Nine Years After Capture

Rachel's Age: 17 Years Old

This place really brings back memories. Memories I'd rather forget. It's been way too long since the last time I visited the cemetery. I've been avoidin' it somethin' fierce. Every time I come out, I start gettin' all nostalgic, an' it's like I've lost them all over again. Usually just leads to me huntin' down Creed; then we fight for a day or two; we each lose some limbs; one of us bleeds out; the other walks away feelin' like the winner for a lil' while, knowin' the loser's just gonna wake up in some hospital a few days later. There's never any resolution. He will always be this thorn in my side. But this time he went too damn far.

The Summers family burial site is the prettiest little graveyard I've ever seen, and I've seen my fair share of graves. Twenty or so total, it's got its own section in the X-Mansion Cemetery, gated off from the rest of our fallen friends. Smack dab in the middle, on the top of a hill, is Scott's giant cross with the x logo beneath it, the words, "Leader of the X-Men.," and below that, "Beloved Husband, Father, and Friend." To the right, Jean's plot is topped with an ornate, six-foot statue of a phoenix bird. 'Course, there's nothing beneath the headstone. Jean rose from this bit of earth decades back, and she didn't leave her remains in the desert nine years ago. Everyone knows it's only a matter of time 'fore she resurfaces again, but who knows how long I'll have to wait this go 'round.

I turn to Rachel's headstone, underneath a four-foot statue of the girl sittin' with her chin on both hands, which're rested on a propped knee, lookin' up as if at her father's cross. Her expression's thoughtful, her eyes bright. 'Fore Piotr carved this image outta stone, it was a photo. I remember the day it was taken.

Three Months Before Capture

Rachel's Age: 8 Years Old

"Thanks, Raye!" Kitty says, turnin' the camera to take a picture of another student.

Rachel turns her mother's deep eyes back on me. "Well?" she prompts. She can be down-right demandin', especially for an eight-year old.

I chuckle and pull her into my lap. I wrap my arms 'round her tight and kiss the top of her head, breathin' in that scent that reminds me so much of her mother.

"I'm not going to forget just because you hug me, you know!"

"I know, darlin'." I squeeze a little tighter, but she wriggles away to look me in the eyes again. Her brow is furrowed, and she's lookin' positively pissed.

"Logan, I don't want you to go. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"I'm sorry, darlin'. I don't want to go, either. But I've got things I need to take care of. If things need takin' care of, and you ignore them, that's when bad stuff happens. 'Sides, I'll be back. You know that, right?"

She pouts. "Yes. But when?"

"I dunno. As soon as I possibly can. Ya've got my word on that." Another squeeze. This time she reciprocates.

"You're not gonna stop him," she says.

I take her chin in my hand and force her to meet my eyes. "Who?" I ask.

"The man you're hunting. Whoever he is. He's just gonna get away like he always does."

I let out a huge sigh. "Rachel, darlin', how many times do I have to tell you? I do not want you readin' my mind." I put a huge emphasis on the "not" and she winces a little at my tone.

"Sorry,:" she says. "But I have a psychic bond with Mommy, so when she reads your mind, I feel it, too."

I start to panic, thinking of my conversation with Jean last night, and the kiss that ended it. "Rachel, what did you feel last night?"

She doesn't smile or giggle or frown, or do any of the things you'd expect an eight-year old to do when talking about a secret romance. As usual, she surprises the hell outta me with her understandin' eyes and her simple, frank talk. "It's okay, Logan. I know Mommy's heart is broken into two pieces—one for you, and one for Daddy. Daddy knows, too, but he doesn't like to think about it much. Mommy stormed off because you broke the rules, kissing her. She's married to Daddy, so she only has kisses for him. But she still always has love for you."

I'm at a loss for words. How the hell do I respond to that? "Rachel—"

"It's okay, Logan," she says again. "Of course I won't talk to anyone else about it. It's nobody else's business." And she flashes me that million-dollar smile.

Nine Years After Capture

Rachel's Age: 17 Years Old

If I'd known at the time that it was gonna be our last conversation, I would'a forgotten 'bout Creed and just stayed put. My ears prick up. Mystique comes up the garden path, click-clackin' in three-inch heels, and smellin' of way too much perfume.

"Taking a trip down memory lane?" she taunts, her tone dripping with sex for no apparent reason, as usual.

"Don't fuck with me. You got somethin' good or not?"

Rolling her eyes, she says, "I gotta say, Wolverine, I'm surprised you called me, of all people. I mean, we're such good friends and all." She leans a hip against Jean's phoenix headstone. Since I know she's doin' it to piss me off, I try not to react. "You've got a whole house full of psychics." She jerks her head back toward the Mansion. "Why didn't you have one of them go looking for your girl?"

"Trust me, I did."

Two Months After Capture

Rachel's Age: 8 Years Old

Emma Frost's hands are shakin' as she removes Cerebo's helmet. "Nothing," she says again, rubbing her temples. Her voice is strained. I curse and kick the wall with one steel-toed boot.

Cerebro's voice, soundin' just like Xavier, echoes from overhead. "Do not deflect your frustrations upon me, Wolverine. It is not appreciated, especially as I have yet to hear a single word of thanks from either of you over the past three weeks."

"What's to thank?" I mutter beneath my breath. "We haven't turned anythin' up in three weeks."

"And I suppose that is my fault?" he snaps back. Sometimes I forget how sensitive Cerebro's AI can be.

"The machine's right, Logan," Emma sighs. "If we haven't found her in three weeks, we won't find her in three months, or in three years."

"Look, Rachel wasn't at the murder scene. Her scent disappeared at a truck stop several miles away. She wasn't at the Mesa when I tracked down Creed. So where the hell is she?"

"I'm sure I don't know. But isn't it possible Sabretooth killed her along with the others, carried her to the truck stop, put her in a car, which would encase and contain her scent, and hid the body somewhere else? If the whole point of the massacre was to lure you out to the Mesa, he certainly couldn't leave her at the scene."

I grind my teeth at the thought of my Rachel as a corpse.

"Look, I know this isn't pleasant for you, but you need to consider that she may be dead." I shake my head but she goes on, "I searched every single psychic on this planet. Only a handful of them are anywhere near the power level you're talking about, and not a single one was under the age of twelve. So I broadened my search. I looked through all the young mutant girls, figuring maybe, for some reason, Cerebro's not picking her up as a psychic unless she's using her psi powers."

"I am not malfunctioning," came Xavier's indignant voice through Cerebro again. "I can detect any mutant's ability regardless of the frequency with which they use—"

"SHUT UP!" we both yell.

Emma turns to me again. "Logan, I've searched a dozen different criteria. We've spent countless hours in this room. What do you want me to do?"

"Frost, I can't give up on my goddaughter."

"What's to give up on? Please, if you can think of a single thing to do, tell me. But we're just banging our heads against a brick wall, here."

I hang my head, and she puts a comfortin' hand on each of my shoulders. If I weren't so upset, I'd be shocked that she's showin' compassion for another human being. When did the White Queen grow a heart?

"I'm sorry, love," she says. And she sounds like she means it. "The bottom line is that I cannot locate an eight-year old, female psychic anywhere on this planet."

Nine Years After Capture

Rachel's Age: 17 Years Old

"Wolverine? Where'd you go?"

I shake myself outta yesterday and look up at Mystique. "I had all the best psychics look for her. Xavier. Psylocke. Frost. The Stepford freaks. Karma. I even pissed off Chuck by givin' Oracle access to Cerebro. Every single one of 'em said she was dead."

"Weird," Mystique says, squintin' her eyes in suspicion. "Well, I can assure you, she most definitely is not dead." She hands me a video camera. I click the power button, and a black-and-white image of Creed and Rachel appears. I've spent a lotta hours watchin' security feed of these two over the last year, and judgin' by the quality of the video, their target must'a been someone big this time. I hit play. They're in a stairwell. There's no sound, but I don't need to hear the bang to know that when he slams her against the wall, he uses enough force to dent drywall. It sends a jolt through me, like he hit me instead. I watch him strike her. Once. Twice. Three times. Then he kicks her in the gut. She goes limp. He shouts and paces the landin' of the stairs.

Mystique takes the thing out of my hand, and I realize that I'm breathin' through my mouth and my face an' neck are all hot. "How do I find them?" I ask through gritted teeth.

"That's just the thing. You don't."

"What do ya mean?"

"I mean he's crazy protective of her."

"'Protective?' He's beating her!"

"Maybe possessive is a better word. Look, several years back, Sinister had a bounty out on her. It was huge, too. Word on the street is that Creed was nearly killed protecting her from him."

"Trust me, he wasn't."

"Anyway, ever since, they've been hermits. No one has any idea where they live. The phone number that he's set up for job offers is encrypted. I've hired two of the best hackers, and neither could trace his location."

"You mean you two aren't fuck buddies anymore?"

"Not since she came along."

My stomach clenches and for a moment, I might actually be sick. "No. No, no, no, no. Don't tell me he's screwin' her."

Mystique shrugs. "This is Victor we're talking about. Of course he is."

There's a long pause while I mull this last bit over. I guess a part of me knew, deep down, that was a possibility. That don't make me like it any more.

She breaks the silence. "If you want to catch up to them, you'll have to do it in the middle of a mission."

I just nod. My head feels foggy. I'm still tryin' to digest all this.

"And look, Wolverine, you should know…" she trails off.

I look up. "What?"

"She's not the little girl you used to know. She's changed. A lot."

I cut her off before she says somethin' that'll make me punch her. "You don't know what's it's like."

"No, really—"

"No, really. You don't know how being someone's captive, someone's weapon, strips away your humanity. It makes you do horrible things. It makes you hate yourself. You don't have a fuckin' clue what yer talking 'bout."

She turns to leave but says over her shoulder, "Just be careful. That's all I'm saying."