AN: Taking some constructive criticism (much appreciated, by the way) into consideration, I've started fixing some of the small things that have been pointed out before moving on to the next chapter. First and foremost, section breaks. Many of you have pointed out that they would be helpful, and I agree. In fact, I agreed while writing all of this, and for some reason upon uploading the chapters...all the break symbols mysteriously vanished. That being said, I have started inserting line breaks into the chapters (where they were originally *shrug*). Second, some of you have pointed out that you're not always sure which character you're being presented with at a given time. Part of that is done on purpose, for example the second section of this chapter. I am working on trying to build up some shock and awe, and I'm trying to do with with a cast of characters that one would not typically see grouped in a story together. Marvel has created a universe, that I am dutifully trying to preserve within this story. As a universe...you never know who might show up. However, there are points where I am now realizing that I don't say who a character is when I probably should, which is simply my own lack of 'outsight' (opposite of insight) as I call it. So I'm going to make it a point to a) correct that error and b) avoid making that mistake in future chapters. Never let it be said that suggestions were not welcome, and thank you for making me aware of them. Also, thank you for all the praise, I am glad that my hours of editing (though apparently not entirely enough) have paid off and that you have enjoyed what I have written so far. So, enjoy some more!
96% проб ДНК оказались жизнеспособными. На данный момент проект, похоже, увенчалась успехом. Образцы будут продолжать быть выбраны для дальнейшего изучения.
She stared blankly at the words on the screen in front of her, letting her head rest like a leaden weight on one hand. A pencil twirled idly in her other hand, occasionally stopping its dance to tap erratically on the notepad below. She had most of it: "96% of the DNA samples have proven blank. At this point the project appears to be a success. Samples will continue to be chosen for further study."
Yet another pencil snapped in two with an audible crack and she slammed her now empty fist down on the notepad, leaving an accidental indentation in the soft pine of the desk underneath. "Dang it!" Rogue moved the pad and rubbed two fingers over the impression, as if she could erase it away with a touch like she did so many other things.
The door behind her creaked open and she jumped, only to find the man whose desk she had now permanently marred walking toward her. "Find something, chere?"
She let out a disgusted sigh and passed him the legal pad, slouching back in his black leather chair. "That's most of it, sugah. Not that it seems all that scandalous." She watched as he rifled through her pages of notes.
He peered at the notes, turning them sideways and cocking his head in the opposite direction. "Ya handwritin' is atrocious, chere! Anybody ever done told you dat?"
"Har, har, har." She mocked him, and snatched the pad back in one fluid motion while pushing the pieces of pencil still remaining on the desk into the trash basket at her feet with their kin, who had suffered a similar demise at her hands already. "A lot of it is just financial stuff, like you'd find in a company dossier." He looked on intently as she flipped to a page in her notes. She cleared her throat and adjusted her posture so she was sitting completely upright. "The third quarter earnings reached their target of 23% growth over the last fiscal quarter. If fourth quarter earnings meet the projection then the company will stand to produce a total gross…" she let the snotty voice she had adopted for the reading trail off following the Cajun's apparent attention. "It's this last stuff that's gotta be a gold mine, only mention of what this company actually does, but they make it so sketchy. Feels like tryin' ta track a ghost."
Remy grabbed the notes back and read the final few sentences to himself, running his finger along with the text. "Rogue, y'missin' a word here." He stabbed his index finger at the blank space that ended the first sentence of the entry.
"Ah know…" she shrugged. "I can't for the life of me figger out what it might be. It ain't somethin' that's in my vocabulary." She let her body slump back into the chair, fingers tapping out a staccato rhythm on the arm rests.
Remy's eyes glanced dubiously at her over the pages. "Kinda an important word, Rogue. You got no idea what it might be?"
She felt her body stiffen in response to the accusation lurking under the benign tone. Remy thought she was hiding something. "No clue." The deadpan statement fell between the two, initiating a staring match that Rogue knew she didn't stand a chance of winning.
Yet, for some reason unknown to her, Remy backed down first. "Sorry, chere. Y'done some good work here. Merci bien." He nodded, and she mirrored the gesture. "If y'don' mind though, I be t'inkin' some sleep might be a good idea…" he finished the sentence by sweeping his arm toward the door.
Rogue let her eyes close briefly, inhaling and exhaling deeply in relief before standing. Whoever, or whatever, had put the message into the damn Cajun's brain that he needed to start taking care of himself deserved a very large hug. "No problem, sugah." She sauntered toward the doorway, her mind pondering what she needed to get done most urgently with the remaining hours in the day. Her hand was inches from the doorknob when the sound of Remy clearing his throat made her pause and turn.
He was leaning against the desk, hair hanging in his face and those damned devil eyes shining out from beneath the tendrils. Rogue knew the stance well, this was Remy's 'I'm apologizing in advance for what I'm about to say' posture. Nothing good ever came out of his mouth when he looked at her like that. Instinctively her hands found her hips, bracing herself against whatever was about to spew from Gambit's mouth. "Y'could always ask Piotr," he paused, scuffing one toe against the floor. "He might be able t'translate dat word."
Leave it to Remy LeBeau to never let a girl's expectations down. She thought, letting the instinctual tension flow through her body, clenching muscles painfully tight before allowing the feeling to dissipate like the morning fog. Soundlessly she pivoted back to the door and let herself into the hallway, making a forceful effort to not slam the door hard enough to shatter it. She could not believe he dared to ask her to use her powers like that, to delve into the depths of her muddied subconscious and pull Colossus' ghost up like some sort of tool to fix their problems. He, like everybody else, failed to understand what it was like to dig into her mind for the ghosts of psyches past. Once their essence passed into her mind, any friendship they had possessed was null and void. The victim became the prisoner, and she the reluctant warden. The fact that she would gladly grant all of them freedom if only she knew how didn't seem to matter, and she didn't have the heart to blame the crowd that called her mind home for hating her so intensely. That was what made using their thoughts and gifts all the more wrong, especially the ghosts who didn't have bodies to go home to. It was worse than mind rape, it was grave robbing, and it was something that Rogue could not find the heart to do to anybody, least of all someone who had once been more than just simply a friend.
By the time he stepped off the plane in Moscow his left hand had developed a rather significantly obnoxious twitch that stemmed from the fact that it was not holding a cigarette. It hadn't held a cigarette in over 22 hours, and it was damn unhappy with that particular situation. This was the true reason why he tried not to fly, though he passed it off as environmental activism in order to impress women. They tended to respond to that more proactively than they did a nicotine addiction. Strolling down the walkway toward customs he took in the scene around him. Plenty of businessmen and blondes, just the way he liked it. He adjusted his necktie slightly in an effort to control the twitching and mentally reminded himself there was a lovely carton of smokes waiting for him at his hotel room…assuming Theoren hadn't forgotten. There would be hell to pay if he had forgotten, that was damn sure.
After what had seemed to be hours he finally reached customs and fished his lovingly crafted passport out of his blazer pocket. It was something that had only taken mere hours for the thieves to furnish, including stamps from visits to countries around the globe such as Fiji. For some reason he had insisted on Fiji, a businessman such as himself needed to take vacations every now and again, and he liked thinking that at least his fake persona for this particular job had actually made it to Fiji. Fiji was warm, something Russia in November was devastatingly lacking. A reaction shiver went up his spine at the thought of what awaited him past the protection of these walls.
He reached the intake desk that he had lined up for and looked up in time to see blue eyes, blonde hair and just a slight peek of cleavage. Perhaps Russia wasn't going to be so bad. Silently she reached her slim hand out for his passport, which he graciously handed over. "You always so friendly, love?" He winked and flashed his most winning smile.
"Your business in Russia Mister….Vitmore?" she asked after glancing briefly at his picture.
"Unfortunately it is business, love. Company meeting I'm afraid, although you're welcome to join me and maybe make it a pleasure trip…." She rolled her eyes, which meant either her English was good, or she had gotten the same proposition often enough that she could tell from his tone that he was up to no good as far as she was concerned. That was good too, not that he wouldn't enjoy a good romp, but his identity as a successful businessman, one used to getting his way everywhere he went, was holding up.
"How long vill you be staying in our country?" she asked, simultaneously checking items off on his intake form.
"Long enough to show you a good time…" she frowned and he laughed. "About two weeks."
She nodded, "and you vill be staying…."
"At the Metropol Hotel…" she checked off the last item on the list and reached for the stamp. "suite 4, second floor." He arched his eyebrows suggestively, making the poor suffering Irina (as her name tag informed him in two languages) glare at him under her fringe of bangs before stamping his passport somewhat more violently than he thought the job required.
She handed the red booklet back to him almost grudgingly and muttered "Velcome to Russia, enjoy your stay. Next!" Pete Wisdom chuckled to himself under his breath. Yes, despite having work to do, he was planning on enjoying his time in Russia. Perhaps Irina wouldn't be on the list of special suite guests, but he was fairly sure there would be time to find a beauty or two to impress before this job was finished. And with the Thieves Guild footing the bill, he most certainly had the wherewithal to impress any lady of his choosing. Maybe working for the American Thieves on the side wasn't such a bad gig after all. The government never let him have this kind of fun. He approached the sliding glass doors, frosted over from the elements to prevent his view of the driver and car that had best be waiting for him. He hitched his over coat a bit higher on his shoulders to pull it tighter around him and firmed his grip on the satchel he had been carrying, his only luggage. The queen never made you freeze off your goolies either. With that last less than pleasant thought he took a deep breath, held it and stepped onto the activating mat to open the first set of sliding doors.
The sunlight streaming in through the large bay windows in this parlor had always been ideal for two things: napping and reading. The result had been a somewhat half-hearted conversion of the parlor into a library complete with plush chairs and one lonely plant that Jubilee had named "Boy George" what seemed to be a lifetime ago. Bobby wondered if he was the only current mansion occupant who remembered that the plant even had a name. Looking at the wilting leaves he wondered if he was the only one who remembered that poor Boy George existed. With a thought an icicle appeared between two fingers, and Bobby sunk it into the soil in the pot, trusting that it would suffice for a drink as it melted. That done, he turned to the only other person in the room.
Nick lounged in a large overstuffed cream chair, with his feet up on a mismatched ottoman. The book in his hands, a scientific thriller, Bobby recognized as being supplied to the library by Longshot almost a decade ago. Nick's thick black hair and the book hid his face, though Bobby wasn't entirely concerned with seeing the kid's expression. He walked over and kicked Nick's feet off the ottoman, making him jump. Easily Bobby slid himself onto the footstool, making himself comfortable. "You ask a lot of questions, kiddo. You're looking to find something." Bobby hadn't been asking a question, he wasn't expecting an answer.
The burly young adult shrugged and readjusted himself, one eye appeared over the cover of the paperback. "Curiosity isn't a crime."
"No," Bobby formed another icicle between his fingers with little more than a thought and began twirling it idly, watching it go back and forth. "But there's a difference between somebody being curious, and somebody who's digging." The brown eye appeared behind a thin fringe of black hair at the comment, and Bobby took the advantage by locking his gaze on Ricochet's. "The X-Men have never really been fond of diggers."
Nick placed the book face down in his lap and nodded his understanding. "Look, I've read all the files, I know the history. I might be the only person here who has…"
"Because most of us lived it!" Bobby interrupted, his whole fist going to frost as he slammed it down on the footstool. "Don't you dare sit there and get all high and mighty just because you read about some of the stuff we've done and seen. Kid, I was there when Magneto tried to destroy the world, I was there when Jean died, I was there when she came back to life, and I traveled to alternate dimensions and other universes. You can read the files, you can watch the footage, but until you've gone toe to toe with Apocalypse or been sent to the Mojoverse don't sit there and patronize a veteran and don't go asking questions that have nothing to do with the present or getting the job done."
Although he looked satisfactorily mewed, Nick still held an arrogant gleam in his eyes. Bobby didn't like it. "What if the skeletons still left in peoples' closets are gonna get me killed, huh? Wouldn't be the first." Bobby felt his inner core going cold, and tried to hold back the urge to ice up and just deck the punk. "I mean, what? You leader man's guard dog now? I got a right to know everything I'm getting myself into by joining this team."
"Indeed you do." A familiar voice floated over from a darkened corner, where Hank McCoy had apparently been sitting unnoticed. "You also have every right to know that your privacy is under certain protections here. When you are ready to divulge all your own secret information Mr. Papavisilios, I am sure that your teammates will consider doing the same. However, until that time arrives it may be wise to take Robert's advice to heart. For, getting the Wolverine to confess to his own dark past may indeed cost you nothing short of your own beloved cardiac organ."
Bobby watched Nick shake his head, climb out of the large chair and stalk out of the room much like he probably had a few years ago after a good parental scolding. "What do you think, Hank?" Bobby asked, turning to his long time friend.
Hank sighed and made his way toward the now abandoned chair. "I am afraid I do not know what to think. While I would like to trust our new recruits, I understand the danger in that." He paused and rubbed his chin with one blue furry thumb. "Though I must admit, the boy does ask a lot of questions."
Bobby nodded. "And for all they act like they can't stand each other, he has been spending a lot of time with Mystique lately."
"So do you think it is merely her virulent influence upon the boy, or that there is something much more devious afoot?"
Bobby shrugged. "Donno. Right now all I can say is that the kid just asks too many damn questions about things that could very likely start arguments at pretty poor times." He took the book that Nick had left behind, The Cellular Energist, he noted briefly. He handed it back to Hank, who placed it lovingly on it's shelf. "If I didn't know better I'd swear part of his mutation is the ability to start fights." Looking toward the doorway over Hank's shoulder where Nick had exited he noted Rogue storming down the hallway. "And there goes our knockout queen, looking like she just left a brawl." She stopped in the entry, and Bobby nodded to her. "Gambit still breathing?"
"Less'n you know somethin' Ah don't, sugah." She turned to Hank and handed him a piece of paper. "Beast, Ah was hopin' ya could give a girl a hand here. Ah cain't, fer the life of me, figger out what in tarnation this word translates to in English. Ah thought ya might have a computer program, or…"
Hank held up a hand to stall her, and removed his spectacles with a flourish. "That will not be necessary, my dear. This is Russian for 'viable', a medical term that I ran into fairly frequently during my work on the Legacy vaccine."
"Viable," Rogue muttered to herself while Bobby and Hank stared at her. She seemed to be lost in a world of her own, staring at nothing across the room. "96% viable, the samples are good. The project is a success…."
"That sounds like good news." Bobby offered, watching Rogue slowly go white.
She turned and looked at him, her eyes finally finding purchase as they locked with his. "No, sugah. Ah got a feelin' this is bad news."
"Well, what project are you referring to?" Hank asked, peering curiously at her.
"Ah don't know, darlin'. But anytime somebody the swamprat investigates has a success, it always spells trouble for us. Dang it!" She stomped her left foot, slightly harder than she probably intended, and Bobby had to reach out to steady poor Boy George before he met his maker after meeting the floor. Hank arched an eyebrow at her, and Bobby graced her with a confused look. "Now Ah gotta go wake 'im up, he'll kill me if Ah don't tell him alla this right away. An' here Ah thought he was finally gonna get some sleep!" With that she turned and sped back down the hallway back toward her point of origin, which if Bobby had to guess, was Gambit's suite.
He looked over his shoulder at Hank. "You don't think they're dating again, do you?"
Henry McCoy sighed, then chuckled. "For the sake of the property and the cost of all the repairs that are usually part and parcel with Gambit and Rogue's romantic endeavors I certainly hope that is not the case. Yet, Love is a spirit of all compact of fire. William Shakespeare."
"Please don't give them ideas!" Bobby moaned. "The last thing we need is them burning down the house….again."
