least Sam seemed to have found Wanda. Kurt spotted them off in a far corner, Sam prying Wanda off what looked like some kind of operating table. "I'm going to get Wanda out of here," he said into his communicator, keeping Cyclops in the loop like Ye Olde Fearless Leader so often reminded him. That duty done, he bamfed himself right next to Sam and leaned through the acrid smoke of reentry to get a closer look.
Wanda looked… well, alive. Really pale, a little scary… but alive.
Sam coughed once, but recovered from the smoke admirably. "She was strapped down here. I think she's drugged, and she ain't makin' much sense."
Kurt reached out and touched the metal collar around her neck, narrowing his eyes at it. "This is it. The thing Pietro said was controlling her powers."
It made him shudder just a little, thinking about it. Someone trapping him in a small room and not letting him use his powers… it would be like taking part of who he was away. Cyclops' voice rang through his communicator suddenly, jarring him out of his momentary day-nightmare. "Great, Nightcrawler. Once that's done get as many of us out of here as you can. We have what we came for, let's get out before it gets hotter."
Kurt looked up at Sam and nodded. Sam didn't hesitate. He handed Wanda over gently for evacuation. "I'll round up some of the others and we'll start clearing out."
"I'll take care of her," Kurt told him.
Sam nodded and smiled crookedly. Kurt couldn't help but notice that it looked just a little sad.
Finally, Pietro began to stir.
Jean-Paul very nearly crossed himself out of some god-knew-how-old habit he'd thought he'd buried as a child. Christ, this boy was going to be the death of him.
"Uhn..," was the first sound Pietro made. He started to twitch and try to sit up almost immediately.
Jean-Paul knew better than to fight him. He took Pietro by the shoulders and helped him to sit up against the wall, behind the barrier he'd chosen for their safe spot. Jean-Paul had taken Pietro out of the lab the moment he'd fallen to Vertigo, beyond the pile of twisted metal that represented the former doors to the laboratory. They were currently crouched behind the rubble, well out of the way of what the hell ever was happening in there.
Jean-Paul had found it hard to care when Pietro was once again unconscious on the ground in front of him. It had been all he could do to keep from taking him back to the jet, in fact.
But he knew Pietro would never forgive him if he did. So he hadn't, in spite of every decent instinct he had telling him, screaming at him, to.
"Pietro, we have to get you out of here," he whispered roughly. His voice was catching. They'd been doing just fine arguing about whether or not he should be involved in this rescue on the way in—it had been halfhearted and more just so they could… say something. Without saying it.
But now, he was serious. He knew Pietro wouldn't agree… but Christ, he wanted him to. Wanted him to be safe, finally.
Pietro's dark blue eyes focused and he blinked two or three times, rapidly. "Where's Wanda?"
Jean-Paul tried not to sigh. He stood and moved to the edge of the debris pile, scanning the chaos in the room before him to try and find the answer to that all-important question. Scott was on one side of the room with Storm, facing off with Sinister. There was a massive hole in the floor next to said Bad Guy, and Kitty appeared to be nursing an injured arm not too far away. Magneto was at it again on the other side of the room, near the giant hole that obviously represented a metal wall he'd ripped out and thrown at his enemy at one point or another. Beyond that (past Blob, Rogue, Toad and sundry others who were avoiding shrapnel and trying to save their own skins), he caught sight of the girl in question.
Wanda was being handed from Sam to Kurt, her head drooping dangerously low.
"Over there, see her? Other side, with Sam and Kurt?" He pulled Pietro in front of him, supporting him more than was necessary. Even if Pietro was a little shaky, he could stand on his own.
Jean-Paul didn't much care.
"Take me there," Pietro rasped, eyes on his sister.
"Pietro—," Jean-Paul started, warningly.
"Please."
Jean-Paul stopped mid-sentence, all the air rushing out of his lungs painfully. Dear god, had he really just said that? Was the world truly coming to an end? God, it hurt…
"I can't…," Pietro continued, still watching Wanda. "I gotta know she's out of here or I can't go."
"Christ. You stubborn ass…," Jean-Paul attempted to bitch, but found that he had no heart for it. He slid his arm around Pietro's waist and made sure Pietro's arm was secured about his shoulders. Refusing to look Pietro in the eye all the while.
"I learned from the best."
Jean-Paul snorted. "Can't you help a little?" It came out broken and ridiculous instead of bratty.
"Fuck you," Pietro's laugh was dangerously near to hysteria. "It's been a long day."
"Hold on," was all he said. He sped himself up and dragged Pietro with him, knowing damn well he'd never be allowed to speak of this again. And honestly… he wasn't sure he wanted to. There was something fundamentally wrong about having to take Pietro Maximoff somewhere for him to get there fast. Just…
Wrong.
He came to rest directly in front of Kurt, holding Pietro up almost completely now. "Can you take them both?" he asked without prelude.
Kurt nodded and turned around. "Get on my back."
Pietro didn't even fight. He put his arms around Kurt's neck… and disappeared in a cloud of sulfuric smoke. There was a faint clatter, barely audible above the clank of random metal and energy blasts. Jean-Paul looked down and saw the metal collar Wanda had been wearing rolling round and round on the ground where Kurt had disappeared with the Maximoffs.
He'd 'ported her right out of it.
"We gotta get out of here," Sam started to say. He was cut short, however, by the ceiling and the floor both starting to come apart. Small bits of rock were falling from above, and the ground was becoming unstable. And this time, it wasn't Lance.
Jean-Paul looked around Sam to see that Sinister had started unleashing energy bolts on the shrapnel that was being hurtled ever faster and faster at his head. Despite the futility of the effort, the enraged Magneto didn't seem to have come up with any better ideas. Not quite the tactical evil genius Jean-Paul had expected…
Sinister, on the other hand, seemed to be toying with them. His power was obviously massive, and he was clearly not afraid of them at all. His energy beams, in fact, were bringing his own mountain down around him and he didn't appear concerned in the least.
"Look out!"
Jean-Paul whirled to see a huge chunk of mountain less than two feet over his own head. He sped himself up, knowing that he'd be goddamn lucky to escape…
But the owner of the warning voice, one Fred Dukes, was already on it. He was in place when he called out the warning and effortlessly grabbed the huge chunk of stone from midair, tossing it aside. "You guys gotta get out now," he informed them, most helpfully.
Jean-Paul would thank him later, he decided. The man had a point.
"Come on, yo," Toad waved from nearby. "I found a way that ain't collapsing yet."
Cannonball shot Jean-Paul a sideways glance, and they both nodded. They followed Toad out, Fred catching chunks of mountain as they ran.
Goddamn son-of-a-bitch bastard dickheads.
Wolverine kicked the unconscious body that was Riptide out of his way as he made his way toward his goal. Storm was leaning over Kitty nearby—sure they were inside one of those pretty little weather vortexes, but that wasn't gonna make things any better when Sinister started firing those energy bolts again. Christ knew they'd taken Magda Lensherr out fast enough.
Woman smelled like crazy.
Anyhow, he was almost there, over to the corner where Scott had been getting ready to take a shot that might not even work for roughly ten minutes now. Boy needed to move his ass or they were all going to be eating through straws for the next twenty years, if Magneto had his way. There was only so much shrapnel a man could dodge.
Finally, after slicing up one last piece of … whatever the hell that had been he'd just shredded (metal, flat, in his way), Wolverine reached Scott. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder and said, "Time to take your shot one-eye—if it doesn't work you gotta blow us outta here."
"Magneto's in my shot. He's getting closer and closer and he has his wife in his arms."
"Then—,"
Logan never got to finish his sentence. One of Sinister's energy bolts knocked a chunk of medical equipment out of its planned orbit and sent it hurtling directly for Scott. Kid never had a chance before it knocked him right in the forehead, laying him out cold.
"Goddammit," Logan growled, crouching next to him. He tuned his senses to the flying metal in the air. Goddamn Magneto needed to wake up and remember Battle Tactics. A little something he used to have before he got all brain wiped.
If anything would've made Logan believe Magneto was a changed man, it was the way he was handling this shit right here. The Magneto he knew wouldn't have gotten all sappy and gone crazy throwing metal around. He would've killed that bastard Sinister by now.
"Ah got it," he looked up to see Rogue dodge what looked like a helmet with a lot of wires coming out of it and leap toward them, out of no where.
"Do what you gotta do," Logan agreed, standing up and moving toward Storm now. She had Kitty up and on her feet, but the girl was looking pretty pale. "Let's go, ladies. Get out now. Roof ain't gonna last much longer."
"Mr. Logan, Kurt took Lance back to the jet but I don't think there's anyone there to help him," Kitty pleaded, holding her elbow like that was where the major pain was.
Logan nodded. The half-pint had a point—Alvers hadn't looked too hot after Riptide had finished with him. Not that he was any medical wonder, but the kid needed someone there looking after him. Before he could answer there was a huge flash from behind him.
Rogue had unleashed Scott's power on Sinister. Felt like everyone in the room turned at the same time toward the center of it, right where Sinister was standing. There it was, just like a beacon, pure energy hurtling straight for the Man himself. If this didn't work, they were going to have to blast their way out of here… and that was looking a little worse than risky right about now.
But it did. Sinister took the impact like he'd been hit with a wrecking ball, folding in the middle and getting slammed backward into the wall. The roof gave out just over the spot where he hit and buried him in a hail of rocks and metal… and this time, he wasn't exploding out of it.
"Take them and go," Storm urged Kitty forward and said to him. "I want to get Magnus out."
There was no time to argue. His first priority was getting the kids out, and it looked like most of them were making it on their own. But Scott wasn't going anywhere.
"Can you phase us out, half-pint?" he stooped and lifted Scott over his shoulders, carrying him like a yoke.
She nodded determinedly. "Let's do it."
"Come on," Rogue waved from near the exit, "This ain't gonna hold up long!"
Logan shot Ororo one last look of warning and started out.
He didn't like this idea much. But it was balls to the wall. And it was time to go home.
Kitty stood on a small outcropping, closing her eyes as a small but frigid breed kicked up and lifted the stray hair off her face. Unconsciously, she held her elbow in the opposite hand. Sinister had given it a jar when he'd thrown her off and literally busted out of the floor she'd trapped him in. But it'd be fine.
Lance might not be fine. They'd shooed her away from him in the Jet. They'd have to leave soon.
But Storm wasn't back. She was in there, trying to get Magneto out.
Kitty opened her eyes and looked out at the dusk. The top of the small submountain Sinister had made his laboratory was completely caved in, shattered and destroyed. The rest of Mt. Wundagore was silent. Like it was holding its breath.
She was holding hers.
She heard the sound of pacing nearby and knew it was Scott. He should be sitting down in the jet, but he wasn't, of course. Stupid Dumb Head Scott was up pacing around with a huge gash on his head. She looked over her shoulder at him and winced at his wound.
He'd said it looked a lot worse than it was. Kitty had thought that was a pretty retarded thing to say—if it was as bad as it looked, he'd be dead.
They needed to get Lance back to the Institute. Not to mention Wanda—god knew what kind of crap Sinister had pumped into her system to drug her up like that. And Pietro wasn't looking so hot either.
But they couldn't just leave Storm behind. She was in there. She had to be in there. She was just trying to help Magneto get out. That was all. It wasn't like she was… gone. Or anything.
"Logan," Scott said suddenly.
Kitty looked back at the crushed mountain, but it was going blurry all the sudden. This was the order. This was what she didn't want to hear.
"You take the jet back—I'll wait here for Storm and Magneto."
Kitty blinked away her tears and swallowed the massive lump in her throat, then looked back over her shoulder again. Wolverine stepped up to the edge of the outcropping next to her. He looked like he wanted to argue.
But he didn't. "I'll have Jean come with the chopper right now. She can be here in a few hours."
"Let's…"
Scott started to give the final order, but trailed off. His eyes seemed to find something interesting to focus on near the mountain.
Kitty followed his gaze. And yelped when she saw what had caught his attention.
Storm was rising up over the edge of the mountain, arms wide. Unharmed, as far as Kitty could tell, other than looking a little dirty. Hard to say, at this distance, but, "She's okay!"
Scott's comm buzzed to life. "I'm sorry about the radio silence," Came Ororo's voice, calm and collected as ever. "There was far too much interference from the electrical bursts in the collapsed lab… and other magnetic interference."
That was when a separate movement caught Kitty's eye. She looked down to the mountain and saw Magneto walking around the foot of it, coming directly toward them. Carrying his wife in his arms.
Her head was hanging lifelessly, her arms and legs swaying with his stride in some kind of sick puppetlike motion.
Kitty swallowed hard again.
"Magda Lensherr is dead," Storm's voice came over the radio again, before they could respond. "But as you can see, Magnus will be returning with us."
Kitty looked up at Logan and Scott and saw almost matching looks of… not exactly concern, but whatever the manly version of that was. Maybe it was thoughtfulness.
"I'll go tell them in the jet," she said quietly.
Neither of them answered, really.
AN: Longer wait than I expected on this one, due to the fact that my body seems to be falling apart. I've been sick, what can I say. I think I responded to everyone who left me a means to (a signed review or an email address where I could find you), but thanks to everyone who read that last one. I'm amazed and grateful that you're still around after two years of silence. If you didn't hear from me, shame on you for not leaving me some way to get in contact and thank you! And if I didn't get in contact with you despite the fact that you actually did leave me contact info... shame on me. Give me hell!
That said, one more chapter and we're done,I believe. You never thought you'd hear me say it!