The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Disclaimers: Marvel owns. I do not. Extras mine, some story elements mine, other elements nabbed shamelessly from the Kiotr LJ, "Cable & Deadpool" and "Wisdom" and re-mixed by turtle power, fairy dust and whatever little extras are carried in Deadpool's and/or Cable's belt pouches sans lint. I was not drinking—unless you count caffeine and guarana—when I wrote this. No fourth walls were broken in the making of this scene. Kiotr all the way. No David just yet—re-write, again. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

#gasps for air#

I am regretting the brain fart of allowing the Fantastic Four into my world, questionable quality though it is. Someone should have stamped "Cooties" somewhere other than their asses so I could see it. I really have no idea what to do with them except brainwash them to make them drool. See, tol'ja… Whedonism… But I must admit: superhero drool is funny. It does work better with a telepath though.

Thanks to everyone who has been super nice to me by even reading this fic. And thanks for the reviews, too!

Input welcomed and cherished.)

#

April 9th

Dear Diary,

This is the first time in a few days that I've had time to write.

Been busy. Evil telepath plots revenge. Two twenty-somethings find love in Cheetos flavored water. (I swear NYC rainwater tastes like stale Cheetos!) Twenty-five-year-old, who used to be fifteen-year-old just a few days ago, settles into new environment.

I seriously hate telepaths. Really. I know I've said it before, but I swear they're like sand at the beach. They get into all your intimate…bits. Take Emma, for instance. She can get into my head. I still don't trust Emma any farther than I can throw her. And I seriously doubt those implants are filled with helium, so it's not like I can throw her very far. I can shove her through a wall, but I'd still have to hold on to her, or, you know, there's a dilemma between a wall and Emma.

Walemma.

Like Wal-mart but cheaper.

#

Spiderman was on patrol in Queens tying up some hoods that were heisting an electronics store, when one of the televisions flashed to the Channel Six news for what was aptly called a "News Flash".

"Tragedy has struck the Chrysler Building," the news anchor announced with an air that brooked no argument. Scenes of a raging inferno burst across the television in vivid color. Parker's gut twisted at the screenshot of man being loaded into the back of an ambulance. "Moments ago, what looked to be a military aircraft crashed into the building."

Spiderman ran off before he could hear or see more, jumping to the side of the nearest building. A military aircraft? He climbed up quickly and sprinted to the farthest edge, leaping into the air and firing his newest batch of webbing. Not good. What if there were casualties like the terrorist attacks? The adhesive substance latched onto a taller building and swung up and away from Queens. He knew it was a bad idea to give the NYPD that military-grade helicopter.

Well, okay, so he voted for it. The idea was a good one, at least. It was time the city started to fight for itself for a change. The execution was the apparent problem. But you'd think that the city would at least train the pilots not to crash into buildings. This was New York City! It had tall buildings! Duh!

His heart raced as he pumped his arms, shooting webbing, grabbing webbing, shooting webbing, grabbing webbing. He arched his back and pointed his toes, landing on the top of an antenna. He could see the smoke clouding the skyline. Aw, geez. He hoped with all his heart that the Fantastic Four wasn't in space. A thunderclap shook the heavens angrily.

Okay. Not a good idea to be on top of gigantic lightning rod. He pressed onward, his heart going out to those who may need his help. It was raining heavily by the time he got close enough to the building to see the flames. Something landed on him with enough force to knock the webbing out of his hand. Something was on his back and a piece of cloth blocked out his vision.

"Cripes!" he yelled, trying to see, trying to get another shot of webbing. Spiderman could only flail his arms. Not what I needed right now. A golden aura consumed them.

#

"So how about we go save Kitty?" Illyana suggested, and Piotr had to make himself remember that this woman with the short spiky blonde hair, multiple ear piercings, strange tattoo, and scarred brow was his baby sister, his Little Snowflake. How had this happened, he wondered, not sure with whom to be angry. Was this David's doing? Was this a side effect to her mutation? Had some other mutant or super-powered being interfered in some way? He would deal with it later. He would have to. Kitty was in danger now. She needed him.

Wolverine nodded. "Sounds like a plan, 'Yana. Ya know where she is?" Piotr was amused that his sister was now taller than Wolverine, when before they had been about the same height.

Illyana pointed up. All eyes gazed up at the Chrysler building, the black smoke rising, blotting out the top part of the building.

"Then we'll retrieve her," Mr. Fantastic volunteered immediately.

"NO! You mustn't!" she screamed, her voice loaded with desperation, as she took a step forward, hand raised and fingers splayed, her face a mask of frightened anxiety. A combination expressions on faces looked at the young woman…Surprise, dismay, anger, confusion—and that was just from the Fantastic Four. The sorceress gathered herself, standing tall. "My mutation gives me the power to time travel by going through a dimension that has no time." Mr. Fantastic opened his mouth to speak, but she continued before he had a chance to utter a word, "I've already done this three times, so please, for the love of all things holy, can we do it my way this time? I know of a way to save Kitty without casualties." Richards closed his mouth, looked perplexed.

"Three times?" the Invisible Woman asked. Her eyes appeared impossibly huge in her pale face.

Illyana nodded. Mrs. Richards ran a hand through her blonde locks as she considered the implications. Piotr leaned down, looming over his sister. "Illyana, has Katya died each time we've tried to save her?"

"Da. Yes, all three times," she confirmed and Piotr's heart sank. His eyes cut to Wolverine, whose gray eyes had become flat and as unreadable as stone. Her blue eyes flashed with azure fire as she continued, "and you did once, Piotr, and so did the Fantastic Four. Spiderman, who will be coming soon, died twice. David telekinetically slammed him through six buildings. He's a very powerful teke."

"So who are we up against exactly?" The Ever-lovin' Thing asked. "An' how can we help?"

"A mutant named David Brogan kidnapped Kitty and my sister," Piotr explained after getting a nod from Illyana. "Illyana—" He signified his sister holding both of her shoulders in his strong hands—"managed to escape, and now she's brought his wife—" He indicated the red-head by releasing Illyana and putting his arms carefully around the injured woman—"for some reason that Illyana will tell you now."

"David did this?" she asked weakly. She looked around the wreckage, at the Fantastic Four, at the EMTs and Firefighters working diligently to save lives. First, she'd gotten kidnapped by a bunch of thugs, now her husband was a terrorist? When had that happened? David, what's happened to you, she thought sadly.

Piotr pressed a kiss into her hair, a habit from years of knowing her. "It will be alright, 'Melia." She nodded, and they focused their attention on Illyana's plan.

#

Kitty was groggy. It felt like a million pins were impaling her brain. Thunder boomed directly overhead. Odd-colored eyes opened sweeping dark lashes up. She blinked. Instant vertigo assailed her senses as she looked down into the traffic below. The brunette squeezed her eyes shut again, swallowing hard. Seeing the ground from so high up after thinking she was on the ground did not bode well for her equilibrium. She fought the nausea, groaning as the wind whipped at her, and she began to rock back and forth. Oh, God. The smoke did little to help her regain any balance or fight the sickness that burned through her body. Rain poured down on her, soaking her within minutes. She swallowed again, trying to think straight against the roaring in her skull, trying to ignore her churning stomach. She assessed the situation to keep her mind off anything other than reasserting control of her present situation.

Tied up. I can't move. I remember…Where is…I remember a man grabbing me…I remember trying to phase but my powers didn't work…Psychic attack?

She swallowed again. Kitty wondered if she could concentrate hard enough to use her powers or if she would fall to her death because of the searing pain in her head. It was then that she realized that the wind had stopped howling and the icy rain had stopped pelting her exposed skin, and she was lying down. She smelled fresh linens and was no longer cold. She was dry and warm.

Yeahbuhwhat?

"I know you're only pretending to sleep. You should really get some shut-eye, luv."

That voice! "Pete?"

Kitty's eyes shot open, stared at the Dazzler poster above her, immediately confused. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in everything. Other posters--Star Wars, NYC Ballet, Moscow Ballet, Labyrinth, Legend and The Dark Crystal—adorned the pale blue-hued walls. Two bookshelves with trinkets, what-not's and different books—such as Asimov's Galactic Empire series and Foundation series, Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, Lewis's The Chronicles of Narnia, Huxley's Brave New World, Homer's Iliad, Virgil's The Odyssey, Brooks' Shannara and Landover series, and Eddings' The Belgariad series—sat side by side near the window which had blue curtains. A black banker's box of photos of lost friends rested on top of one of the shelves. Her eyes came to rest on the bed in which she lay. The bed was decorated with a plain white quilt and dressed in soft, freshly laundered bed linens. She wasn't in her apartment. In fact, this looked like her old bedroom at the mansion.

"Pete?" she asked again, her brown, gold- and green-flecked eyes searching the room, until she found who she was looking for. Pete Wisdom, the man to whom she was engaged, lounged casually against the door frame of the room, a soft smile on his thin lips. There were age lines Kitty didn't remember about his mouth and eyes, muting his thirty-something youth with strength. He held his suit jacket over his shoulder with one hand, his black tie hung loosely about his neck. Pete's brown eyes focused on her. For a moment he studied her intently, then he stalked forward, prowling like a beast from the Savage Land. He stopped in front of her, her eyes never leaving her face.

"You've been through hell, luv. Just rest." He smoothed her hair, and she stretched out her arms to touch him, hold him, tears prickling her eyes. He was here. Her Pete was here.

"What happened?" she inquired, relief rushing through her as he sat on the bed and draped an arm around her shoulders. She snuggled into him.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead sending tingles down her spine. "Bumped your head." His voice was so gentle. "Sleep. You need your strength."

"'Sleep?'" No. There was a man. A man had grabbed her. Something was wrong. Someone was missing. There was— "My head?"

She regarded Pete's profile with searching gravity as he sat there beside her. She studied his aquiline nose, the way his jet black hair fell across his straight forehead, the set of his stubborn chin. His eyes touched hers and danced away. Hiding something. He was so real. She felt the weight and warmth of his arm on her shoulders, his body brushing against hers. His fingers played on her shoulder, gingerly rubbing in a circle. He smelled of cologne, ash and scotch. So real.

"Pryde—"

"You're dead," she accused. Tears streaked her face, dripped off her chin. Her heart ached under her breast. This was a dream. It had to be. Please. Just a dream. He was dead and gone, and he would never be in her life again. This was an evil dream, a nightmare. And she couldn't wake up. God, she couldn't wake up.

He shrugged. "Still say you need to get some rest. Rasputin's on his way."

She stiffened, her attention zoning in on the man with his arm around her. "Where's Peter? What have you done with him? Where am I?" To her horror she couldn't phase. Oh, my God. This was a mind trick. Not a dream. It had to be. Not again. She was tied up and dangling from a building, not lying in bed at the mansion with her dead fiancé. Piotr was the priority. If she could find, Peter, she thought perhaps he could make things alright again. He had trained at Xavier's. Once an X-man, always an X-man. I'm not an X-man. No more telepaths. Please.

Pete sighed and looked over at her, at her reaction, taking his arm back from her shoulders. He touched her cheek in a wistful gesture, smiling sadly. Tilting her head back, she peered at the face she knew so well, not sure what to feel. She fisted her pillow. Peter, where are you? "You're so bloody stubborn, Petal. Rasputin'll definitely have his hands full with you."

"Where the hell's Peter?" She smacked him with the pillow—hard. "What did you do to him?" She hit him again as he ducked.

Pete looked at her sharply then. "Pryde, d'you realize—" He stopped, shook his head sadly, then gazed at her lovingly—"No, no, you don't." He swung his feet off the bed, grabbing up his suit jacket. "I had to call in favors you would not believe just to talk to you. (Just to get you to shut up and pass out again.)"

As if on cue a woman appeared out of a strange cloud of pink and green smoke. Kitty blinked, having never seen anyone like her before. This woman was as tall as Pete, with high-perched breasts strapped in a leather corset, a slim waist that flared into a tutu, and her black locks slicked back into a topknot with a little tiara perched there. Her widow's peak was as impressive as some Japanese anime characters, as her face was arresting and irregular, her mouth full and her stub-nose pierced. The woman's dark black eyebrows—one was pierced—were tilted like a Vulcan's over slanted dark eyes, and she had pointed ears with enough piercings to make her dangerous in a thunderstorm.

She looked very much like an S&M-fetish Vulcan in a maroon tutu with army boots, and—was that a bazooka? And were those wings? Kitty eyed the gossamer wings that fluttered impatiently behind the woman's back.

"Tink, d'you bleedin' mind?" Pete asked, fanning away the last of the smoke. His face twisted into a frown.

A fairy?

Yep.

With a bazooka?

Check.

And piercings?

Definitely.

Okay, maybe it's just a nightmare and not a telepathic attack. No one's this crazy.

Tink looked from Kitty to Pete and back again. "Hoi, not this again," she said rubbing her temple.

"Not what?" Pete looked confused, then seemed to pale a bit.

"I know it was only for formality issues, to keep out an invading force, but you could at least tell me when you're gonna cheat. I would know when to leave you for dead."

"Oh, that's bollocks, and you know it," he denied, then cleared his throat and promptly looked everywhere but at the two women in the room.

The punk-rocker fairy rolled her dark eyes. "I'm not gonna tattle to daddy if tha's wot you've got your knickers in a twist about. And besides all that rot, isn't she your ex?"

"'Ex?'" Kitty asked, thunderous. Who the hell was this woman? "I'm Pete's fiancé! There's no 'Ex' involved!"

"Time's up, twinkle-toes," Tink said with a huff. "The Supreme Sorceress (or wotever) gave us a timeline. We'd best follow it, or she may die n' all. When we get outta this fuckin' mess, you'd best tell your fiancée of our…situation."

Pete sulked, crossing his arms over his chest, rumpling his white shirt and black tie. "Y'know, you're a perfectly good example of why some animals eat their young."

She shrugged, her wings quivering. "Yeah, but without me you'd have an invasion of homicidal fairies with which to content. Quit cheating on me with your ex, and let's go."

Now waitaminnit—Damn nightmare.

"But I haven't even—"

Kitty looked from the fairy to Pete and back again. "Pete, what's going on?"

"Sleep, Petal, Rasputin's on his way. Tell him: 'Telepathy's a no go in Limbo.'"

With that the fairy woman with the bazooka waved her hand and scattered pink and green dust on Kitty's nose. Darkness overtook her but not before she sneezed.

#

"So, is everyone with me?" Illyana looked around at the faces of her new teammates expectantly. Drool was never a good sign. Rolled back eyes either. It was a wonder they hadn't fallen— "Oh. Damn."

This so wasn't in the plan. In fact, she had never seen this scenario through her scrying. She gazed around at each of them as they lay prone on the ground. Not good. David was a strong Teke, but his telepathy wasn't as strong as this. He shouldn't have been able to knock them out like this. Not good. Holy Mother, I need them. Please. She dropped to her knees and shook her brother. Only the whites of his eyes gazed lifeless back at her. His heart beat erratically, his breathing labored.

Piotr's skin was clammy and pale when Illyana touched her scarred forehead to his smooth brow. "Please don't die, Piotr," she whispered. "I can't lose you again."

She breathed deep, jumped as thunder clapped above them. In moments rain funneled down, the flames nearest them, that hadn't been contained by the fire trucks, continuing to hiss as the multiple drops of water hit it. I can do this. I've done this before. Each of the fallen heroes, Amelia and Illyana disappeared, devoured by golden disks. She had to get them as far away from David as possible. Hopefully that would put them in their right minds once again.

Illyana re-emerged literally on Spiderman's shoulders, her long and colorful gypsy skirt draping over his masked face. He let go of the web thread and they began to tumble into freefall. It was all she could do to hold on as the web slinger flailed his arms helplessly.

"Cripes!"

They disappeared before anything more could be said with the exception of Illyana's final thoughts as they fell into the disk. Why do I end up doing hero work in skirts? You'd think after ten—

#

(I will never watch a spoof movie while writing a serious piece again. I will never watch a spoof movie while writing a serious piece again. I will never watch a spoof movie while writing a serious piece again.

This scene was only supposed to have the Pete/Tink/Kitty scene, but, meh... Walemma is some of that turtle power I was talking about earlier.

Input welcomed.)

XD