The Warrior with No Name
By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie
(They belong to Marvel. I have no idea why I brought in the Fantastic Four. I know nothing about them—I think it's obvious. I shall call it a Whedonism. :P
Please keep in mind that I am very much chronologically challenged.
Input welcomed. Much love goes out to those who have been keeping up with this thing so far. Thank you!)
#
Silence: A complete absence of sound.
It happened in seconds. In one blink, Illyana had gone from being surrounded by music, laughter and talking while glaring at her brother's broad back as he'd made his way towards the bathrooms to almost sensory deprivation in a place that looked vaguely familiar. She had a nasty bump on her head. The teenager couldn't remember getting such a goose egg. The smell of paint and drywall dust triggered the memory like a well rehearsed Mnemonic Device.
Piotr's new art gallery in Soho.
With new clarity of her surroundings, Illyana took stock in her situation. It hurt to move her head too much. She had been working with Professor Xavier and Ms. Frost long enough to know a psychic attack when she felt one and used her limited knowledge from both her teacher's lessons to erect a psi-barrier. The dull ache faded quickly. Whoever had been rough-housing in her mind wouldn't be getting in that way any longer. If whoever-it-was still wanted in her head, they would have to take another route.
Without the headache, Illyana could concentrate better, and she gave a small sigh of relief. The darkness outside indicated that it was sometime passed seven thirty, but the teenager had no idea how much time had passed since she had seen her brother, David or Kitty. Wondering where they were and if they were in danger, she noted that she had scrapes on her knees and elbows like someone had dragged her. She was covered in a thin layer of…soot? No, she thought upon further inspection, drywall dust. She pushed her long streaked tresses out of her face, annoyed by the fact that her wrists were linked together. In fact, her wrists and ankles were bound with duct tape, but there wasn't anything covering her mouth. It wasn't like she was going to yell for anyone anyway. This place was still under construction. They were scheduled to be done in three weeks for Piotr's grand opening, but the plastic sheets on the walls and the drywall dust on the floor made the darkened space seem like they wouldn't be done in time. Illyana knew that with the fire and the loss of Piotr's newest creations, the grand opening would be set back even further.
Thunder rolled. Illyana wondered if she had missed the lightning when she had been out. The ground rumbled.
"That's never a good sign," she said, doubting her first assumption of a thunderstorm as she used her teeth on the duct tape binding her wrists. Idly she hoped that the tape wouldn't stick to her lips as she pried it away from her skin.
#
Wolverine stumbled out of the wreckage a bloody mess. Most of his clothing had been torn free of his body, along with his now-healing skin. It hurt like a motherfucker and itched as it healed. He wanted to take his claws to the places where the skin was rapidly mending, a thin layer of clear liquid coating the wounds. There was little of his uniform left, but apparently someone higher up was with him as his ass-end and groin still had a stitch of clothing. As it was, he still had a few pieces of his mask, part of his boots, and his underwear. Other than that he was bleeding all over and healing. If his bones weren't laced with Adamantium, he wouldn't have been standing.
Thank God for Speedeez, he thought bemused. He surveyed the debris, shocked and dismayed that he somehow had ended up hitting the Chrysler Building. With all the super hero fights and terrorist activities lately, plowing into any building in New York City was not the brightest idea. S.H.I.E.L.D. would be all over this.
"Tony's never gonna let me live this one down," he told himself grumpily.
"We ain't either," a baritone Brooklyn-accented voice said from his left. "What the hell happened?"
Wolverine eyed the orange rock-man with all the irritation he could muster then snorted, clearing the blood out of his nose so he could smell the air. "Hell if I know. Anybody hurt?" He inhaled, wished he didn't as he got a good whiff of the smoke and soot. His lungs weren't quite up to par just yet. He choked and coughed.
Ben Grimm, also known as The Thing of the Fantastic Four, crossed his arms and glared at the little injured Canadian. "Yer damned lucky," Grimm told him. "Ya crashed into construction. They were doin' some repairs on up a ways." He gestured half-heartedly. "Spiderman or somethin' or rather. We evacuated mostly everybody. Stretcho's gettin' the rest o' 'em now."
"Wasn't intentional," Wolverine replied, squinted up at the building. He took in his surroundings, getting his bearings. Several fire trucks were hosing the building down, and police cars and news vans littered the area. "A teammate's in trouble."
The Thing put his hands on his hips, a frown on his lumpy, stony face. "Which one this time?"
"Shadowcat. Kitty Pryde." He scratched at his chest, at the increase in itchiness there, not surprised to feel a sharp point of pain at his fingertips. Inspection of his hands revealed blood. Further inspection revealed several open, but healing, gashes on his chest, skin and hair filling in as the gashes closed.
"Kitty?" Grimm's face broke into a smile. "Haven't seen her in a while." He looked thoughtful a moment. "Huh. Not since she freakin' saved Spiderman's ass from that Shockin' guy a coupl'a months back."
Well, what a revoltin' development this was turning out to be, Logan found himself thinking. He opted for the most intelligent question he could think of. "Whu?"
Grimm repeated himself, grinning broadly. "Ya should'a seen her. Would'a made ya proud. The kid's grown up quite a bit. A real fighter. Didn't need our help at all. We got to sit back and enjoy the show."
Wolverine could almost picture the four of them in that hover car of theirs eating popcorn as Kitty and Spiderman kicked whose ever ass needed kicking. Had Wolverine been the eye-rolling type, he would have rolled his grey eyes heavenward. Instead, he chose a few words that helped him relieve some stress and gave a death glare to The Thing like it was his fault that Kitty had been in New York all along. He suspected that had any of the X-men thought to contact any of the other super-powered folks in New York, they could have pinpointed her exact location.
"She got a place in the city, then?" he questioned just for the hell of it, to see if he theory was correct. He was rewarded when Ben Grimm nodded his bumpy orange head. Logan had to find a level of Zen he'd been searching for his whole life just to keep from yelling out the profanity that crossed his mind. As a result a few of the more colorful choice words slipped out through bared teeth.
The man called The Thing only grinned impishly. "Brooklyn, I think. Works at a biker bar in Yorkville. Great lil' joint if ya haven't been there. Riff's on the River. Me an' the Matchstick had the pleasure o' reacquaintancing ourselves with her just after that Shocko incident."
"Since when is 'reacquaintancing' a word?" Though he was reminded of Jubilee's malapropism on one of their adventures in Australia ("Loquats. They're like kumquats, right?"), Logan didn't wait for a reply nor did he see Ben Grimm shrug his huge orange shoulders as his grey eyes continued to search the scene for anything out of place. The Blackhawk had been in pristine working condition before he took it out of the hangar. Now it was a pile of rubble. And it would be sorted through by the NYPD. Not good. New York was not ready for Shi'ar Technology. "Ya got a phone on ya, Rocky?"
"Wolverine," said Reed Richards, known to the world as the elastic Mr. Fantastic of the Fantastic Four—who were currently known to Wolverine as the Fantastic Fuckers (he really didn't have time for them; he had to find Kitty)—as he and the other two members of the FF walked up behind Ben Grimm, "With all the terrorist paranoia going on—"
"Can it, Stretch," Wolverine cut him off but didn't extend his claws. "I ain't got time fer it. Somethin' hit me, an' I went down."
"You hit the Chrysler Building!" the Invisible Woman cried.
His eyes widened. "It wasn't like I was aimin'!" She was quiet. Damned super-heroes. Worse than Cyke. Wolverine was still on the part-time roster for the Avengers. They'd already asked him to begin training a group of kids. He knew how to handle himself, damn it. They just needed to stop drawing stupid conclusions. "I could make this official Avenger business an' ask ya ta leave."
"You wouldn't," Richards took a step back, looked down at his wife.
At that minute the faint smell of cherry blossoms hit everyone's sense of smell, and Logan turned to see one of Illyana's golden disks fading. Colossus, armored, shoeless, shirtless and in tattered jeans, stood there. Wrapped in his massive arms were two people: a woman with red hair and dull brown eyes who looked like she had seen better days and a boy with spiked blonde hair and dressed in a peasant blouse and some kind of long and colorful… skirt?
That wasn't a boy, he realized with a start. Wolverine studied the kid closely. Her skin was pale, but had a golden glow to it in as the fire danced in the building behind Wolverine. She looked about Kitty's age, but was definitely taller than Kitty. Her facial bones were delicately carved, her mouth full, her nose dainty. She wore several chains about her slender neck and crystals decorated several places on her ears. A scar cut across her brow and a lightning bolt tattoo began at the corner of her jaw and worked its way down her neck, disappearing beneath her the collar of her white shirt. Logan scented the air and the color drained from his face.
"Half Pint?" he questioned, already knowing the answer but dreading hearing it.
"I'm not half a pint," an older Illyana Nikolievna Rasputina answered in return, her blue eyes fixed on him. They glittered in the firelight. What happened to his little girl?
"Look," Ben Grimm said, interrupting anything else, "I know I'm not on the up and up with the X-men, but aren't you supposed to be dead?" He pointed at Colossus with one large orange finger.
The big Russian shrugged, and, for the first time in several years, told the truth about his status. "Got married. It was safer to say I was dead." He'd asked the Professor to make up something to keep his family safe. They couldn't do anything to his family if he was dead. So he thought.
"An' now?"
"Divorced."
"Ouch."
Again Colossus shrugged. He turned to Wolverine. "How did you get here, Tovarisch?"
"Crashed," Logan replied, pointed his thumb back towards the wreckage. The big Russian mutant's shiny brows shot up and he gave a low whistle. Wolverine turned to Illyana. She gave him a hug as though she hadn't seen him in a long time. By the looks of her, he thought, she probably hadn't. "Wanna tell me what the fuck is goin' on?"
"Long story," she told him, looked up at her older brother, then back at Wolverine. She met his accusing eyes without flinching. "It's me though." There was defiance in her tone as well as subtle challenge.
He touched his nose with a gloveless finger. "Yeah."
"So how about we go save Kitty?" she suggested.
#
(Yup. Majik. Different. AU. Explained later. 'Nuff said—besides asking for reviews.)