Hey, back with another chapter -- without the seven month interval! Don't be shy to tell us how crappy -- or on the off-chance, how good we're doing. ;-) Please just don't flame us.

curt's crap: yeah, the page break applies mostly to Marie...it's a harder song to work with. But Marie needs some luv.

kmf's stuff: reviews would be nice. If not just for the satisfaction, then to keep curt from going crazier than she already is.

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Chapter Two

Soon after Remy left, John found himself thinking on how much he needed the friendship -- however awkward -- that they had formed. He couldn't help but feel empty once the older man was gone. Sighing, he tossed the papers he held onto the council table and looked around. With the entire Resistance council off checking different factions and Resistance buildings across the U.S. and Canada, he was the only one in Detroit, making decisions he didn't want to make without the council.

Ian and Ryan had checked in from D.C. earlier that day, where Ian was easily picking up on the President's plans, and Ryan was just as easily infiltrating the Capitol building. Rhane had reported back that the Nova Scotian Resistance buildings were well placed and well armed, while Erika -- in Saskatchewan -- reported that the factions were ill equipped and not getting supplies. Shasa, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, was absolutely certain that the factions there were in no need of her help and that she'd be more helpful in Detroit, with John.

He snorted. Of course she wanted to be in Detroit -- with John. The woman had barely left him alone. She was almost as bad as Morrigan -- which seriously said something

"Damn," he breathed out, as the phone rang. Jensen picked it up, glancing at John to let him know it was someone on the council, checking in. After a moment, he hung up. Kevin and Cyndi had reported from San Francisco, where the two were seriously stirring up things, as they had somehow rallied the faction there into wreaking havoc on the city government. Which reminded him of Tabby -- who was in New York City, busy living up to her nick-name 'Boom-Boom'.

Then there was Lance in Denver, where he was attempting to make his ability to create earthquakes useful -- and he was succeeding extremely well at it. Sam Guthrie had gone back home to Kentucky, but was stationed in Louisville, where he was checking up on some mutant factions. John was meaning to tell Sam to travel a bit around the South -- there were definitely mutants to be had through there -- Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi, most of Louisiana -- but the culture there was too oppressive against "difference". Save New Orleans, he thought with a smile. New Orleans had people like Remy running about.

Last but not least was Terra, who had been sent to her roots. Chicago was a good place for a mutant with power over wind -- especially one looking to create some serious trouble.

Yes, John was lacking in Detroit, but the best of the best were making up for it all over the United States and Canada. He stood, giving Jensen a nod of indication, before leaving the room. It would only figure that as soon as he stepped out of the door, hoping for a reprieve, Morrigan would be on him like a cat on a mouse. He tried to ignore her as she began ranting about how it would be useful to have her on the council, but she followed him as he left the building, leaning against the brick wall outside.

"Do you ever stop?" he asked the electrokinetic woman that stood in front of him.

"Stop what?" she snapped, pretending to not know what he meant.

"Stop talking," he replied, wanting nothing more then to dive into his bed and sleep for a week. But no, the Resistance leader could barely get more than two hours of sleep as it was, and that meant she was even more irritating then he remembered.

"Fine. I can see you're not up to talking about this. But mark my words, John: we will talk about this." Then she was gone, leaving him room to breathe easy. He sighed, noting oddly that when she was pissed, more of her accent came through. He shook his head. If he played his cards right, he wouldn't have to deal with her again for some time. And, oh, he hoped he played his cards right. He could only hope that Remy was having an easier time then he was.

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Remy had hotwired a car. As he drove, aimlessly as of current, he tried to reckon where Marie would have gone. Or just why the hell she would have left. He slammed a hand down on the dashboard. Only seconds later, he noticed the glow around where his hand was. Merde! Shit, shit, shit! He ditched the car right before it exploded, throwing himself out the door and stumbling as far away as he could, the blast throwing him to the ground. He just managed to cover his head with his arms as some shrapnel fell down about him.

Morbleu! he wanted to scream as he got to his feet and started to dart away, hoping the freak explosion would be written off as gang activity or something of the sort. Mère de Dieu. His damned powers were unstable as hell to begin with. ...But he couldn't be mad at her. He couldn't blame her. No, Remy was far more worried for Marie than even he wanted to admit. Calm it, eh, LeBeau? Ya're no good to her blasted into li'l pieces at yer own doin', oui?

No, he wouldn't be. He would find her. As he began to hotwire a Range Rover, he thought again on where Marie might have gone. She had told him once while they talked of their pasts in the rare moments at night when there was the leisure, that she was from Mississippi. He had long before gathered that from her accent, though. Now, where in Mississippi had she said? A city...fairly large. God -- Corinth, Jackson, Sliddell. He smiled wryly. Sliddell would mean she grew up kind of close to him. Her accent was too drawling to be from so close to Tennessee as Corinth was. So...wonderful; that left two-thirds of the entire state of Mississippi Marie could be going to.

Could be.

That still left everywhere in between there and Detroit she might be now.

Or she might not even be going there.

Remy pulled onto the interstate. He would hope that he'd find her around down there, in Mississippi. He'd scour the South for the rest of his life if it took it. But he was hoping that Marie was like him: when he was off-kilter, he tried return to New Orleans if he could. He'd drive all night and all day.

Marie, p'tite, why didn't you tell me what was wrong?

What could be wrong?

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Marie shivered in the soggy cardboard box she had folded herself into. She tried to hold back her sneeze but couldn't. It'd been raining for three damned days. Three days of alley hiding and Dumpster diving and begging for scraps. Since when did it rain like this in the South?

Since your sobby-self got here. Marie shut her eyes against the sting of tears that cutting, but nonetheless seemingly true thought caused. She wasn't as good at stiffling her sob.

"Hey, who's down there?"

Marie froze stock still where she lay. She heard the footsteps approaching, and held herself as still as she could.

And then she sneezed.

A face peered into her boz. "Darlin', you shouldn't be out in this kinda weather, honey. Come on with me -- there's a shelter two blocks down."

Marie shivered and shook her head. "I...I can't."

The benign older woman tsked. She had dark brown hair and piercing gold eyes. "Baby, you ain't gonna last out here. It ain't nothin' permanent: it's just a dry place and a warm meal."

Marie was embarrassed by how loudly her stomach rumbled at the mention of an honest-to-goodness meal. The woman smiled and offered a hand, which Marie took. "I'm Riva," the woman introduced herself.

"Marie."

(The lyric in the page break is from "Won't Back Down" by Fuel.)