Author's note: This chapter and the preceding one are actually two halves of an unconscionably lengthy whole. I just couldn't bring myself to post them as one giant chapter, because it was just oh-so-wrong to expect y'all to sit for that amount of time. You can read them together, or come back later for this one, whichever you like.
Also, this chapter's PG-13, because there's a smidgen of language in the second part. Expect the rating to switch to an R soon, though. I don't like stepping on toes.
Anyway – Letanica was kind enough to beta, bless her heart, despite having about six million other things on her plate. If there's a mistake, trust me – she told me, and I forgot to change it. Katt8 was the one who finally said, "Um….can't you just split the chapter?" But she said it really nicely. So I did. A frillion thanks to both of them.
Lastly: music that helped get this behemoth written:
Darshan – B21
Boom Boom – John Lee Hooker
Burn – The Cure
Are You Gonna Be My Girl – Jet
Here you go…
Storm glided up to the top of the warehouse holding the Blackbird. She tilted her face to the pale afternoon sun, welcoming the air and light. She hated the city, hated the noise and the incessant crowds, the concrete suffocating the earth, the buildings crowding out the sky. She hated it for taking her nephew. Breathing deeply, she tried to center herself and think rationally about what to do next.
He wasn't going to change his mind, and she had to accept that. She should be proud, she supposed, of his dedication and newfound maturity. Perhaps later she would be. For now, she would prefer to shake the boy until his teeth rattled.
What sort of life would he have? What sort of life would those children have, scrounging for survival, prey for the ignorant and violent? It was no life for a child. No life for anyone. They needed a stable environment, good food, warm beds, a chance to play in the sun. Not so much, she mused, and yet everything.
Still, they had chosen these tunnels, this life. She had seen enough of the world to understand that the only constant among people, baseline or mutant, was a desire to make a life of their own choosing. An individual's need for freedom, for independence, was rarely overestimated.
She glanced at the entrance to the tunnels, reluctant to return to their damp confines, and her chest tightened. A small group was approaching the tunnel purposefully, one of the men carrying a duffel bag. Storm tapped her communicator. "Wolverine?"
"Yeah, Ro? You okay?"
She ignored the question. "It appears the tunnels are about to be breached."
"What? Hold on." He sniffed audibly. "It's weak," he said. "Air doesn't move much down here. How many do you see?"
"Four."
"Take care of 'em," he growled. "We'll check the other tunnels."
"Very well." She said, and turned her attention to the group in front of her. Concentrating, she could see the ley lines, currents of natural energy running through the planet. Her eyes went pearlescent as she reached out, began to delicately pluck them. She had discovered through the years that a nimble touch and intense concentration were the most effective way to wield her gift. Grandiose gestures wasted energy better used to manipulate the weather, and so she gently directed the atmosphere, gliding on a current down to the men and then, with a graceful turn of her wrist, calling the lightning to strike directly at the feet of the group.
A chorus of shouts rose from the group as she approached. "You are not welcome here," she said, a flick of the fingers sending another bolt towards the men. "Leave now."
One of the men dragged a gun from the bag, aimed it at her. "You and what army?"
She cocked her head, extended her arms. "Am I not enough?" A gust of wind sent the man sprawling, and roiling clouds blocked the sun. "You will not harm these people," she said calmly, stepping back into the mouth of the tunnel.
"They ain't people!" shouted one of the men. "They ain't even human – they're just freaks, like you!"
Her hair whipped around her face in snowy tendrils. "They are living beings, as much a part of this world as you." It was always the same, she thought sadly, and sent another blast of lightning. The scent of ozone filled the air. "Thus far, I have deliberately missed," she said. "Leave now, or I shall be far more accurate."
The man she had knocked to the ground scrambled up. "You ain't worth it," he spat, and took off running. The other men, stunned, hesitated too long before following, and her next gust of wind pinned the remaining three to the wall.
"Shall we talk?" she asked coldly.
Evan and Rogue splashed through another tunnel. "So, these kids," she said tentatively.
"Yeah?" His tone was defensive.
"You said some of them were alone?"
"Five right now. The oldest is seven. The youngest is three. Their parents just left them, Rogue. Like some sort of puppy you'd find on the side of the road." His voice roughened. Advances in genetic testing could show which children carried the mutated X-gene, and children who had the "misfortune" of testing positively were often abandoned.
She didn't have any response to his sudden anger, so she went with the practical. "You know they're gonna get in eventually. The Friends."
He nodded. "They ramped up pretty fast. And we can't afford to take chances." He stopped. "Here," he said, gesturing. Rogue heard soft, high-pitched chatter and laughter, combined with the occasional thud. A large metal disk partially blocked the entrance, and she warily followed Evan through.
The "room" was actually the cavernous intersection of two tunnels. The three remaining branches had been converted to sleeping areas – she could see a set of bunk beds in each one, and the center area was a jumble of tables and chairs, toys and books. It appeared to have been brightly painted at one time, but grime and damp had turned the walls dull again.
The chatter and noise stopped abruptly. "It's okay, guys," said Evan. "She's a friend of mine."
"Ooooooooh," chimed several voices.
"Not that kinda friend," he said quickly. "She's with the X-Men."
"Is that your old family, Spyke?" asked a small redheaded girl.
"It was, Sarah." He shot Rogue an apologetic look over the child's head. "Now you guys are my family."
The girl turned to Rogue. "I can make spikes, too," she said. "Wanna see?"
"Ummm…maybe later," Rogue said cautiously. "She's got her powers this young?"
"Kids of mutants seem to show their mutations earlier," Evan replied, then laid a restraining hand over Sarah's. "Not in here, honey. There's not enough room." The girl pouted. "Here," he relented, handing her the box of cookies his aunt had brought. "Share them with the others."
"Thanks!" Pout gone, she scampered off.
Rogue took in the room. "How secure is it?" she asked.
"All three of the bedrooms are sealed," he said, "And the door we came in can be locked down pretty quickly, even by the kids."
"Nobody in or out?"
"There's a passage out, but it's hidden."
"You've practiced?"
"Yeah. We have drills."
She shook her head, amazed. "Look at you," she murmured. "All grown up."
"Nah. It was Callisto's idea. A lot of this stuff was in place before I got here."
"Not the kids, though."
"Only a few, mostly with their folks, like Sarah." They stood and watched the children playing. "So do you think Auntie O is gonna let you guys help?"
"Of course she is. She wants you to be safe, you moron."
"I guess."
She touched his arm lightly. "We should get back," she said. "Ah'm sure Scott and Logan have all sorts of plans."
"I hope so."
"I'll see you guys later," said Evan. "Say goodbye to…" he looked at his friend. "Miss Rogue."
She raised her eyebrows at the obedient chorus of goodbyes. "Miss Rogue? Ah'm not their teacher."
"Yeah, but you're not one of the kids, either." They headed back into the tunnels.
"Ah'm amazed you never get lost."
"You get used to it. You gonna tell me about this guy now?"
"What?"she asked, blushing.
"Is he nice?"
She thought about it for a moment. "He's nice to me. Kitty likes him. Kurt's comin' around, Ah think. He pisses off Logan."
Evan rolled his eyes. "Who doesn't?"
"Yeah, but Remy does it on purpose."
He let out a low whistle. "How's he still alive?"
"Ah'm not sure," she confessed. She had asked Logan to trust her judgment, but he didn't. He had left Remy alone because he knew it was important to her, not because he thought she was right. The result might have been the same, but the distinction was a fine one, and thinking about it made her bleed just a little.
"So," he said, grinning, "how do you guys…you know…" he waved his hand suggestively and dodged Rogue's shove.
"Ain't my fault you don't have any experience, Daniels."
Trust Rogue to know just where to aim. He tried to protest. "Hey, I've got experience. I've got tons of experience. I just wondered…"
"Don't," she said threateningly.
"You really like him, huh?"
She was about to answer when the handset on Evan's waist crackled to life. "Spyke. Spyke!" The static didn't obscure the urgency in Callisto's voice.
He snatched the radio up. "What's wrong?"
"They're here!" In the background, they could hear Logan and Scott shouting orders at the others.
"What?" Instantly, the bony plates on Evan's back erupted.
"The intruders. They're in!"
"Which tunnels?"
"The western ones, mostly, but they've breached all the major entrances." Evan broke into a run, Rogue right behind him. "Hold on," he shouted into the radio, then turned to Rogue. "Lock down the kids' room. Get them out."
"Ah can't! Ah don't know how. Let's lock them down together, then go find the rest of the team."
"There isn't time! I counted on having someone here to watch them. You're it."
"Evan, get back here!" Callisto's voice cracked. "They're everywhere!"
He grabbed Rogue's wrist. "Hold still," he said, firing a row of spikes into the wall. "Stake anybody the kids don't know."
She took a deep breath, yanked the spikes out of the wall and tucked them in her belt. "Where's the passage?" she asked. "And what do I do when we're out?"
"Sarah will show you. It's in the floor, behind one of the bunk beds. You'll come out in an alley behind a diner. A few blocks south is a huge stone church – you can't miss it. Ask for Will. They'll be safe there."
"South. Church. Will."
"Yeah. You know how to get back to the kids' room?"
She visualized the tunnels and nodded. "Be careful, Spyke."
"You too. Go!" He took off again, vanishing into the echoing darkness.
Rogue sprinted in the opposite direction, calling Logan on her comm. "Wolverine!"
"You okay, Rogue?" She could hear the singing of his claws slashing through metal, the grunts and shouts of fighting. From the sounds of it, Logan was carving up weaponry with his usual style.
"Ah'm fine. Spyke sent me back to get the kids out." She hung a fast left, skidded, recovered.
"Alone?"
"There's some kinda hidden tunnel – I'll get them out and come back."
"Stay with—"
She switched off the comm, just in time to spot one of the intruders with his back to her, scanning a tunnel. She slipped behind him, and with a quick club to the knees, took him out. Two quick turns later, she was back in the children's tunnel.
"Where's Spyke?" asked Sarah through a mouthful of cookie.
"We need to go now," Rogue said. "Spyke said you have a secret way out?"
"Uh-huh." A wide eyed nod, and the children clustered around her.
"He wants you to show me, okay? But who knows how to lock the door?"
Spyke's drills had paid off, she decided. Within minutes, the entrance tunnel had been sealed off, the trap door opened, and all six kids carefully lowered.
"Stay behind me." Rogue said, sliding bars across the underside of the door. There was no emergency lighting in the tunnel, and the group was swallowed by the inky cold.
"But I know the way," Sarah's disembodied voice sounded sulky.
"How old are you?" She placed one hand on the slimy wall, the damp instantly soaking through her glove.
"Eight."
"God. Get behind me. Make a chain, hold the hand of whoever's in front of you."
Slowly, carefully, she led the group through the narrow tunnel, the brick beneath her fingers somehow both slick and rasping. She could smell stone and water, cold earth. Behind her, some of the children were snuffling, choking back tears, and she tried to judge the distance by the echoes of the small splashes her steps made.
"How far is it?" She kept her voice low, not knowing if the passageway was soundproof.
"I don't know," Sarah said. Her voice was trembling. "Spyke always brought a flashlight."
"Well, we'll show him, huh? We're so good we don't need a flashlight." She tried to inject some cheer into her whisper.
They moved, inch by torturous inch, sliding their feet along the floor to keep from tripping on loose stones.
"Are the grownups okay?"
She didn't pause in her methodical shuffle. "Ah'm sure they're fine," she said. "You should see my friends fight."
"Do you think Spyke and Callisto will meet us at Will's? And my mom and dad?"
The ground was sloping up, she noticed as she tuned back in. "Huh? They'll probably wait a little while, make sure everything's okay before they come and get you."
"Are you gonna stay with us?"
"Ah don't know. Depends."
"On what?"
"A lotta stuff. Quiet now. I gotta pay attention."
Wolverine tried to get Rogue back on the communicator, but she had gone silent. He swore. Storm's warning had allowed them enough time to head off the intruders before they got too far into the tunnels. Now he found himself standing in a sewer teaching a bunch of wanna-be commandos what a bad idea it was to try fight their way past a mutant with a healing factor.
Slicing through the last gun, he knocked the man unconscious and slogged towards the next tunnel. A sudden cry caught his ear, and he rounded the corner in time to see Spyke pin a man to the wall with a few well-placed shards of bone. One spike had pierced the man's thigh, and Wolverine suspected that wasn't accidental.
"Nice work," he said, approaching the boy. "Where's Rogue?"
"She's getting the kids out." Spyke started down the tunnel again, stopping every few minutes to listen for more hostiles.
"Good. This section's clear."
Spyke nodded, face grim. "Then let's head back to the base."
"Works for me. One-Eye took the northern section, Storm and some of your people got the east."
"South?"
"Your people are on it."
He nodded again, calculating odds. He didn't like them. "What happened?"
"Storm spotted a group comin' in, sounded the alarm. Best I can tell, they're hitting as many tunnels as they can with small teams, trying to cover more ground."
"Quick strike, like Scott said."
"Those guns are set to stun, not kill," he growled. "They're after something."
"Yeah. Us," Spyke snapped.
"You're sure the kids are safe?"
"They will be," Spyke said, as they approached the cavern the group had met in earlier.
"Good," he said again. "Let's finish—what in the hell are you doing here?" he roared. Spyke gaped as Wolverine launched himself, claws extended, at a tall, lean man in a trenchcoat.
The man jabbed out with a long metal pole, catching Wolverine across the chest mid-jump. "Easy, homme. Not de one you want, I t'ink."
Kitty buried her face in her hands. "I told you he'd catch us," she moaned.
"Spyke!" cried Kurt, bamfing over to his friend. "Good to see you, dude!"
Wolverine slashed at Remy, who flipped backward over a table and landed gracefully. "Look like we got here jus' in time, non?"
Spyke watched as Wolverine and the other man circled each other. A small rectangle in the man's hand seemed to be glowing. "Kurt – who is that guy?"
"Him? That's Rogue's boyfriend."
Spyke goggled. "She wasn't kidding. He does piss Wolverine off." He snapped out of it. "Wolverine," he shouted. "Kill him later, will you?"
Wolverine pulled back reluctantly, rounded on Kitty. "Half-pint?"
"I'm sorry," she cried. "We were just going to check on Rogue, and then when we saw the smoke coming from the tunnels, we thought we should check it out!"
"Speakin' o' de femme," Remy drawled. "Where she hidin'?"
The radio crackled to life again. "Spyke, we need reinforcements in the southwest tunnels. And we have three new visitors. Mutants."
"It's okay, Caliban. I'm looking at them. Be right there."
Wolverine glared at Kitty. "You want to check something out? Go with Porcupine here and help clear those tunnels. Fuzzball, I'm dropping you off with Storm, and then I'll check in with Cyke."
"Where's Rogue?" asked Remy again.
Wolverine crossed his arms. "Get the hell out, Gumbo. You don't belong here."
He cocked an eyebrow. "Tell me where de Rogue is, I leave."
"Our Lady of Perpetual Help. Broadway and 115th," Spyke cut in. When Wolverine turned the glare on him, he jerked a shoulder. "I don't have time for this," he said, and the older man nodded grudgingly.
He turned back to Remy. "You're so hot to find Rogue? Get over to that church and make sure they're okay."
Remy was halfway through the tunnel when a thought struck him. "Who 'dey'?" he called back over his shoulder. But the team had already scattered.
"Y'all are doin' great," Rogue called back softly. In reality, their escape was agonizingly slow. Without any lighting, she needed to feel her way through the tunnel. She had tripped more than once on the slippery, uneven floor, landing in a rank sludge that probably looked as bad as it smelled. She couldn't help but wonder how the rest of the team was faring, how intense the fighting was. And she was stuck babysitting, she thought, irritation flashing through her. All of her training with Logan, the early mornings, the strained muscles, the hours spent on hand-to-hand, and she was slogging through God-only-knew-what with a bunch of kids.
She sighed and squinted at the darkness in front of her. The pools of water at her feet were slowly disappearing, and the ground was definitely sloping up. She strained her eyes against the blackness, which had taken on a grainy quality. The scent in the air was changing, too, a warm fetid note sliding under the chill dampness.
The graininess resolved itself into shadows, shadows into a steel circle, imperfectly fitted into the tunnel. As she heaved it out of the way, she saw the other side was faced with rotting plywood. Faint bars of light pierced the tunnel, illuminating a crude ladder built into the wall. "Man. You guys think of everything, huh?" she muttered to herself. "Is this it?" she asked Sarah.
"Uh-huh," the child nodded. "We go up the ladder to the alley."
"Stay here," she told the group, and scaled the ladder as quickly as she could. With one good shove, she pushed the grate up and levered herself out. She blinked at the sudden brightness and the overpowering scent of trash awaiting collection. The late afternoon sunlight slanted into the alley, but it failed to warm her. Drying mud covered her uniform.
"Ew," said Sarah, taking in Rogue's appearance. The other children made similar noises.
"Y'all don't look much better," she pointed out. "Hold on." She strode to the street, peered out cautiously. "South. There," she said, pointing to a gothic spire three blocks away. "Look about right?"
Sarah nodded eagerly. "That's it. Our Lady of Perpetual Help." She recited it proudly, like another child might show off their newly-memorized phone number.
Rogue rolled her eyes. "Figures. Y'all couldn't find a nice First Baptist?" Her fingers hovered over the communicator, and she debated letting the team know they had gotten out. No, she decided. Better not to interrupt during a fight and risk being overheard. Besides, they weren't clear yet. She'd call them when the kids were tucked up safe in Sunday school, or whatever plan the Morlocks had. "Here's what we're gonna do," she said brightly, "We're gonna head to the church, just like it's Sunday mornin'. Don't look at the other people – don't run or rush. Just easy as you please, we're out for a stroll. Got it?"
"What if somebody stops us?" Sarah asked.
"Then you go on ahead, and Ah'll take care of it." She slipped one glove off and tucked it in a pocket. "But you'll still meet us at the church, right? You won't leave us?" Panic tinged the small girl's voice.
"We'll be fine," she soothed. "But just in case, take this." Carefully, with her still-gloved hand, she handed the girl the communicator. "You press the X and talk, like a phone. If there's a problem, you tell Wolverine where you are, tell him what happened. He'll find you."
The child nodded mutely.
"Here we go, guys. Stick close, okay? Everybody on my right."
And they stepped out into the noise and bustle, eased into the flow of pedestrians. Her eyes swept the passersby, searching for anyone who looked at them too long, who looked hostile.
First block, past a bodega, a branch library, a pawn shop, a dry cleaners: Nothing.
Second block, past a liquor store, an empty storefront, a currency exchange, a hair salon: Nothing.
Third block, with the church looming just across the intersection, past a dilapidated apartment building plastered with demolition notices, and a man caught Rogue's glance, ducked his head, touched his ear.
She urged the children across the street and looked back over her shoulder casually. He had swung into the flow of pedestrians, but there was something about his gait – an air of overstudied nonchalance – that set off sirens in her head. "Quick," she hissed at the kids, hustling them up the wide stone steps. She hauled open the heavy wooden and glass door of the church and shoved the kids through, bursting into a hushed, cavernous room.
The sanctuary, smelling of beeswax and something both sickly-sweet and spicy, was overcome with their clattering entry. Several people scattered through the pews glanced up, their private devotions interrupted by the abrupt arrival. Rogue cast around for an adult and nearly sagged with relief when a short, broad woman in a grey tweed skirt and purple cardigan appeared from a side door.
"What on earth…" the woman began.
"We're looking for Will, please, ma'am. It's import—Sarah!" Rogue cried, as the small girl launched herself at the woman's sturdy frame with a cry.
"There's bad men in the tunnels, Will!" The child buried her face in the sensible skirt, and the woman patted her consolingly.
"Will?" Rogue said.
"Mother Wilhelmina, technically. Will is less of a mouthful." Already, she was ushering the children down the nave, steering them to the left of the altar, past rows of folding chairs that seemed incongruous in the vast wood and stone church. The floor under them, Rogue saw, was marked with some kind of maze that reminded her of the tunnels she had just escaped.
"You're a nun? Where's your…you know…" Rogue gestured towards her head. "Head thing."
"I'm a priest. No habit, just the collar," she said wryly, and Rogue saw the band of starched white at her throat, a marked contrast to her burnt-caramel skin. The woman withdrew a massive key ring and opened a side door. "Quickly, quickly," she said, ushering Rogue through as well.
Will guided the children into a small room outfitted with sink and armoire. "Through the wardrobe, all of you." She opened the door of the cabinet, slid hangars of vestments and stoles to one side, along with the back panel, to reveal a door cut into the stone. "In you go," she said brusquely, motioning the children into the tiny room. Inside, Rogue spotted a kneeler, a crucifix, and a stained glass window fitted high into the opposite wall.
"Ah can't stay," Rogue said. "Are they really safe here?"
"Yes, but—"
"Somebody spotted us," she said roughly. "Ah gotta find him, keep him from bringing anyone else here. And Ah gotta find my friends." She looked through the doorway at the group of children huddled on a wooden bench. "Y'all did great. You listen to…Will, okay? Everything's gonna be jus' fine."
She turned to leave. "Thanks for takin' the kids," she said to Will.
"Of course. You're sure you won't stay?"
She shook her head and slipped out with a small wave. She stood on the stone steps, taking in the noise and movement of the street, scanning the block ahead of her. The man had been lounging against a bus shelter, but now it was empty.
"Where'd you go?" she wondered out loud, heading towards the plexiglass box. Reaching the shelter, she turned slowly, searching for the route he must have used. "Bingo," she muttered. The fence around the demolition site had been clipped and pulled aside, then hastily shoved back. Nonchalantly, she strolled to the fence and pushed it open.
A flash of movement closer to the building caught her eye, and she followed, breath quickening. She didn't want to attract any more attention than necessary – if the rest of the team was still fighting in the tunnels, she wouldn't have backup, and she dreaded trying to explain the situation to the police. Honest, officer, Ah'm just exploring the sewers of your fine city. Urban spelunking. Mutants? No, sir, don't know anything about any mutants. Haven't met any big gators, either. Not round here, leastaways. She sidled along the building, peeked her head around the side in time to see someone disappear under the yellow tape marking off the building as condemned.
"And here we go." She slid the last spike out of her belt, eased the door open, and stepped in.
The building was dark, the only light coming from a small window in the door. Pausing to listen, she heard footsteps on the narrow wooden staircase. She followed, wincing when the second step gave a high-pitched squeak.
A head appeared briefly above her, and then the footsteps were no longer stealthy, but pounding. She had no choice but to follow. She was gaining on him, though. Logan's training, the adrenaline from the chase, had her nearly flying up the stairs, and so she was unprepared when she reached the door to the roof, propped open with a few loose bricks.
She peered out cautiously. Her quarry was nowhere in sight, and she slipped out, flattening herself against the side of the doorway.
"You had t'come out here," she called. "Ah know you didn't get off on the other floors. You want t'do this or not?"
"Oh, definitely." Dane said, stepping into view, gun at the ready.
She whirled, momentarily stunned at the sallow, pinched face in front of her. "You?" Then reflexes and training kicked in, and she launched herself at him, knocking him over and loosening his hold on the gun. She sliced at his hand with the spike, cutting a bloody gash in his sleeve as the gun went skittering across the roof.
Dane rolled away and sprang to his feet. "You are a pain in the fucking ass," he grunted, swinging at her.
She ducked, lashed out with the spike. "Takes one t'know one, huh?" The razor sharp bone missed him by inches, and she circled back around, putting space between them. "This about me? Or the Morlocks?"
"Are you that stupid, little girl? I thought you lived at a school." He lunged at her and she jumped, kicking out and catching his shoulder. "Sewer rats are a bonus. You're where the real money is."
It was a setup, she realized, horrified. She reached for the communicator with one hand, swore bitterly when she realized she had left it with Sarah. "Lotta trouble just for me," she said, feinting with the spike.
"It's a lot of money." His kick glanced off her elbow, and she dropped her weapon.
Rogue stripped off the remaining glove. "Well, let's go, then." And the fight began.
The girl was better than he remembered, Dane thought, blocking her punch and throwing one of his own. Of course, she wasn't drugged. Still, he knew the journey through the tunnels with the kids had to be wearing on her. He had known that joining up with that idiot anti-mutant league would work. Salting the group with his employer's money and his own people had made them a real threat to the Morlocks. It was only a matter of time until the tunnel-dwellers called in the X-Men, and how could they resist a former teammate's SOS? Had Rogue not gone on this mission, they would have continued their attacks until the whole team was brought in, but luck had gone his way – finally – and when his lookout spied her exiting the jet, he knew it had worked. He really didn't care about the Morlocks, had no interest in the goals of the Friends. As soon as this was over, that link would be severed, and any fallout on the streets of New York was not his concern.
Rogue was beginning to see why Logan loved to fight. The speed, the danger, the tinge of recklessness was coursing through her body like music, and for once in her life, she knew the steps to the dance. Everything except the rooftop dropped away, bringing the fight into stark relief. She needed to get her hands on Dane, she thought – bring him in closer, knock him out, find out what was really going on. She needed to let him think he had the advantage, so when he swung at her next, she took the blow to the jaw, easing back just a little so she didn't get the worst of it. But her head snapped back nonetheless, and she went down, tasting iron at the corner of her mouth.
In the adrenaline rush, Rogue had forgotten the gun, had failed to mark where it fell. Dane hadn't, and while she shook her head to clear it, he raced to the edge and snatched it up, pointing it at the fallen girl.
Her eyes widened when she looked up to see him standing above her with the gun, but she forced herself to look contemptuous.
"Thought you said you needed me alive," she said.
"I do. That's why this is set to stun."
"You can't even handle a girl without knockin' her out, huh? Drugs, guns." Her eyes flicked over him and she lip curled in a sneer. Come a little closer, asshole. "Kinda sad, really. Thought you were the big man. Guess not."
His foot caught her in the stomach, and she collapsed in the gravel, swallowing bile. He waited until she had clambered back up on all fours, swearing a blue streak the whole time.
"You've got a mouth, don't you?" he asked, taking a step nearer.
"Fuck you," she spat, brushing gravel from her face. Just a few steps more.
He studied her for a minute. He didn't really want to use the stun gun – it would mean carrying her eight long flights down, then two city blocks to the van with an unconscious girl slung over his shoulder. Even in New York, people would look at that strangely. "You want to walk out with me, or you want to be carried? I really don't care."
"Walk," she said, forcing resignation into her voice.
"Then lie down."
Her eyes flew to him, and she didn't move.
"Now." He took another step, raised the gun. "Get on your goddamn stomach!"
And that was how Remy found them, Dane with a gun pointed at his girl, Rogue on her hands and knees, blood smeared across her cheek, one bare hand braced on the ledge of the roof, the other clenching and unclenching the gravel beneath her. Instinct took over, and he threw the card, a sparking ruby arc. The gun exploded.
Rogue jerked back at the blast and then, seeing her chance, threw the handful of gravel at Dane's face before tackling him. Snarling and half-blinded, his wild kick caught her squarely in the chest, knocking her backward against the roof ledge.
Remy watched in horror as her momentum tumbled her backward off the roof. "Rogue!" Dane was forgotten, and he raced to the ledge she had fallen from. Peering over, he saw her grasping one-handedly the bottom ledge of the mansard roof. Her legs kicked wildly as she twisted, trying for a better grip.
Where the hell had Gambit come from, Dane wondered. There had been no mention of him leaving the jet with the rest of the X-Men. Was the rest of the team on the way?
"Hold on, chere!" He whirled, the bo-staff lashed out in a blur of silver, and Dane went flying across the roof. The hunk of concrete he was about to strike Remy with tumbled to the ground, forgotten.
"You want to settle this now?" Dane sneered. "We can do this, or you can go save your girlfriend. Your choice." Inwardly, he seethed. His luck wasn't holding – he couldn't go after the girl and take out Gambit – and if the rest of the team appeared, he was beyond screwed.
There wasn't any choice, not for Remy, not this time. "I will kill you." Remy said, turning his back on the oily little man. "Next time I see you, you be dead."
He barely noticed when Dane vanished down the stairs.
"Remy?" gasped Rogue. "Little help here?" She had managed to grab the limestone trim with both hands, he saw, and her toes were scrabbling for purchase in the faded brick.
"I'm here, chere. I'm here. Y'gonna be fine." He leaned over as far as he could, but he couldn't reach her.
"Can Ah reach that window to the left?" she asked, forced calm making her hoarse. "Ah can't tell."
Remy scanned the side of the building. The window was at least ten feet away. Rogue would have to inch along the building, with crumbling trim her only means of support. "Don' t'ink so, chere. Jus' hang on."
"Don't have much choice, do Ah?" She closed her eyes, tried to focus. The stone was biting into her bare hands, which were growing slick with fear.
"Rogue. You gon' have t'climb back up." He tried to keep the strian out of his voice.
Now a note of fear crept in. "Ah can't."
"Sure you can. Jus' a li'l bit, till I can reach you. Move your right foot first."
She tried to obey, but the brick underneath disintegrated and her legs flailed, trying to dig in again. She felt, rather than heard, the crack in the trim above her widen. "Remy! It's gonna break!" She was losing her grip, she thought.
"No it ain't. C'mon, chere. Try 'gain."
"Remy?" The pleading, frantic tone tore into him. She was right, he thought. The trim wouldn't hold her weight for much longer and the brick she was using for traction was crumbling away. The bo-staff was too smooth, he knew. He could lower it to her, but she'd slide right off the end, a horror movie version of a firehouse pole. He searched the roof. There was nothing that could help, he thought. Nothing here that would help him reach her in time…
And time jerked, and it was Paris, and he was too late.
Time jerked again, and he heard the crashing of the sea, and he was too late.
"It's comin' loose, Remy. Please." The tears in her voice broke something loose in him, and he jerked back to the present. Whipping the belt off his coat, he knotted one end and dangled it over the side.
"Dis' far 'nough?"
"No." The belt swung like a pendulum above her head.
"Reach for it. Push off a little."
"It won't hold," she rasped. She could feel it – if she let go with one hand, the weight transfer would put too much stress on the building, and the trim would break away. "Ah'll fall." She tilted her head back, looked at him. White face under white makeup, green eyes burning and brimming.
He shook his head. "I ain't gonna let you fall, chere. I ain't gonna let you fall. But you gotta give me somet'in to work wit, hein? You gotta jump."
"Remy." Her voice cracked.
"Rogue. Don' argue, now." The break in the limestone widened, eighty years of neglect coming to a head at the worst possible moment. "We ain't got time. You jump. On three. Trust me."
She was silent except for her ragged breathing.
"One." Slowly, she pulled one foot up, then the other, bracing her toes in the hollows where mortar had fallen out.
"Two." He leaned out as far as he dared, giving her a few more precious inches. Rogue angled her body towards the gently swaying belt and tensed for the jump.
"Three!" She pushed off, urging her body higher, making one desperate reach for the belt, and her fingers closed over knotted cloth. She slapped the other hand a few inches higher, clung.
Immediately, Remy began hauling her up. "Walk your way up, chere. Like you climbin' a mountain."
She didn't say anything, but he watched as her boots dug into the crumbling brick, face rigid with concentration.
"Good girl. Keep goin'." She reached the ledge, threw one arm over, then the other, and Remy reached out and pulled her over, tucking her into him and curling around her.
"You okay." It wasn't a question. "You did it."
She burrowed her head into him, shaking violently. He rocked her back and forth, unsure which of them he was trying to soothe.
He didn't know how long they stayed on the roof, but eventually the tremors stopped. Rogue pulled back slightly, dark lashes damp against pale, crimson-streaked cheeks.
"That's twice," she said softly.
"Twice what?" He brushed his lips across her hair.
"Twice you…saved me." The words caught in her throat, but she forced them out as she pulled on her gloves. "Thank you."
He took her hands again, pressed a kiss into the palm. "You're welcome."
"How'd you find me?"
"Kitty. An' Spyke. An' the lady priest."
She followed the logic, somehow. "But how'd you know Ah was up here?"
He stood, unfolding arms and legs, but not letting go of Rogue's hand. "We should go," he said. "Dane could come back. You okay to walk?"
"Yeah." She nodded, but didn't protest when he slipped a steadying arm around her waist.
"How'd you know Ah was on the roof?" she asked again as they picked their way down the stairs.
He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. "Felt you," he said after they had navigated another flight.
"You're telepathic now?" she said skeptically.
"Not a telepath. No thoughts, jus' emotions."
"All the time?"
"Non. Most o' de time, I block it. But I open it up if I need to."
She considered. "So you just opened up and said, hey, where's Rogue?"
Remy chuckled. "Figured you were pissed, keyed up. Mebbe a little worried." Worried was putting it mildly, he thought. "Stopped blocking, tried to feel that. Played hot and cold till de feelin was real strong." He flashed a grin. "Den I looked up." He didn't think it was necessary to add that he could always sense her feelings, that undercurrent of grief and guilt swirled with resolve, a constant counterpoint to her other emotions. For a while, he had tested it, deliberately trying to shut out the current of her feelings. Each time, she seeped back into his blood. And surprised as he was to find that he couldn't block her out, he was more surprised to find he didn't particularly want to.
"Lucky me," she said.
"Lucky me," he countered. They reached the ground floor, and he noted her shakiness. "Sit," he said, tugging her to the bottom step. "You did good."
"Remy, Ah fell off the damn roof."
He looked at her shrewdly. "You were fakin', non? Let him knock you down so he'd get close enough to touch?"
She inspected the muddy sleeve of her uniform. "Yeah. But it didn't work."
"Would have, if I hadn't come in. I jus'…I saw de gun. Didn't want t'risk him usin' it." He wrapped his arms around her, rested his chin on her head. "Some t'ings you gamble wit, chere. Some t'ings you don't."
"Ugh," she said after a moment, pushing him away. "Let go. Ah've been crawlin' around in sewers, Remy. Ah'm gross."
His arms tightened. "Y'beautiful. Don' care what you been doin'."
"Ah'm a mess. Let go."
He turned her face toward him, skimmed a gloved thumb across her cheek. "Watched you almost fall, Rogue. Does sometin' to a man, he sees de woman he..." Remy caught himself, barely. "…sees his girl in trouble. So I ain't lettin' go."
She mustered enough energy to raise an eyebrow. "Your girl, huh?" she said, trying not to smile.
"Oui." He pulled her back in. "Get used to it."
The sound of the fence outside crashing to the ground had them jerking apart. "Stay here," he said, pulling out a deck and charging the cards.
"Stripes never stays where she's supposed to," said Logan, stepping into the building. "Good luck with that, bub. You," he added, turning to Rogue, "were supposed to stay with the kids. I told you to stay with them."
She blinked at him innocently. "Ah went radio-silent," she said. "You must've said that after Ah turned off the communicator."
"Smart-ass." He studied her. Filthy and blood-smeared, a bruise blossoming along her jaw. "You're okay?"
"Yeah. It was Dane, Logan. All of it. The whole thing was a trap."
"So we heard." At Remy's questioning glance, he added, "Couple of the Friends talked. Seems like Dane pulled his people out pretty quick when he couldn't grab you. What happened?"
"Long story." She couldn't talk about it, not yet, not even to him. Didn't know how to make the words come out right, to explain how she had imagined falling, just like Mystique, and how, for an instant, it seemed like redemption. "Where's everyone else?"
He wanted to push, find out what had caused the acrid, curdled scent of her fear. From behind Rogue, Remy caught his eye and shook his head, mouthing "Later."
"Kids are still at the church. Left Shadowcat and Nightcrawler there, since they were in town." He glared at Remy, who shrugged.
"You ever try t'argue wit de petite? She tougher dan she look."
Logan continued, ignoring Remy. "Everyone else is back in the tunnels, cleaning up."
Tiredly, Rogue scrubbed her hands over her face. "Was anyone hurt?"
"Some broken bones, a few concussions. Cuts and scrapes. Couple of the Morlocks still waking up from the stun guns."
She nodded. Once again, she thought, her fault. Spyke's new family and home endangered because of her.
"Hey." Logan's voice was rough. "Knock it off."
"What?" she asked bleakly.
"You didn't do this."
She didn't say anything, just hugged herself, chilled. Remy draped his coat around her.
"The Friends were coming after them no matter what. Dane speeded things up, but now they're out in the open. Spyke knows what he's up against now."
"They found the tunnels."
"Cyke's got some ideas. It'll be okay. You got the kids out. You held your own with Dane," he added, gently laying a hand on her head. "You did great, kid."
Fatigue was swamping her, the last dregs of her adrenaline dissolving. She swayed on her feet and Remy hooked an arm around her waist. "Easy," he said. "You heard him, chere. It's okay. Let's get you home."