CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO:
I'm The Alpha Here Now
AN: Now I know that in the movie 'X-Men' it wasn't Logan who hustled Bobby and Rogue and some of the others out through the secret-passage way when Strykers men showed up, and that Bobby and Rogue had to convince him to come along, but I'm taking artistic license and saying that LOGAN is the one who made the kids leave through that little hidey-door.
TO glove-99: I got your review;
Just rereading this's s realized Steve alluded to sabretooth s history in chapter 28 "Steve looked down at the young woman he thought of as his sister, then glared at the Professor then the frozen Sabretooth. "I know of the great Der Schatler. The Butcher they call you; a murderer, an assassin for hire with no conscience or regret. Why would I want to leave my petite soeur in the care of one such as you? After all those you have killed…..maimed. Tell me, what are your reasons?" the last question came out more as a demand, sharp and deadly."... Maybe Cassie was shocked to hear serial killer as opposed to assassin?
I have to tell you, it took me awhile simply to get over the pleasure of the fact that you re-read my fic (beams happily). I did not catch that little mishap, but lets say that Cassie was too surprised, or maybe distracted to catch that, shall we?
ONTO THE FIC!
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Bobby didn't blink, didn't waste time. He treated the permission to ask questions as if he was beginning his own interrogation. "Why are you here? What is your motive!?"
Victor arched an eyebrow. "I'm here ta get things in shape, cub, and ya better get used to it."
Bobby snorted, eliciting a soft, warning growl from Victor. "And what makes you think we need your help!?"
Victor noted absently that Bobby and a few other boys hadn't calmed at his purr, meaning that they had to be at least sixteen. Still, to his two-hundred-plus years, the cub was just that; a cub, albeit one who needed a hard lesson on hierarchy and on just who was alpha.
He stalked forward so that he was just inches away from the ice-cubs desk, sheer intimidating muscle.
"So you think everything's just hunky-dory, huh cub? So you're sayin' that when Stryker came and captured several of your classmates, you had it all under control?
Bobby clenched his jaw tight for a moment before answering. "If that Wol—if Professor Logan hadn't made us leave—"
Victor slammed his hand down on Bobbys desk, pleased when the ice-mutant jumped a little, but mostly pissed off. "No, James saved yer sorry asses, that's what he did, the runt was right ta get ya outta there, or didya really think you could take on Strykers men on your own?"
A female cub with long, blonde hair and no visible mutation shakily raised her hand, blue eyes wide.
Victor gave her a nod. "What is it, cub?"
"P-Professor Munroe and the others got us out eventually."
The great Sabretooths eyes gentled ever-so-slightly at the young frail. "So you were one of the ones they captured, huh." It was a statement more than a question, but the blonde nodded her head anyways.
Victor let his eyes scan the cub clinically, wanting to look her over, though nowhere near the way he would his mate. In fact, he would probably be more likely to shove the blonde cub behind a privacy screen and have ole' blue-butt look her over instead of the intimate checkups he would give his mate. This was a cub under his protection, NOT his life-partner, but that didn't mean he didn't have that payload of instincts to look after the cubs. $# &^ almost ALL of him was made up of instincts. "Were you hurt, cub?"
Her hesitance to answer told all and Victor felt his primal rage rising fast.
The voice that answered his question, however, came from behind him. Hank McCoy, aka Beast, had come to his more civil senses.
"The children taken were kept in an electrified cage that somehow also hindered mutant powers. Some received minor burns and shocks that were quickly treated, there was more mental trauma than physical."
Victor chewed this over in his mind. "What, ya mean PTSD?" he looked over his shoulder in time to see Hank nodding solemnly.
Victor growled again. He knew a lot about PTSD. He and the condition were old pals, but when you went through both world wars among countless others (Vietnam being one of them) you were bound to have SOME PTSD, though his mostly came from his early years.
But what did most humans do about PTSD? Were the cubs that had been in the cage suffering from it? If so, what did they need?
`What every frail needs.` Victor growled to himself. `Ta know they're safe.`
He made certain the blonde cub was looking at him a little and put an alpha timbre in his voice. "Well, yer safe now, cub. You have any nightmares, you just come see me, Jimmy, or Hank. We'll get ya settled."
The scent of growing anger from the trouble making ice-cub (charcoal with mint) brought Victors attention back to the original trouble at hand.
"You can't just take over like this!" Bobby exclaimed. "You don't have the right! You're a murderer!"
Victor growled lowly at him. "I'm the one who's going to keep everyone safe, who's going to get things up and running. Yes, I'm a killer, a former gun-for-hire, but I've never hurt a cub or a frail that didn't deserve it. You got that ice-boy? I've lived through more wars than you've even read about, lived off the land and traveled wilds you've only seen on National Geographic. I'm here to make sure you cubs are safe and you'd best get used to it. I'M the alpha here now."
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BACK IN THE CAFETERIA:
CASSIE AND LOGAN
All of the children had been fed and Cassie and Logan were working on getting the cranky youngsters into their classrooms to nap when Logan stopped them.
"Maybe we should find someplace else for the kiddos to sleep." The Canadian said gruffly. "Vic was right about that room not being safe."
"Where do you suggest?" Cassie asked, her mind only half-way on the problem. She couldn't stop thinking about that frightening roar, about how Victor had taken off like a cat confronted with a bath.
Logan grunted at her, his eyes knowing. "I think everything's okay, darlin."
She looked at him anxiously. "How do you know?"
Logan shrugged. "The buildings still stand'n innit?"
Cassies eyes widened. He wasn't serious…..was he?
Roddys big yawn, however, brought her back to the task at hand.
"Okay, guys. Remember how we all lined up before?" Cassie asked the children. "Let's see if we can do that again, shall we?"
Now it was Logans turn to goggle at her. "Did you really just say 'shall we'?"
Cassie snarled at him, hustling the children into a line while still keeping hold of Roddy.
Logan smirked, then said; "Let's take'em to one of the lounges. They should be empty right now since classes are in session."
Cassie looked at him skeptically. "Oookay?" She thought back to the oldest ferals words.
~flashback~
"Why the #*$&# is the cubs room in clear view of the street!? Any mutant-hating FoH son of a b*&$& could get a clear shot at the cubs!"
~end flashback~
"Er," she ventured hesitantly. "What about windows?"
Logan looked at her knowingly, his face turning cloudy and grumpy. She almost expected a rain-cloud to appear over his head like Eyore. "There's a lounge in the basement with no windows. Comfy enough. Damn, Chuck." He mumbled the last bit to himself.
She nodded, for once deciding to ignore the curse. "Why don't you take us there?"
Logan looked warily at the cafeteria doors. "Maybe we should wait for Vic—Sabretooth ta get back."
Cassie rolled her eyes. "And let this bunch get even crankier? Heck no. Lead on Spiky, and you can turn on your purr when we get there." She motioned for Logan to take the lead.
Logan looked at her, dumbfounded. "Spiky!?"
She huffed in frustration. "Because your hair comes up in two spikes." She knelt down with a little difficulty (Roddy was still on her hip) to pull a childs finger out of her nose where she was 'prospecting for gold' which she would undoubtedly eat. "We don't do that, sweetie."
The four-year old looked like she was about to cry.
Cassie glared at the Wolverine. "Logan. Lounge. Now."
Logan gave a low growl, not liking to be commanded, but Cassie just snarled right back.
The Wolverine then huffed, but began to lead the children towards one of the downstairs lounges.
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VOCABULARY:
TIMBRE: n: the distinctive sound of a voice or a musical instrument.