Title: None of the Above
by: Satine16
Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story belong to me. They are all property of MARVEL. I don't do this for money please don't sue me!
Chapter 11: Fragmented
"Hank. It's me again. Please call me," Carly's voice sounded sad on his answering machine. "I really need to talk to you. I miss you."
BEEP. "End of message," the automated tone spoke politely.
Hank stood silent over his desk staring at the small speaker box. He hadn't turned the lights on in his office and it was the third time he had listened to the message. He looked frozen in his lab coat and glasses. It was Carly.
His stomach twisted into knots as her voice rang out and he thought of the sweet smell of her hair. He ached to yank the phone from its cradle and tell her how he loved her and how he missed her. But he wouldn't. He shouldn't.
Slowly, Hank replayed their last evening together in his mind. There was nothing to say. Even if they were happy now, all he could do, would do, is hurt her in the end.
His fingers hovered for a moment over the green play button. Slowly he moved to press it again, when he heard the door of the lab open. Quickly his fingers pressed the red erase button and he straightened his glasses. Turning on his heel, he straightened his lab coat as he walked briskly into the hallway.
"Dr. McCoy?" Jamie asked meekly as Hank approached. The harsh metal walls and fluorescent lighting of the basement seemed to intimidate him entirely.
"She's doing all right. Where's Warren?" Hank asked calmly.
"He'll be here in a bit," Jamie's voice was barely a whisper.
"Well, then, I guess you should follow me."
Hank led the confused man down the hall and into a large steel room. Betsy lay unconscious in a bed so large it easily dwarfed her withered frame. A number of machines and tubes were helping her to survive. Next to her bed, Kurt was softly praying and rolling the black beads of his rosary through his fingers.
"Would you like to sit with me, Jamie?" Kurt asked kindly, and extended his hand.
The color in Jamie's face drained as he watched his sister. For a moment he stood frozen, as if in a trance.
"She's going to die, isn't she?" he turned to Hank, his voice shaking.
"Yes," Hank's blue eyes met Jamie's sadly. "I'm so sorry."
Jamie stood motionless another moment and exhaled heavily. Silently, he took a seat next to Kurt and lowered his head.
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"He called you here, too," Scott asked as he walked into the room, a bewildered look on his face.
"Yes," Ororo answered as she rose from her perch on the small leather couch.
"Any idea what it's about?" Scott smiled, his tone jovial.
"No," she cast her eyes toward the large mahogany door barring their entrance to Charles' office.
"Enter," Charles' welcome resembled a bark.
"Well, I guess we're about to find out," he was still smiling.
Scott quickly found a seat opposite Charles' desk, but Ororo sat down cautiously. Something was wrong.
"Joseph has gone missing," Charles' voice was low and soft as he stared out the window to his office. Slowly, he backed his chair away, and moved behind his desk to face them. "We must find him."
"With all due respect, Professor, no one was sad to see him go."
"That is not the point, Scott," he snapped.
"What is it, Professor?" Ororo asked softly, furrowing her brow.
"I fear that if we don't find him, he will be killed."
"Are you sure?"
"A great deal of effort and information are attached to that boy's life."
"What about Cerebro?" Scott asked, puzzled.
"My efforts have not been fruitful."
"Professor…" Scott began again.
"Just find him." Charles' eyes bore down on Scott a moment, and then looked to Ororo briefly. Looking away from them again, Charles rolled back to his perch beside the window. Resting his elbows on the arm rests of his chair, Charles pressed his palms together and rested his fingers against his lips.
The conversation was over.
Slowly, Scott and Ororo stood and exited the room.
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Bobby and Lorna lie with their bare legs intertwined, and the thin sheet wrapped around them like a ribbon. His fingers traced the line against her spine over and over as she ran her fingers through the back of his hair. They had stayed that way, talking, for over an hour before Lorna noticed the time.
Looking up she noticed the blinking 3:00 and pulled away from him.
"Oh, Jesus! I have to go get ready."
"For what?"
"Nothing," she spat, rolling out of bed. "A gig."
"I'll come with you."
"No. Stay here. It'll be fast. Not a big deal," she scrambled to find her gray t-shirt as she zipped her jeans.
"Are you sure?"
"Completely," Lorna smiled as she wound her hair into a sloppy bun and shoved a pair of silver chopsticks in to hold it in place. For a moment she watched his reflection in the mirror. He was sitting against the headboard of the bed, the sheet covering his lap, beaming.
Calmly, she slipped on her sandals, and sat on the edge of the bed next to him.
"I have to go," she smiled and kissed him softly. Gently, she stood up and walked to the door.
"I think I might be falling in love with you, Lorna Dane," Bobby joked and smiled wide as he put his hands behind his head and leaned back.
"I'm sorry," she murmured as she closed the bedroom door behind her.
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Sitting in the waiting room at her doctor's office Kitty couldn't help but wonder if she had noticed the putrid yellow borders on the walls the last time she had been there. She didn't remember them.
The nurses seemed older than before and the people around her seemed to be watching her. This time they were watching her and they were judging her.
They could never understand.
The large glass door across from her was where she would be going.
Did everyone know why she was there?
The glaring fluorescent lights above her hummed incessantly.
Would they be able to see in through that glass door?
The blurred forms of doctors, nurses and patients moved behind the blurry, rippling glass partition as they bustled between exam rooms.
Would they look at her the way that Peter had?
Her hand slowly grazed the front of her abdomen.
Was this really their baby? How could it be? Nothing was right with her, with their relationship. Hell, nothing was in the world either.
No child deserves this life.
"Ms. Pryde," a tall, thin nurse, dressed in pink called out. Kitty watches the fine lines traced all through the deeply tanned skin around her red mouth as she spoke. "The doctor will see you now."
Kitty looked up wide-eyed, and shakily stood from her cold, metal, waiting room seat. She listened intently as the sound of her shoes went from being muffled within the pale blue waiting room carpet, to clicking harshly against the stark white tile.
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"People don't just disappear, Ororo," Scott paced back and forth in the dark room.
"I realize that, Scott," the frustration in her voice was evident as she played with the computer in front of the numerous security monitors.
"Then where did he go?"
"That's what we're trying to figure out. Ok. Stop pacing for a minute and pay attention. Those two monitors," she pointed to her far left, "are cued to the grounds. These two," she said pointing to the screens in front of them, "are cued to the upper levels of the house. And those on the end," pointing to two on the right, "are cued to the basement and the medical labs. I've set the videos to a 30 second stream. Each room will play for thirty seconds and then it will switch. We see anything interesting, I have video ID stamps and we can log in to that specific tape and check it out."
"Great," Scott smiled and leaned against the back of the chair she was sitting in. Each of the monitors held a different black and white image, starting from the few days before Joseph went missing. As the footage began to stream, Scott took a seat next to her.
After a half an hour of gripping footage in which Hank had caught multiple pairs of students making out all over the campus, Jubilee fell down some stairs, and Bobby flossed his teeth in the front hall mirror, Ororo could feel her eyes growing heavy. That's when she noticed it. On the bottom right hand monitor. It was Logan. He was with Jean.
At first she froze, unsure of what to do. She was mesmerized. He was sitting on the observation table, and she was in his arms. Her shirt was open and his face was buried in her neck and cleavage. Jean let her head fall back slightly and Ororo felt her spine straighten. If the video had sound, they would have heard her moan. Quickly and instinctively, Ororo jotted down the video stamp.
"Get anything?" Scott turned and asked, just as the image changed over.
"Nothing to help us find, Joseph," Ororo said flatly. She almost wanted to feign surprise at her bitterness over seeing him with her.
"Well whatever it is, the look on your face says it must be better than watching sprinklers kick on and off after every few minutes of footage," Scott smirked and rolled his chair around her to face the right hand monitors.
Just as his chair came to rest opposite the screen, there they were again. Only this time Logan had her pressed against the wall next to the table.
It took Scott a moment to see it.
"What's the stamp on this video, Ororo?" Scott asked, almost too calmly.
"I don't…"
"WHAT'S THE STAMP?" Scott hollered.
"0310080030," Ororo murmured.
Scott's fingers flew over the keyboard as he pulled up the video log and rewound the footage. Slowly, the entire scene played soundlessly before them in black and white: from the very first touch to the very last. From start to end Scott was completely still until Jean dressed herself again and left the room. Without a word, he rose from his seat and walked out.
Ororo watched the door slam behind him. On the monitor, Logan sat watching the door through which Jean had left him.
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All was silent in the small dark room where technology prolonged the life of Elizabeth Braddock. Light streamed across the room as a figure entered from the bright hallway. His large frame cast a long shadow.
Warren lay crumpled at the bottom of the bed: his long form slumped in his chair and his head resting next to his fragile lover's feet.
The visitor pulled a chair soundlessly up to the bed and took Betsy's small, bony hand in between his own large palms.
With a faint rustle of the sheets, Betsy turned her head and opened her glimmering, dark eyes. Even in the pressing blackness of Hank's laboratory she knew that face: the cropped blonde hair, bright smile and wide brown eyes.
"'Ello, love," Brian Braddock smiled down on his twin sister.
"It took you long enough," she rasped, her voice barely audible and her smile almost visible.
"Too long. And I'm sorry," he squeezed his sister's frail hand tenderly. "I was in peace negotiations for weeks. I would have been here sooner…"
"Never too long. Not Captain Britain. Just in time, I think."
They spoke quietly for hours, with Warren's heavy breathing keeping time in the background.
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"Just leave, then!" she threw her hairbrush at him with all her strength. He ducked and it missed him by mere millimeters and imbedded itself, handle first, into the door.
Rogue stood in a pair of old jeans and a beaten up, black, t-shirt of Remy's. Her hair was in a mess around her shoulders and she was crying. Her face was pink and blotchy and her nose was running.
Remy wore a pair of overly expensive jeans with a white t-shirt. He had worn the shirt tucked in and the pants were slung at the perfect low spot just below his waist and held there with a sleek black belt. Over his shirt he had on a black blazer: expensive and well cut. He was calm, collected and handsome. Looking at the pair together, one would never know they were on two ends of the same conversation.
Since seeing her with Joseph it was all Remy could think about. The mere idea of that man touching her and kissing her…thoughts of their sweaty, hot bodies entangled…drove him insane. Remy had found that it was therapeutic to think about removing his fingers one by one with needle nose pliers. A smirk lurked across his face every time he thought about all he would do if he could only find the snake. But it would fade with the realization that there was no therapy to fix his feelings for her.
"Jus' go, Swamp Rat," she spat and turned away from him. In her heart, Rogue knew she had brought this on herself. In her heart, she also knew that she never actually thought that he would leave her.
"Why didn' you ever let me inside?" his voice was almost too tranquil.
"Remy, Ah…"
"No more excuses, Chere."
"Ah was afraid."
"That's bullshit," he annunciated clearly and cruelly.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come.
"Yeah, Ah know. It's hard bein' in ya shoes. Ya wanna blame me fo' everythin', an' that's fine. Ya wanna live in misery, an' that's fine too. Ah ain't gonna stick around to be the guy ya yell at," his dark eyes bored into her saucer sized green ones.
"Remy, Ah'm sorry."
"Ah think we say that too much, Chere," Remy let his head hang and he stared at the floor a moment.
"He's not a part o' mah life. Ah need you."
"Then Ah guess ya got no one left."
"Remy?" her voiced squeaked as his name left her lips. He didn't respond.
She kept her eyes on the carpet, too afraid to look up into his eyes. Too afraid to let him see into her own. To let him see her start to cry. Her tears were coming in steady waves. She couldn't breathe let alone try to compose a coherent response. She didn't want to gasp either. He would crack if he saw her cry and she didn't want his pity.
Gambit stood waiting for her to say something. The anger lines in his forehead deepened as he waited for her to respond. She was crying.
Rogue bit down hard on her lip trying to hold in the sob that was ready to spring from her mouth. It escaped. Her shoulders shook and a wet, squeaky sob fled her lips.
"Stop cryin'."
"Ah'm sorry, Remy," she looked up at him, her cheeks glistening wet.
"Stop cryin'!"
"It was an awful mistake…please…" she was sobbing harder.
"You don' GET to cry!" he screamed at her in a sorrow laden voice, making her suck the sobs into her stomach.
She swallowed hard once and took a step toward him. He put up his left hand to stop her.
"It ain't got nothin' ta do with mistakes. This is you an' me, ma Chere. This is us bein' wrong together," he spat.
"Please," the word was a barely audible high-pitched squeak. She placed a shaky hand underneath her nose to stop it from running.
"Why'd ya do it, ma belle?"
"Ah couldn't hurt him. Ya never got it. This isn't about him. It's about every woman you've ever been with or will be with or want to be with. Ah wake up every morning an' Ah wonder why you're here. Ah wonder when Ah'm gonna wake up and ya won't be here any more," the tears became heavier.
"After all this time…" he pulled his leather duffel from underneath the bed.
Jesus Christ, he had already packed. Rogue began talking even faster.
"Ah was weak, Remy. It was too tempting. Ah was weak and Ah was selfish. So, Ah'm sorry about what I did. Ah'm sorry that Ah'm a giant pain in the ass. Ah'm sorry about a lot o' things, Remy," she walked over to him and placed her moist hands against his t-shirt, leaving prints. He pulled away and lifted his bag off the bed.
"Ah guess you don' have ta wonder any more, Chere" he looked into her sopping eyes, his own expression disappointed and miserable. In three strides he was standing at the door.
Soundlessly and quickly he pulled open the door and started to walk out.
"AH'M SORRY!" she hollered a soggy shriek. The tears soaked her entire face.
He turned and stared at her a moment. Lifting the small box of tissues from its perch, he handed them to her bluntly.
"Ma Chere, it's too little, too late."
With that he turned again and walked through the doorway.
"Remy, wait," she pleaded. "Ah love you."
He closed his eyes and stood for a moment in the silence as he felt the words reach his ears and run over his body, like a wave crashing against a rock. That's all he had wanted. That's all he had needed from her.
He shut the door behind him when he left.