A/N: I totally own the X-Men. Oh, wait. No I don't. Just a small mental lapse... wishful thinking.
Nightblaze, thanks for letting me know you're enjoying the story. I hope it continues to please.
Later, Scott had subsided into an uneasy slumber while Kitty stayed on lookout. He desperately needed the rest, but she'd had to argue with him to make him take it. He had been convinced that he should stay up, on the watch for potential dangers, and had only grudgingly acquiesced when she had pointed out he'd quickly lose his fighting edge if he got no rest. Come night, they'd need to move fast and far. The Institute was way out in the backwoods of nowhere Montana, and it would be quite a trek before they reached civilization again, especially since they needed to avoid roads.
He'd taken off the visor to sleep, and Kitty was shocked at how young and vulnerable he looked under the plastic and quartz. It drove home to her what she seldom considered; that he was really not much older than her. She was twenty, now, if it really had been a year that they held her, like Scott said. It seemed longer than that. And he was only six years her senior.
His whole life seemed to belie his age. He was head on the team, entrusted by Xavier to lead the X-Men through every sort of dangerous situation, and he discharged his duties with discipline and intelligence. He was a lethal warrior, both with his gift and otherwise. He taught the students at the school with skill and fairness. And he was married to a woman nearly a decade older than him. That perhaps more than anything else served to disguise his age. He was definitely not the junior in the relationship, and possessing the respect and love of a strong, confidant, smart woman like Jean said worlds about his maturity.
He was also feared by his enemies. Kitty hadn't told Scott yet, but the mutant team the Institute had put together had received specific training on how to combat the X-Men for the inevitable time when they would face them in battle. Not only was Cyclops listed as Alpha priority, but also as Target A in any mission he was encountered on. The X-Men had been ranked alphabetically in the order they should be terminated if encounter in the field of battle, and Scott, being the visible head of the X-men, had was regarded as the most dangerous. The Dogs of War, as the Institute called them, were supposed to drop everything and work in tandem to eliminate Cyclops if he appeared. Cut off the body, and the head dies. The number crunchers at the Institute had estimated the battle effectiveness of the team would decrease by 55 – 70% with him out of the picture.
Looking at him in repose now, Kitty wondered how many people saw him as just a man. He was always in some role or other: team leader, teacher, mentor, emotional support, warrior… how many people looked past that to who he really was underneath? Jean must, or he never would've married her. She was sure of that. The Professor, perhaps, but he also depended on Scott a great deal, more than any other X-man, and that must be a heavy burden. The only other one she could think of was Wolverine. From what she could remember of him, in her slowly returning but still muddled memories, he was always giving Scott grief of one kind or another. Sometimes this was because of the rivalry between the two men, and Wolverine's attraction to Jean, but more often Kitty thought it was actually friendly, and denoted the respect between the two men. The Canadian knew that Scott could take the abuse he dished out and return it in kind, and so the two men really enjoyed the frequent verbal sparring matches.
Watching over him, Kitty was able to admit to herself the truth. She knew why they hadn't been able to make her forget Scott, why she was believed in every fiber of her being that he wouldn't intentionally harm her. She was in love with him.
It had taken a while for her to understand that. She knew she loved him back at the mansion, but she had thought it more familial love, not romantic. She knew he was deeply in love with Jean, and she did not want to replace or supplant the doctor in his affections. She had enjoyed spending time with him, treasured every time he favored her with his open, boyish smiles. But as the scientists at the Institute had worked her over, as they stripped friends and family away from her damaged mind with ruthless tactics, she began to see there was a difference, on a deep level, from how she felt about Scott to her emotions for the rest of the loved ones in her life. They took everything away but him, and she started to understand that he was the one person she could not imagine living her life without.
In the sleep periods, or moments of respite between training and conditioning, Kitty would think of him, opening the secret corner of her mind and replaying the fragmented memories there, broken and stained, but still hers. She'd remember the picnic by the lake, how, during unpacking, they both reached for the same container at once, and their hands met. Her eyes had risen, startled, to meet his crimson glasses, and they'd smiled at the same instant. There was the conversation they'd had late one night, when he'd wandered into the kitchen in search of food after grading papers, and found Kitty there scrounging for edibles to sustain her as she worked on her ten-page English essay. She didn't quite remember what they'd talked about, but she knew it had been for a while, both of them ending up eating there as they conversed, completely engrossed in the give and take.
She remembered a lot of conversations with Scott. If she remembered correctly, he was one of the few people who really seemed to understand her and treated her like an adult, not only respecting but showing a genuine interest in her opinions. He an incredible man, and she hoped that Jean took good care of him and thanked her lucky stars every day that she held his heart.
In the worst times, when she couldn't remember anything else through the drugs and the pain, she just remembered his face, the way he'd looked at her before the mission, and the words he'd said. I won't let anything happen to you. Words that meant he'd do anything in his power to keep her safe, and solemn and binding as any oath. She never doubted that he was searching for her, and that knowledge carried her through the worst of time, as she told herself again and again that she didn't have to hang on forever, just long enough for Scott to get to her. And he had.
He was her savior, her best friend, the man she loved without reserve. The man who would never love her back. And he must never, never know how she felt. It might damage their friendship, put distance between them, and she could not bear the thought of that. No, she'd take whatever she could get, and be happy with that. It was enough. It had to be.
As the sun set, she touched him gently on the shoulder, and he jerked into instant wakefulness. For a moment, he kept his eyes tight shut, no doubt a habit ingrained in himself through long-time necessity. Then he opened them cautiously, looking first away from her, then seeking her eyes almost hesitantly. She realized that without the glasses, he must feel almost naked. She smiled reassuringly at him. "The light's fading," she said quietly. "You said to wake you."
"Thanks." He got up carefully, wincing in pain.
"There was a powerbar in one of the coat pockets," she told him, opening the silvery packet in her hand. "I figured we should split it."
Scott took the half-piece she gave him. "Take small bites, and chew as much as you can," he told her softly. "It'll fool your stomach into thinking it's more food than it really is."
Kitty nodded. Although her stomach was throbbing with shooting pains from hunger, she held herself back and followed his instructions. When they had finished their small meal, she did feel better. The pain retreated, and her head felt clearer.
"Ready?" Scott asked. Seeing the hesitancy in her eyes, he spared her one of his warm smiles. "Come on. I'll high 'em high, you hit 'em low. OK?" When she nodded, he beckoned her to follow as he peered out the edge of the copse. "That's my girl. Let's go."
A day later, they were run to ground. It had been a magnificent attempt, with Scott trying every trick in the book, and some that weren't, to throw off his pursuers. But in the end, the foxes had been cornered. The two X-Men crouched behind a large boulder in a tumble of huge rocks, winded and light-headed from hunger, and heard the sounds of their pursuers not far off. Scott grimaced as he felt the familiar prickle of telepathic contact run across his mind. Blade had kept pace with them every step of the way. She was good, he had to admit. Despite his efforts to blur his mind and fudge the connection, she had been narrowing down on them, closer and closer. It wouldn't be long now.
Kitty was beside him, keeping a wary look-out despite her exhaustion. Somewhere in their flight, Scott had moved beyond admiration for his former student. Now… he didn't know what he felt. It was like she was his partner. She watched his back, moved quiet as a shadow, and never gave up. He never had to worry about her doing something foolish; she obeyed his instructions quickly and efficiently.
Honestly, the only drawback was the distraction she posed, and this was in no way her fault. She still wore the guard's coat, but it was hardly ideal covering, and a great amount of pale skin was revealed to his gaze. She had been in good shape when she had been part of X-team, but now she was beyond even that, her physical skills honed to perfection by her pitiless captors. Every muscle in her body was taunt and firm, and there was not an extra ounce of flesh anywhere in her lithe frame. She moved as gracefully as a dancer, always balanced, always sure. Sometimes, it was hard to keep his eyes off her, and he was glad of the glasses, for they disguised his wandering gaze.
He tried imagining himself in this situation with Jean, and didn't like the picture. Jean wouldn't have listened to him, obeyed his commands. She would've had her own ideas about how best to escape, and argued for them, wasting precious time. She wouldn't have been able to keep pace with him, either. Jean was so wrapped up in her telekinetic and telepathic abilities that she quite neglected the physical aspects of fighting and survival, a trait that irked him. But it wasn't just what she would've said or did that was different. Every minute he was with her, Kitty gave him her full, unquestioning support. She trusted him completely, on such a deep level it showed through in everything she did. Jean… well, Jean never had, he supposed. He'd hadn't really known that before now.
"They've got us ringed," Scott said grimly. He ran a hand over his face, feeling stubble rasping against his palm. "I'm sorry, Kitty. This is some rescue."
The young woman touched his arm. "You did everything that you could, Scott."
"It wasn't enough." Frustration tinged his voice. "I was so damn stupid to assume that our powers would be back after we got away from the MSD."
"Hindsight's 20/20." Kitty laughed softly. "I should have told you, but I was still so drugged that-"
Scott heard a soft click to the right and shoved her down, throwing himself in the opposite direction, hitting the ground hard but rolling with the impact as the heavy stutter of an AK-47 on full automatic broke the stillness of the wilderness. Bullets whined and sparked off the stones. "Cover!" he yelled, and threw himself flat behind the nearest rock.
The gunfire petered out, and he sprang into action. Grabbing a rock from the rubble, he pulled his pistol from its shoulder holster and flung the rock out from one side of his cover. Spinning out from behind the sheltering stone on the other side, he took the guards down with two shots to each in the center body mass, as the two men trained their rifles instinctively on the clatter made by his diversion.
Scott immediately went to check on Kitty, his heart ice-cold in his chest. He hadn't seen or heard anything from her since the shooting started. Rounding the remains of a gargantuan boulder, split down the middle as if it had been struck by the hammer of some ancient deity of titanic proportions, he saw her. She was lying still, crumpled on the ground like a doll that had been carelessly thrown aside. Her side was a red ruin of torn flesh, and blood slowly stained the earth. He felt as if his heart had slammed into a brick wall.
"No," he whispered, and started forward. She can't be dead, not now, please…
It was his unrelenting attention to detail that saved him. The smallest flicker, as a part of Kitty's body that didn't quite sync with the landscape reshaped to accommodate the unyielding earth. Conduit! He began to turn, shifting his balance to drop and roll. Because of his movement the bolt of light hit him on the shoulder, burning past the clothing to sear into his flesh, instead of lancing into his heart. Still, he was flung violently to the ground, the breath smashed from his lungs, black spots dancing before his eyes. Footsteps approached rapidly, something heavy crashed into his head, and he knew no more.
Scott came awake abruptly, a harsh chemical smell assaulting his nostrils. He jerked his head back violently, and heard harsh laughter as a small phial was taken away from his face. Opening his eyes, he squinted against harsh lighting, the stabbing pain in his eyes a counterpoint to the throbbing ache in his head.
Several guards stood unobtrusively around the lab, faces impassive, hands tight on their automatic weapons. He was tied down to an operating table, hands and feet firmly secured with leather straps. He tested them, as a matter of course, but there was no give in them. Two men and a woman stood before him. The men wore lab coats, and the woman was dressed in a dark uniform. That, coupled with her blank, dead eyes, led Scott to the conclusion that she was one of the mutants under the Institute's control. Since there was no sign of a 'reverse visor' such as Kitty had described, he deduced she must be the telepath, Blade. Wonderful.
"So, Mr. Summers, you have decided to join us." The speaker was the man in the middle, a tall, gaunt, hollow-cheeked individual with bright eyes, dressed in a rumpled suit overlaid with a lab coat. "Excellent. I had expected, Mr. Summers, to have a more difficult time acquiring you."
"Sorry to disappoint." Scott coughed hard, overcome by the spasm for a minute, resisting the urge to retch. His body wanted to rid itself of the drugs that had been pumped into it, but now was not the time. Once the attack passed, he straightened himself as much as possible. "Let me go again, and I'll give you a run for your money."
The man absent-mindedly adjusted his collar. "No, I think not… I think not. We've already lost enough men containing you. And since our recruiting is, by necessity, circumspect, it will take long enough to replace them."
"I feel for you," Scott said dryly.
"Quite all right, my dear boy." The man waved to his associate, and the other man, light glinting off the dark skin of his bald head, leaned in with a needle and injected its contents into Scott's arm. He felt a wave of dizziness wash through him. "You see, you are a fortunate find in many ways. First, a person with your talents and abilities, quite apart from your powers, will be invaluable to us in leading the Dogs of War into battle. Second, you will be able to tell us exactly how to attack that mansion of yours. Doubtless you were the one in charge of setting up their security systems, and you will tell us how to circumvent them. When we come at them, they'll never know what hit them."
"I will tell you nothing!" Scott shot back.
The tall man laughed, and leaned in to run a hand through his captive's hair, the mockery of a comforting gesture. "You are all so alike. That's just what the other one said, when we brought her in a year ago. But we broke her, and she told us everything. We will break you."
Scott closed his eyes as another wave of dizziness hit him, and heard the other man speaking faintly, as if from a far way off. "Doctor Andras, are you certain about this? We could still use the tried and true way. That is the course of action I would urge in the strongest terms. We know the machines work. In the course of our operations, we've had only one failure. But this…"
"Sometimes," Andras replied confidently, "one must take a bold step forward in order to capitalize on an enemies mistake, Ekene. The machines take too long, especially with the older subjects, who have had more time to develop a strong sense of identity. Blade here will break his defenses down in a fraction of the time. Aided by the effect of the drugs on his psyche, he ought to be malleable to our purposes in a week, at most."
"Perhaps you're right, Doctor. She is… quite effective."
Scott felt hands touch his face, and opened his eyes. Though his vision was blurred, he could see it was Blade bending over him, hands clasped on either side of his head. He braced himself. Then everything was pain.