When Logan roared up to the mansion at 2:47 a.m. and saw lights blazing, he knew there'd been an attack.
It shouldn't have been a shock -- hell, it shouldn't have happened, but they'd gotten lazy. It'd been months since their failed attempt to track Marie to a lab, months that ticked by quickly as they gathered as much information as possible on just how mutants were disappearing. They'd made progress, filled in a few more of the pieces of the puzzle, but the larger picture remained obscure. And in retrospect, they'd let themselves get complacent during months of relative peace. At least in Westchester County.
Looked like that peace had ended rather abruptly.
Heart pounding, Logan ditched the bike and ran for the door. Marie was inside, and they knew about her mutation, and they knew about the setup, and she was the most likely target, and why the hell had he agreed to such an idiotic scouting mission, anyway? It was a longshot, a reconnaissance mission based on a few rumors and a "Government Property -- Keep Out" sign, and it had yielded no concrete evidence. He should've been at the mansion when they needed him, when *she* needed him.
Bursting into the foyer, the first thing Logan saw was Ororo in one of her silk nightgowns, sitting alone in the large, dimly lit recreation room. Crying.
Fuck. He swallowed down the panic and reached her side in a few long steps. "What happened?"
"The professor," Ororo answered flatly, ignoring the tears rolling down her cheeks.
Sharp, fierce relief that she hadn't said Marie's name, and then the guilt hit. Logan glanced around, looking for Marie, needing to see her with his own eyes, even as he processed Ororo's words. She couldn't possibly mean it. She couldn't. "Yeah?" Logan prompted, knowing his voice was gruff with fear and anger, but unable to soften his tone.
Ororo drew a shuddering breath. "The professor is dead."
Logan's eyes shut against the words, against the knowledge, against the pain. The pieces slid into place, and the professor's murder made a sickening sense. The easiest way to leave a team in disarray is to take out the team leader, and the people behind this were many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. "How?"
"It's hard to kill a telepath," said a bitter voice from behind Logan.
He turned and was shocked that such bone-deep bitterness had come from Scott. The younger man wore plaid flannel pajama pants, a dark blue t-shirt, and an uncharacteristically hard expression.
"Yeah?" Logan asked again. He had about seventeen questions he wanted answered as quickly as possible, but he knew they were still in shock, still processing the enormity of their loss. From their demeanor, Logan knew there was no immediate threat, no immediate opportunity to visit justice upon the murderers, so the least he could do was let Scott and Ororo tell the story at their own
pace.
"If you come after a telepath who's awake," Scott continued grimly, "there's a very real possibility you'll end up dead. Or, if the telepath is Charles, wandering the streets of Manhattan convinced you're a lost little girl."
Something in Logan's chest twisted painfully, leaving him slightly short of breath. "He threatened me with that once," he managed. The memory should've made him smile.
Scott exchanged looks with Ororo as the silence spooled out. After a moment, his jaw clenched, and he said softly, "They killed him in his sleep. Two bullets to the brain."
Ororo sniffled, wrapping her arms around herself. "It was over before we knew they were here."
Logan nodded, imagining being awoken by the sickening sound of gunfire. "They assassinated him and just left?"
"Yes."
"No one else was harmed?"
"No."
He still needed to see Marie with a desperation that scared him, but he kept himself in check. Just a few minutes longer. Then he'd find her. "Why no one else?" Logan asked. "Awfully risky to take him out *here,* with all of us around."
Scott barked out a bitter laugh and turned to the window. "Our presence didn't do him a hell of a lot of good, Logan."
"Scott--"
"Forget it."
Logan opened his mouth to argue, but Ororo raised her anguished gaze to his. "They're killing the telepaths, Logan. The rest of us they want alive."
And like a camera sliding into focus, Logan saw the complete picture. "Now we have no early warning system, no way to figure out what they're planning or when they're coming for us."
Scott turned back to face him. "Last time you didn't need one."
True enough, Logan supposed, but then again tearing through the mansion clawing everything that moved wasn't one of his favorite memories. And what happened afterwards was worse. "They won't try that again," Logan decided. "Not until they have the stronger mutants in custody."
*Not until they capture the X-Men.*
He left the last part unspoken, but when Logan glanced at Ororo, she nodded her agreement.
Scott grimaced. "You're right."
"Wish I wasn't." Logan shifted his weight. "I didn't find anything." Scott and Ororo fixed blank stares on him, so he added, "Tonight. In Vermont. But they've been there recently."
"Who?" Ororo asked.
"Mutants," Logan answered grimly. "A lot of mutants."
"A former lab," Ororo guessed, and Scott just nodded.
Logan didn't have the patience to fill them in on the few scraps of evidence he'd unearthed and the conclusions he'd drawn, and he knew they were too stressed to hear it. Besides, their world had narrowed to this mansion, to this sudden loss. The rest of mutantkind would have to watch out for themselves, at least for a couple days. The X-Men had a leader to bury.
God. Logan couldn't quite believe the idealistic old bastard was dead. He'd always seemed so... ageless.
"Logan."
He looked up, turned back to Scott. "Yeah?"
"She's in the medlab. We -- we're keeping -- him -- there for now. Until the morning. Rogue -- she didn't want to leave him alone."
Logan closed his eyes. No, she wouldn't. She'd sit there, back straight, eyes dry, until someone came to take over for her. Logan didn't want to think about what would happen after that. He needed to get to her.
"Thanks," he told Scott.
Scott nodded, his body taut with strain. Ororo gave Logan the hint of a smile, wiped the traces of tears from her cheeks, and reached for Scott's arm. Logan dipped his chin in understanding -- tonight, they'd take care of their teammates, and tomorrow, when the shock faded and the grief hit, they'd somehow put themselves back together again.
Rogue sat frozen on the cold metal chair, her body held rigidly still to stave off the trembling. It was her watch, and she owed it to the professor to stay calm. She had no idea how much time had passed since Hank left, since Scott brought her a glass of water, since Ororo handed her a sweater. Could've been hours since they'd carried his body through the halls, past the wide-eyed students, and down to the medlab to await... whatever came next. Burial, Rogue supposed.
Burial. The professor would be buried.
She'd been staring at his lifeless body for -- well, she wasn't sure for how long, but a long time, and it still didn't make any sort of sense to her. How could the professor be dead? The professor who'd sat with her for three hours a week, guiding her through the chaos of her mind, encouraging her to attempt control of her skin, offering his kindness and his generosity to a twice-abandoned girl, helping her grow into a strong, independent woman.
Rogue couldn't seem to stop watching the professor, waiting for him to move, to breathe, to disprove this absurd idea that he could be *dead.* Nothing happened. His chest stayed unnaturally still beneath the stark white sheet. His eyes remained stubbornly closed. And those two garish holes in his forehead didn't disappear, no matter how many times she wished it.
The door behind Rogue slid open, but she didn't move. She knew it was Logan by the cadence of his footsteps. If she weren't so numb, she might've been surprised that she could tell just from his stride that he was battling fear and grief.
"Marie."
Just that, just her name, and it was enough to make her crack. The tears began to fall, tracking down her cheeks. She didn't bother to wipe them away, knowing it would be pointless. She merely stared at the form on the medlab table.
Logan reached her side, one hand landing on her shoulder, a comforting anchor. "You okay?" he asked.
The strangled noise she made in response bore very little resemblance to laughter. "No," she answered, her words choked.
"Yeah," Logan sighed. He stepped forward, his hand still resting on her shoulder, and gazed down at Xavier's body. Aside from the two angry red entrance wounds in his smooth forehead, he looked as if he were merely asleep.
Logan's breathing quickened, hitched, and Rogue reached for him, turning him toward her with one tug on his belt loop. He was still in his leather jacket, must've come straight down to her as soon as he'd heard. She wanted to explain, to tell him that they'd tried to go after the assassins, that she and Scott and Bobby had run full out for the forest, that they'd run and run and run until they hit the road and it didn't matter because the killers were gone and the professor was dead. God. The professor was dead.
Rogue realized someone was sobbing, and it took her a moment to understand that it was *her.* Logan hauled her up out of the cold metal chair and into his warm embrace, crushing her to him. He was shaking in her arms, fighting his own tears, and Rogue held on as tightly as she could.
She needed him, needed to crawl inside of him, needed the sweet oblivion of his body moving with hers.
"Logan," she groaned, pressing her hips against his. She bit his shoulder carefully, unable to put her request into words.
"Marie--"
"Please," she said, pulling back so she could look up at his blurry face. She swiped angrily at her eyes. "Logan..." She hated the way she sounded, the soggy, broken tone of voice, but she couldn't stop the tears, and she needed to make him understand.
He stared at her, those hazel eyes full of anguish and indecision, his breathing harsh. After a long moment, he looked down and pulled away, and Rogue started to crumble, started to turn from him. His gloved hand grabbed hers, tangling their fingers together.
"Not here." He moved quickly, pulling her out of the lab, away from death, away from reality. She stumbled along behind him, not paying attention to where he was leading her, not caring so long as Logan was there. He hesitated in the hallway, then dragged her into the room that stored their uniforms, kicking the door shut behind them.
Rogue launched herself at him, twining her arms around his neck, savoring the strength with which he crushed her to him, not even caring that she couldn't breathe properly when he held her so tightly. She clung to him fiercely, relieved that he was as desperate as she.
But desperation didn't do anything for her control. She was too distraught to center herself, so she kissed his lips, his jaw, his chin, his eyelids quickly over and over, backing off when she felt the tingle of his thoughts. Her hands worked feverishly, pushing his jacket off and away, cupping the impressive bulge in his jeans, tracing the hard lines of his chest.
Logan kept up with her, mumbling her name as those talented fingers squeezing her breasts, tracing patterns on her abdomen, sliding down, down between her thighs. Gasping sharply, Rogue pulled back and dropped to her knees, tugging Logan along with her to the floor because she couldn't wait one second longer. He landed hard, his thigh on hers, and she would have bruises tomorrow but she didn't care. She needed this, needed him, needed to feel alive.
Logan peeled off her pants and she rescued his wallet to fish out a condom. He pulled one silk-covered nipple into his mouth and she unzipped his fly. He kissed her hard through her scarf and she tugged him closer. And then he was inside her, already moving hard and fast and deep. The polished tile floor hurt her back, but it barely registered, because he was all she could feel, all she could think about. Nothing else mattered, not while he was groaning into her neck and she was gasping for air. He slammed into her, and she arched against him, and it was over in a blinding flash of heat and pleasure and sweet oblivion.
As they came down, struggling to get their breathing under control, Logan tugged her scarf free and kissed her so, so tenderly.
When he pulled back, there were tears on his cheeks and she began to weep.
God. The professor was dead.
Logan didn't think he could sleep sitting up, and he was mostly right. He dozed, though, with Marie curled up beside him on the couch, her head resting on his thigh.
She still hadn't wanted to leave the professor unguarded, fearing the monsters who thought nothing of pouring molten adamantium onto Logan's bones would do far worse to a dead body. It was irrational -- he knew and she knew that if they'd wanted Xavier, they'd have taken him -- but she'd been determined to stay, so Logan spent the night dozing on an uncomfortable couch outside the medlab.
He didn't bother looking at his watch, but figured it was just before dawn when he heard the elevator doors open. Logan recognized Scott's steady footsteps and glanced down at Marie. Still asleep, breathing evenly, hot puffs of air warming his thigh on each exhale.
Scott rounded the corner and faltered when he saw them. He looked better than the night before, dressed in his usual khakis and a crisp button-down shirt, but there was a weariness in his posture, in his movements that suggested the improvements were mostly superficial. "Morning," Scott said.
Logan nodded, watching the younger man carefully. It was so damn hard to read his expression without being able to see his eyes, but Logan had picked up enough to recognize that Scott was holding himself rigidly in check.
Scott looked at the sleeping woman in Logan's lap. "She okay?"
Reflexively, Logan looked down at Marie, his gaze catching on the small, gloved hand resting on his knee. "Yeah," he answered, knowing Scott could read the "relatively " into his words. Today's version of "okay" was very different from yesterday's. Logan's hand drifted from the back of the couch down to Marie's shoulder.
"You can take her to bed," Scott said, and it was a testament to their dark mood that neither man reacted to the double entendre. "I'm going to sit with -- with him. For a while."
"Go on. I'll wake her once you're inside," Logan offered, keeping his gaze on Marie's shiny brown hair. Scott was so close to breaking that Logan figured an armful of crying Marie would be too much for him to handle.
"Thanks." Scott hesitated at the medlab door, half turning. "Logan, you're going to be around for a while, right?"
"Nowhere else to be just now," Logan answered, automatically resorting to light sarcasm.
"Logan--"
"Yes," he interrupted, understanding the desperation underlying Scott's words. His world was changing rapidly -- first Jean, now the professor -- and he needed some things to remain the same. Logan looked up at Scott. "I'm in this. I'm not going to walk away." The muscles under Logan's hand tensed, and he knew Marie was awake. He squeezed her shoulder gently, willing her to stay quiet.
"Good," Scott said. "I need a -- We need strong leaders now that..." Scott tilted his head towards the medlab door.
"The team already has a strong leader, Cyclops."
Scott gave a derisive snort. "I can lead the team into battle, but--"
"But nothing," Logan interrupted, his tone brusque because Scott didn't need pity or compassion right now. "Everyone already looks to you to lead. You're it."
Scott stood there in silence, head bowed, for a long moment. "I don't know if I'm ready," he confessed quietly.
"Charles's assassins didn't leave any of us much choice," Logan replied. "But you are." He turned his attention back to Marie, giving Scott some space. "Go on in."
Scott nodded. "Get some sleep." He took a steadying breath and disappeared into the medlab.
Marie shifted in Logan's lap, rolling over onto her back to gaze up at him with tear-filled eyes. "That was sweet."
Logan made a face and grumbled something indecipherable.
"It was," Marie insisted, running a hand through her hair, smoothing down the sleep-mussed strands. She pushed herself upright and groaned a little, shifting on the couch.
"You okay?" Logan asked, studying her face.
She flushed, just a little. "I'm fine."
"Oh." Logan reached for her hand. "Sorry."
"No, no. I--" Her skin glowed pink as she fumbled for words. "I needed that. Are you -- Was that okay?"
The uncertainty in her voice was too much for Logan, and he hauled her onto his lap, into his arms. "Of course," he answered, savoring the feel of her body tight against his. "Anything you need, Marie, you just ask me."
She sniffled a little and pulled back, holding his gaze with those big brown eyes. "I love you, too." Before her declaration sank in, before his stunned silence grew uncomfortable, Marie leaned forward and pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips. She untangled herself from his embrace and stood, stretching. "Is it morning?"
"I think so," Logan answered, holding tightly to her hand, too busy processing her words to even think of checking the watch on his wrist.
Marie nodded soberly. "I'm going to find Ororo. She'll need help to plan a service for--" She took a deep, steadying breath, steeling herself to say the words out loud, to make it real. "For the professor."
The next three days passed in a blur for Rogue, a neverending cycle of being strong for Scott and Ororo and Bobby and even Logan, and then collapsing into tears, often into the understanding embrace of Scott or Ororo or Bobby or usually Logan. So far, they seemed to be timing their emotional breakdowns well, so that at least a couple team members were calm and in control at all times.
Still, Rogue was dreading the service, because she had a feeling not a single one of them would make it through without breaking.
*Planning* the service, however, gave them all something constructive to focus on. Most of the practical, logistical decisions were easy -- a choice between several types of flowers, choosing appropriate music for the service, and the like. Every so often, though, they'd run up against a stark reminder of just what they'd lost.
Flipping through his rolodex to find the latest contact information for his former students, Rogue found detailed notes on each card listing birthdays, anniversaries, and ideas for gifts. She sank down into a leather guest chair, and read her own card through the blurry haze of tears. He'd listed the name and number of a skilled leathercraftsman in Mexico in the corner of her card along with the word "gloves." Rogue clutched the card to her chest and wept.
Scott, who was, like the professor, an avid politics watcher (especially since the HUMAN Act appeared on the horizon), choked on his coffee when he saw the small New York Times piece on Xavier. An odd expression settled on Scott's face, an apprehensive half-smile, and he began to read the article aloud at Jubilee's request. When he got to the paragraph that described the professor's death as an armed robbery gone bad, Scott stopped mid-sentence, folded the paper with sharp, angry motions, threw it onto the table, and stalked off.
And when they couldn't locate several of Xavier's former students through more traditional methods, Ororo instinctively turned to where the professor would be sitting, already forming the request for him to use Cerebro. She looked devastated when she realized what she'd been about to say, mumbling a soft apology before disappearing to her gardens.
There was, of course, no one left to use Cerebro, and so Logan and Scott spent the better part of the afternoon before Xavier's memorial service dismantling key components. It was bitter work tearing down something that the professor had spent so much time and energy to build, but no one wanted the blueprints for such a machine to fall into the hands of the government that was persecuting mutants.
That evening, the two men disappeared for several hours, and Rogue wasn't terribly surprised to find Scott and Logan sprawled in chairs in the small conference room, three empty gin bottles on the table. Logan, whose healing factor prevented him from staying drunk for very long, peered up at her and shrugged. "He needed it."
Rogue nodded, and they manhandled a semi-conscious Scott up to his room and gently put him to bed. When Logan pulled off Scott's ever-present glasses to replace them with the softer night goggles, Rogue was shocked by the long, delicate eyelashes she'd never seen, by the sheer beauty of his face. He looked painfully young and innocent stripped of his armor, nothing like the responsible, disciplined leader she knew him to be.
She couldn't resist, reaching out and tracing her gloved fingertips down his cheek, smiling softly when he mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over.
Logan made a frustrated noise and turned Scott's face back towards them, carefully slipping the night goggles on and fastening the straps.
Touched by his obvious concern, Rogue glanced at Logan. "You're becoming friends."
He rolled his eyes. "Don't start."
"It's sweet," Rogue told him, just to see the disgusted look on his face when she did. She laughed then, for the first time in days, and Logan took her hand to guide her to their room. He gently peeled off her clothes and made love to her with a quiet intensity. Afterwards, she tugged him closer and pressed her face against his chest, wishing she could feel his skin instead of the soft cotton of his t-shirt. She inhaled his scent and closed her eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.
The morning of the professor's memorial service dawned sunny and relatively warm for mid-autumn. Rogue happened to answer the phone when Kurt called from Berlin, sounding exhausted and angry as he explained he wouldn't make the service because Immigration agents had taken him into custody the day before at JFK, questioned him for six hours, and then put him right back on a flight out of the country.
"I wish you could be here," Rogue told him honestly, "but things are bad in the States, Kurt. Maybe it's best if you stay in Europe." When she hung up the phone, she searched for Ororo to pass along Kurt's regards.
Besides Kurt, almost all of the professor's former students had come back to pay their respects. It was a strange contradiction -- the mansion was once again overflowing with people, but they were subdued. Nothing like the colorful energy of sixty schoolchildren that Rogue remembered from her first days in Westchester.
She thought the professor would probably like to see some levity, even given the reason they'd all gathered.
They held the service outside near Ororo's beautiful gardens, and when Rogue heard the whine of a plane's engine during Scott's eulogy, her stomach tightened. What if the government had decided that the easiest solution to the mutant problem was annihilation? One well-timed explosion, and they could take out the X-Men and a significant number of other mutants.
Rogue didn't breathe normally until the plane disappeared into the distance. She didn't know whether to be relieved or horrified when she noticed that Ororo, Bobby, Remy, and Logan had all tensed up at the sound, and Scott's hands had clenched the lectern fiercely. What kind of world was it that Americans could rationally consider the idea that their own government might kill them simply for being mutants?
All things considered, Rogue thought maybe it was for the best that the professor hadn't had to give up his idealism. It had been such a core part of him, such a source of strength for them all. To see him have to adjust to this new reality, to see the professor glance suspiciously at the sky, wary of an attack -- that would have been horrible.
The rest of the service passed without incident, and Ororo and Scott both gave moving memorials to Charles. At one point, Rogue felt someone watching her and turned, glancing over her shoulder. A dignified, solitary figure stood at the edge of the forest, and for once, Rogue's compassion for Erik outweighed her anger at Magneto. He was too far away to see clearly, but she watched him for a moment anyway, then purposefully turned back to the service. Whatever Magneto had done, he and Charles had been close once. Maybe he had a right to be there.
By nightfall, many of the former students had left, and the core group of X-Men drifted into Xavier's private study in groups of two or three. They'd made no plans to congregate, but it seemed they all felt the same compulsion to be among Charles's books and papers. Scott, Ororo, and Bobby sat around a small table near the wall, talking in low tones. Remy slowly rubbed Jubilee's back, soothing the young woman's tears. Hank drew Kitty into a conversation about genetics, amusing her with his proper syntax. And Rogue channeled her Mama, shuttling back and forth to the kitchen to bring a platter of cold cuts, plates, and silverware, despite the fact that they all claimed they weren't hungry.
Logan helped a little by disappearing every so often to unearth another bottle of wine. When he first passed the stemware around, Scott looked like he was considering commenting on Jubilee, Kitty, Bobby and Rogue's ages. Rogue simply raised her eyebrows at him, and Scott gave her a shrug and the barest of smiles.
By the fourth -- or fifth? -- bottle of wine, the stories they told of Charles were less melancholy and more fondly humorous. Mishaps and witty retorts and their favorite moments with him. And as warm laughter faded to a comfortable silence, they all eventually turned their attention to Scott.
He didn't notice at first, head bowed, tracing designs on the condensation clinging to his wineglass. In another setting, Rogue might have teased him for daydreaming. Instead, she simply said his name. Scott looked up, startled. "Yeah?"
Rogue struggled to put her feelings into words. They'd lost the professor, their guiding force and their anchor, all wrapped up into a neat, well-spoken package. And so they'd taken time, paid their respects, let the world go on about its business while they buried their slain leader. But they all knew that the professor wouldn't want them to stay out of the battle for long. So Rogue lifted one shoulder in a shrug and asked, "What do we do now?"
Finally aware that he was the center of attention, Scott shifted uncomfortably. Rogue held her breath, knowing that he was still grappling with his new, unexpected responsibility. But he needed to say something, because this was the beginning of a new phase of the fight.
Scott took an unsteady breath. "We didn't ask for this. In fact, we've done our damnedest for years to prevent what's coming." He paused, cleared his throat. "The professor wanted more than anything for there to be a peaceful solution, but he always knew there was a possibility we'd have to fight. The war started months ago, but they pushed us past the point of no return with two bullets." Scott glanced at each of them in turn. "I know some of you have other commitments, but you are all welcome to stay and fight."
Jubilee spoke first, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. "I withdrew from my classes when you called."
Beside her, Bobby nodded. "I'll do that tomorrow, take a leave of absence from school."
"I am not a fighter," Hank offered, "but I shall do anything within my power to help."
"Remy an X-Man now," said the Cajun, lazily fingering his deck of cards.
"Me, too," Rogue said.
"Me, three," added Kitty.
Ororo simply nodded.
"Jesus, Cyke," Logan snorted, "I'll follow you into battle, but you gotta promise not to give anymore damn speeches."
In the moment of silence that greeted Logan's words, Rogue couldn't decide whether she wanted to slug him or throw her arms around him. Then Scott cracked a grin and Jubilee snickered, so Rogue whacked Logan's arm good-naturedly. "You're supposed to be *nice* to your boss, Logan."
"Thank you, Rogue," Scott interjected, still smiling.
"First of all, Cyke *ain't* my boss," Logan pointed out, that damn eyebrow of his arched cockily. "And second, when have I *ever* been nice to *anyone*?"
With a saucy grin, Rogue mirrored his expression. "I thought you didn't want me to tell the others about the bubblebath," she said innocently.
"Okay." Logan raised his voice to be heard over the laughter. "Enough." He tried his best to look offended, but Rogue caught him sneaking pleased glances at Scott, who was still chuckling even as he leaned closer to hear whatever Hank was saying.
"Don't worry," Rogue murmured. "I'll make it up to you later." The look he gave her in response would've melted chocolate. She threaded her fingers through his and leaned against his shoulder, and her grief eased. It didn't disappear -- she wasn't sure it ever would -- but the pain was mixed with bittersweet recollections of the professor and the comfort she found in her teammates.
And Rogue looked around the room, at the comfortable conversations, still punctuated by the occasional story about the professor, and she thought maybe they'd all be okay.
For two days after the funeral, Logan struggled to remember what normal felt like. Given the unnatural quiet that lingered in the mansion, Logan knew he wasn't the only one searching for a way to live in Xavier's mansion without the professor.
Marie passed some time obsessively dusting the wooden paneling, explaining to a curious Logan that working with her hands helped soothe her mind. She also spent several hours with Hank, quizzing him on his travels.
Since Logan wasn't interested in dusting or Hank, he suggested Danger Room sessions to get the younger X-Men into fighting form. Marie and Jubilee agreed, while Bobby and Kitty made themselves scarce, disappearing into Manhattan to pack up their college lives and move back to the mansion. Remy laughed off the suggestion that he might need help with his hand-to-hand combat skills and wandered off in search of cigarettes.
Scott and Ororo assigned themselves the unenviable task of meeting with Xavier's team of attorneys and sorting through his files. No one even suggested going through Xavier's room. They weren't ready for that.
After their second hour in the Danger Room, Logan halted the program and Jubilee flopped bonelessly to the floor. Marie sagged against a wall, laughing at Jubes' exaggerated moans. "Good God," Jubilee grumbled, "are you trying to kill us?"
"No." Logan tried to think of something more encouraging than "not bad" to tell her, but settled for a shrug. He turned away from the women, rescuing several towels perched precariously on the chair beside the door.
Marie smoothed sweat-dampened hair off her forehead and refastened her hair clip. "Showers then lunch?" she suggested, accepting the proferred towel with a smile.
Jubilee opened her eyes and frowned, but didn't otherwise move. "Do I have to get up?"
"I'm certainly not going to *carry* you to the showers," Marie answered.
Logan stopped beside Jubilee and dropped the towel on her face. "Get up."
Jubilee groaned and pushed herself into a seated position, scrubbing at the back of her neck with the towel. "Evil man."
"Let's eat," Logan said by way of an answer.
Jubilee lobbed her sweaty towel at him and stood, preceding Logan and Rogue out the door and into the hallway.
Twenty minutes later, Logan wasn't particularly surprised to find that he was the first one in the dining room. He wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a plateful of food and a beer from his personal stash. He chose an empty table, and tucked in, greeting Marie and Jubilee with a wordless grunt when they arrived.
"Geez," Jubilee snorted. "Good burger?"
Logan gave her a glare and continued eating. He'd never quite understood the point of conversing over dinner, but Marie and Jubilee chatted amiably about all manner of inconsequential things while Logan polished off his second burger.
Before Marie and Jubilee finished their food, Scott appeared in the doorway and motioned to Logan. "You got a minute?"
"Sure." Logan wondered if Scott was thinking about the professor's telepathy. He'd been able to call the X-Men to meetings or pre-mission briefings without traipsing all over the mansion to find them.
"Good," Scott answered. "I'd like to hear about the night -- about Vermont."
Logan glanced at the women as he stood. "You coming?"
Jubilee perked up. "Really? We can come?"
Marie wiped her hands, slipped on her gloves, and stood. "I'm in."
"Me, too, chica," Jubilee decided, jumping to her feet. Then she groaned and arched her back, rubbing at her left side. Logan quirked an eyebrow at her obvious discomfort and she glared back. "Slavedriver."
"Lazyass."
Marie smacked his arm. "Be nice."
"Yeah," Jubilee added with a wicked grin. "I could use a bubblebath." She shrieked and ran to hide behind Scott when Logan gave a menacing growl and reached for her.
Logan couldn't know, of course, but he was pretty sure that Scott rolled his eyes at them before turning. "C'mon."
Marie pressed a kiss to his muttonchop and pulled him into the hallway. Logan followed her, willingly settling beside her on the leather couch in Xavier's study. Jubilee claimed an overstuffed stool and folded her legs into impossible angles in what had to be a yoga pose. Ororo occupied one wingback chair, and Scott took the other, their gazes settling on Logan.
Logan glanced at Marie and Jubilee. "I went up to Vermont just before the professor was killed," he explained, not sure how much they knew about his recon mission. "Small town called South Wallingford, not too far east of the New York border." He turned back to Ororo. "I'd lay money that it was a lab not long ago."
She nodded. "Did you find any evidence?"
Logan actually half-grinned. "Nothing tangible, but it's an old warehouse that was recently scrubbed. Thoroughly scrubbed. Most of the scent trails from the door led to the small parking area, but a few led out into a nearby field and just disappeared."
Marie looked puzzled. "Disappeared?"
Logan nodded. "Happens when someone leaves by air."
"Oh," she said. "A helicopter?"
"Probably." Logan glanced over at Scott. "It was a lab."
Scott frowned. "What exactly did you smell?"
Logan shifted, searching for a way to describe the scents and impressions. "Mutants. More than a few. Probably twenty or more, but they used bleach in the cleanup, so it's hard to be sure."
"Is that it?" Scott pressed, leaning foward, elbows on knees. "Because that could just as easily be a hideout for mutants on the run."
"Mutants on the run with helicopters?" Jubilee asked skeptically. "I'd hide out at the Waldorf if I had enough money to buy a *helicopter*?"
Logan gave her an amused look. "There's more," he told Scott, trying to ignore Marie's concerned gaze. It was frightening how well she could read him, especially when he considered himself to be pretty damn unreadable when he wanted to be. "It smelled like..." Terror. Terror and pain and despair. It smelled like--
"Your nightmares," Marie said softly. He jerked his head around and stared at her. Wide, understanding eyes watched him carefully. "Right?"
"Yeah," he answered roughtly. "Just like -- Yeah."
One gloved hand settled lightly on his knee as she turned to the others. "You really can smell fear, and not just regular fear. Not like a group of mutants on the run and worried they might be caught." She paused, her fingers tightening on his knee. "This is different. It's... visceral. It's--" She broke off, frustrated. "It's not fear of the unknown. It's the opposite. It's stark, blinding terror that you know exactly what's going to happen next, because it's happened to you before."
Unable to speak, Logan nodded his agreement.
Scott seemed to think that over a moment. "How can you--?"
"I have his nightmares," Marie answered with a sad smile. "I feel everything just like he does, with his senses."
God. What Logan wouldn't give to make sure she never had to experience his own personal horror show again. He covered her hand with his in a completely inadequate gesture of apology.
"Okay," Scott said, straightening up. "Do you think you could--?"
He broke off, mouth agape, as a frantic Kitty phased through a bookcase and halted, eyes wide.
"Oh, God," Marie breathed. "Bobby."
Kitty looked over at Marie and nodded. "They got Bobby."
The room erupted in chaos around her, but all Rogue could think was that if she'd only succeeded in getting well and truly caught, none of this would've happened. The professor would be alive and well and Kitty and Jubilee and Bobby would be in the city at college. She swiped her tears away angrily.
One heavy arm landed around her shoulders and a gruff voice said, "Marie."
She turned her face away from Logan, knowing that if she let herself accept his comfort, she'd break down completely. And she couldn't afford such self-indulgence until Bobby was home safe. "I'm fine," she muttered, regulating her breathing, pulling herself up straight. Logan didn't reply, but he dropped his arm down behind her, rubbing her back in small, comforting circles.
"From the beginning," Ororo told Kitty, taking the younger woman's hands in her own as she settled Kitty in the chair that matched Jubilee's stool. "Slowly."
Kitty nodded and took a calming breath. "Bobby withdrew from his classes this morning and we split up to pack our things. We were supposed to meet for lunch at this place near the park. He was late, and he likes to walk through the park, so I started through on 85th to meet him." She blinked rapidly, then let out an unsteady breath. "I heard something and I just knew it was Bobby. He was fighting back, but there were so many of them." With a glance at Scott, she added, "About a dozen, maybe more."
"Good, Kitty," Scott answered as Jubilee slid her stool closer to Kitty to give the other girl a quick hug.
Rogue couldn't move, barely breathing as she waited for Kitty to continue, to finish. She needed to hear the rest.
"He kept putting up ice walls around himself, but they had flamethrowers and then Bobby saw me and yelled for me to run. But I couldn't leave him there so I ran towards them and Bobby was waving me off and he didn't see the one behind him and then they shot him," she concluded in a rush. "With a tranquilizer," she clarified. "He fell in this lump and two of them picked him up and dragged him away, and the others started after me so I ran." Kitty buried her face in her hands. "I'm so sorry."
Rogue and Logan exchanged bleak looks.
"You did the exact right thing," Scott told her firmly. "You were outnumbered and if you'd both been captured, we wouldn't have known where to start the search."
Beside Rogue, Logan shifted forward, fixing an intent gaze on Kitty. "Can you show me exactly where they captured him?"
"Yes." Kitty wiped away the tears on her cheeks. "They put him in a black Explorer, couple years old. Government plates."
Rogue didn't remember much about her brief adventure in a government-issue SUV, but she'd give anything to spare Bobby a similar fate. Of course, this time no one was following, so they'd have no reason to toss Bobby onto the side of the road. They'd take him straight to a lab. Rogue closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on keeping her breathing even.
Ororo gave Kitty a smile. "You did very well, Kitty."
"Do you remember weaponry?" Logan asked, exchanging a look with Scott. Off Jubilee's confused look, Logan shrugged. "Might be able to figure out what branch of the military."
They'd studied weaponry a little at Scott's insistence, but Rogue knew none of the younger X-Men could recognize models on sight. Still, they'd been trained to remember details, so Kitty bit her lip, staring at the floor as she thought about it. "Um... I think... Not much larger than a pistol, but there was something that looked like a clip in the middle of the gun. And a strange metal..." Kitty shrugged. "Like a loop right at the front."
"Sounds like a Skorpion," Logan said, and his flat tone told Rogue that he did not like the implications at all. Of course, Rogue had no idea what the implications were, but from the sober expressions on Scott and Ororo's faces, she knew they'd reached the same distasteful conclusion as Logan.
"Who uses Skorpions?" Jubilee asked warily.
"The H.S.E.," Scott muttered, and Rogue swallowed a groan as he continued, "Enforcement arm of the Department of Human Security."
"They have their own *military*?" Jubilee demanded, her tone incredulous.
"Yes," Ororo answered with a slight grimace.
"Oh," Jubilee said. "Well, shit."
"Yeah," Rogue agreed. She turned an expectant look Scott's way. "What now?"
Scott hesitated for a moment, but when he spoke, he was all business, all Fearless Leader. "Kitty, you take Logan to Central Park. Logan, try to track Bobby. The rest of us will split up -- defensive team stays here to protect the children and as last-resort backup for the offensive team, which goes in when Lgoan finds Bobby."
Ororo took up the thread. "Bobby's safe return is our primary objective, but if there are other mutants being held, we free as many as we can."
Logan rose. "Kitty?"
Kitty jumped to her feet. "Can I -- Can I just have five minutes?"
"Garage," Logan answered with a brief nod. "Five minutes." Kitty murmured her thanks and left, while Rogue stared up at Logan. He was such a good, kind man, she thought. It would never even occur to him to hold a grudge against Bobby just because he'd had a relationship with Rogue.
"Defensive team," Ororo continued, "Hank, Gambit, and Jubilee--"
"And Rogue," Logan added.
Rogue's warm, fuzzy feelings dissipated rapidly. "Excuse me?"
Logan refused to look at her. "Offensive team should have offensive power: me, Cyclops, and Storm."
"Yeah," Jubilee interjected irritably. "And me. 'Cause blinding pyrotechnics, for instance? Way offensive."
"We need a strong line of defense here," Scott answered, "with the minimum amount of people left behind. That's you and Gambit. Hank will fight if necessary. Jubilee, please fill in Remy and Hank." It was clearly a dismissal, but Jubilee stared Scott down for a long moment before she complied. She still didn't look happy, but Scott turned his attention to Rogue. "Rogue--"
"Is not coming," Logan interrupted.
"Yes, she is," Rogue shot back. "I've kicked your ass in the Danger Room." Logan gave her that damnable eyebrow and she amended, "I've come *really close* to kicking your ass. I'm part of the team and I'm going."
"You're good at hand-to-hand," Logan admitted, and under other circumstances, Rogue would've been thrilled. "But these guys have serious weaponry. You don't have a healing factor, and your particular mutation doesn't work unless you get up close and personal. It's too dangerous."
Rogue glared. "Storm doesn't have a healing factor," she pointed out. "Neither does Cyclops or Kitty."
"Phasing through a wall doesn't leave Kitty with someone else's nightmares," Logan countered, his voice rough with anger.
That stopped Rogue cold. She had no reply to that, because Logan was right. Rogue had no particular craving to experience another round of the aftereffects of using her power anytime soon.
Scott took advantage of the lull to say, "Rogue, you'll fly the jet. Logan, Kitty's waiting."
Jaw clenched, Logan looked back and forth between Scott and Rogue, but neither gave an inch. With an exasperated sigh, he leaned down and pressed a fleeting kiss to Rogue's bare lips. "Be safe," he ordered gruffly.
Gloved fingers pressed to her tingling lips, Rogue nodded as he wrenched open the door. "You, too."
"Rogue?"
She looked over at Ororo, blushing a bit at the older woman's fond smile. "Yeah?"
"Let's get ready."
Logan was impressed when he met Kitty in the garage. She'd changed into loose jeans and a black leather jacket over a dark blue shirt. Sensible choice -- she'd blend into the crowds in Manhattan, and into the nighttime darkness if it became necessary. And she'd composed herself, leaving no trace of the tearful, shaken girl who'd phased into the study twenty minutes earlier.
He may have remained skeptical of Xavier's unflagging optimisim, but Logan had to admit that the professor had turned out some impressive students. Marie, of course, was wise far beyond her years, but the others her age -- Bobby, Jubilee, and Kitty -- displayed a maturity that reflected well on Xavier's School for the Gifted.
"I'm ready," Kitty said, only the slightest trace of nervousness in her voice.
"We'll find him," Logan told her gruffly, then handed her a helmet. He slung a leg over Scott's motorcycle. "Get on."
Kitty swallowed hard. "I don't really like--"
"It's fastest."
Kitty nodded and slipped on the helmet.
"Hang on to me," Logan ordered, starting up the bike. He eased it down the driveway and onto the small country road, giving Kitty a chance to get used to leaning into the curves. "You ready?"
To her credit, Kitty didn't ask for what, just clasped her hands together, arms tight around his rib cage. "Sure."
Logan flicked the switch to activate the nitrous oxide solenoids, then concentrated on steering the speeding bike until they reached the highway. Logan slowed; little too much traffic for going 120, but he still drove fast, weaving around slower cars. He chose the 145th Street bridge and made his way through Harlem down the East Side to Central Park.
"Go down Fifth to 85th," Kitty instructed.
Logan followed her directions, glancing around for cops once they entered the park. Seeing none, he steered the bike down a pedestrian path into a deserted area of the park.
"There," Kitty said, loosening her death grip on him to point to a small stand of trees.
"What the hell was he doing out here?" Logan grumbled.
Kitty shrugged. "He cuts through the park a lot, and this is shorter than the path."
Logan stopped the motorcycle and slid off, moving swiftly to the spot she'd indicated. He inhaled slowly, sorting the myriad scents, ignoring wildlife, flora, fauna, and -- because they were in New York City -- trash. There. Bobby.
He took a few short sniffs. Definitely Bobby.
"Anything?" Kitty asked softly. She'd stopped a few yards from him, probably not wanting to interfere with his senses. Smart girl.
Logan nodded, taking a few steps, his gaze settling on a flattened patch of grass. "He went down here." A couple more steps, more broken stems of grass, this time in neat lines. "The Explorer was here."
Eyes wide, Kitty stammered a little when she said, "Yeah."
Logan stilled, clearing his mind, filtering out everything unnecessary. New York City with its filthy sidewalks and its street vendors and its thousands of people made it very difficult to track a single scent, but Logan was determined. He moved slowly, drifting along the edge of the treeline. "Got it," he decided. "Roll the bike over here." Kitty complied with a small grunt of effort, and it didn't occur to Logan to thank her. "Call Cyclops. Tell him I'm on it."
Kitty conveyed the message via comm device as she climbed onto the bike behind him. Logan ignored her, slowly following Bobby's faint trail west, catching 85th to exit the park. He circled back a few times when he lost the scent, but kept at it, up to the George Washington Bridge and into New Jersey.
The highway was difficult. Frustrated, Logan pulled over to the shoulder on the Palisades Parkway, Kitty silent behind him as he closed his eyes and concentrated. The scent was so faint here, so easy to lose, but still there. Logan continued, and just a few miles later, he stiffened.
"What?" Kitty asked fearfully. "What's wrong?"
"Bobby woke up," Logan answered, his tone grim. "I can smell his panic."
Kitty shuddered.
"His scent is much stronger here," Logan said. "Fear -- it's strong."
"Well," Kitty said. "Good, then. I guess."
"None of this is good," Logan answered, speeding up.
Rogue eased the Blackbird toward the clearing nervously, knowing her landings were still troublesome. She always thought of crashing the plane at Alkali Lake, which reminded her that she'd damaged the vertical thrusters in the process, which reminded her that Jean had felt it necessary to sacrifice herself to save the rest of them. By which point, she'd usually put the Blackbird down hard enough to jar herself out of the bad memories.
"Easy," Ororo murmured, monitoring the gauges from the seat beside Rogue.
Rogue nodded and tried to block out the blinding white of her memories to concentrate on the green grass below. The sunlight was waning, lending a strange orange cast to the scene as they drifted down. The plane touched down softly and Rogue's eyes widened in surprise.
"Good," Scott told her, flipping the activation switch for the gangplank.
As soon as the ramp touched the ground, Logan and Kitty climbed aboard. Logan's gaze slid to Rogue for a moment as she drank in the sight of him, unharmed. Then Logan turned his attention to Scott. "It's just over this hill. I got an SUV."
Scott's eyebrows lifted. "*Got*?" he echoed skeptically.
Logan smirked. "Don't worry about it. Let's go."
Storm complied, starting down the gangplank as Cyclops turned to Kitty. "You're doing great, Kitty. You can either stay with Rogue as backup or you can come with us and help with surveillance. It's your call."
Kitty flashed Rogue an apologetic look. "I'll go with you."
Rogue stood and moved closer. She knew it probably wouldn't work, but she figured it was worth a try. "You know, Scott, I can--"
"No," Logan said. "You stay here."
Rogue bristled at his words, but decided discretion was the wiser option. She didn't answer aloud, choosing instead to favor him with an annoyed look. Logan sighed and reached out to squeeze her hand. The gesture broke through her irritation and she relented, repeating his earlier command. "Be safe."
Scott, Kitty, and Logan headed down the gangplank and to keep up appearances, Rogue closed it behind them. She moved quickly, adjusting her uniform, retrieving a charged comm device, and setting the Blackbird to standby. She watched Storm, Cyclops, Kitty, and Logan pile into the SUV and disappear down a dirt path before she lowered the gangplank, setting security on the plane so that it would close behind her and only open at the appropriate command of one of its pilots.
Rogue reached the motorcycle and rolled her eyes. Logan had taken the keys with him, as if she didn't know how to hotwire an engine. She followed the SUV's tracks over the grass and onto the rough dirt road. She'd leave the bike with the SUV when she found it and provide backup from a reasonable distance. What good could she do from two miles away?
She slowed as she caught sight of the Explorer in the shadowy dusk. She hoped the others were far enough away not to hear the motorcycle. Cutting the engine, she coasted a little further before dismounting and rolling the bike up the the SUV. It was parked sideways to provide cover in a bad situation and a fast escape.
Activating the comm device, Rogue ditched the automobiles and drifted into the trees, instinctively seeking cover. No one was talking on the comm, but on the other hand, no one was screaming either. Rogue decided to think positively as she made her way closer and closer to the large, nondescript cement building.
After several nerve-rackingly silent minutes, Kitty's voice said, "Found him. Third floor. Last door on the left. Walls are... I don't know, maybe tempered steel."
Scott. "So he can't freeze the walls and escape."
"Not a problem." Logan, of course. Rogue found herself grinning at his arrogance. Every once in a while, the absurdity of her life hit her. Her boyfriend -- for lack of a better word -- the walking ego with adamantium claws was about to break her ex-boyfriend out of a secret government holding facility. God.
"Guards?" Ororo asked, her voice eerily calm. As always.
"End of the hallway," Kitty answered. "Regular passes, every couple minutes. And guys? They've got those big, scary guns."
"Don't let them see you," Scott instructed unnecessarily.
A hint of amusement in Kitty's voice as she answered, "Right." A pause, then, "Bobby's unconscious."
"Cyclops?" Logan asked.
"On my way."
Rogue moved closer still to the building, readying herself to move in.
"Kitty." Storm again. "Check the nearby cells if you can. Are there others?"
It took a few moments before Kitty answered in a tight voice. "Yes. And they're all unconscious."
Shit, Rogue thought. They could only realistically carry one mutant each, which meant a total of five. She stared balefully at the building, knowing there were probably a couple dozen mutants in there at least. "I'm at the treeline," Rogue announced. "I'm coming in."
The answering growl came from Logan, but Scott said, "No, Rogue--"
"We can save five if I'm there," Rogue countered, knowing none of them could refute her logic.
"Can you make it to the roof?" Ororo asked. "There's a fire escape."
"On my way," Rogue answered, scanning the clearing for the fastest, least exposed roof to the fire escape. She didn't see guards or cameras, but that didn't mean there weren't any.
Kitty. "I'll disable the surveillance cameras, but we'll have to move quickly once I do."
By the time Rogue gained the roof, Storm was guarding an unsconscious Bobby. Rogue moved quickly to his inert form, studying his bruised face. She allowed herself a relieved breath and ruffled his hair. He didn't move. "Is there any way to wake him?"
"I don't know," Ororo admitted, watching the door. Moments later, Kitty emerged with a small form in a hospital gown draped over her shoulder. Storm moved quickly accepting Kitty's burden and placing the unconscious woman beside Bobby. "Where are--?"
Logan, then Scott, staggered through the door, two more victims in their arms. They were moving quickly, not quietly, and Rogue immediately scanned the roof for government agents.
"Let's go," Scott ordered, moving fast despite the small male mutant with oddly purplish skin he had in a fireman's carry. "They've sounded the alarm."
Rogue gestured back toward the doorway. "We can't leave the rest--"
"We'll be joining them if we don't go," Logan interrupted fiercely. The unconscious man in his arms was larger and had no telltale features to mark him a mutant. "We'll come back for them."
Scott nodded his agreement. "Kitty, Rogue -- can you handle Bobby?"
"Yes." Kitty helped Rogue lift his heavy body while Ororo lifted the small female mutant with the dirty blonde hair. They'd nearly reached the ladder when a dozen soldiers burst from the door, shouting for them to freeze.
Storm deposited the unconscious woman in her arms behind an air conditioning unit and summoned the weather, sending a harsh, blinding rain down on the government operatives. The noise was incredible, angry shouts and fierce, rolling thunder, but the soldiers advanced, moving efficiently into position in a large semi-circle as the X-Men backed towards the edge of the roof.
"Take him!" Kitty hollered, leaving Bobby with Rogue and went back for the female mutant, scurrying down the narrow fire escape ladder to the ground. Logan followed with the man in his arms, while Cyclops let the purple mutant in his arms slide to the ground beside Rogue, then joined Storm to hold off the soldiers and cover their retreat.
Rogue stayed with Bobby and the purple-skinned mutant, guarding them even though they were all half-hidden behind a large air conditioning unit. It wasn't raining on her, but the nearly continuous lightning made the air around her crackle strangely with static electricity. After catching sight of the guns in the hands of the H.S.E. agents, she was very, very worried that Storm's lightning and Cyclops' optic blasts wouldn't be any kind of match for fully automatic gunfire.
Logan vaulted over the edge of the roof and landed beside her, gathering Bobby up. "Marie," he yelled over the howling wind, "get to the car."
"Not yet," she answered, moving closer to the unconscious mutant with the purple skin. "Hurry."
Logan gave her an anguished look, but didn't slow down. He disappeared over the edge of the roof, taking Bobby to safety. She brought her comm unit up, hoping Storm and Cyclops had their earpieces activated. "Just one more minute," she promised. "Logan's bringing Bobby down, and there's one more."
"Copy," Scout shouted.
Rogue scooted forward, leaning against the air conditioner, intending to peer around and make sure that Storm and Cyclops didn't need help. She caught movement five yards away, behind the same line of air conditioners that Rogue was using for cover. Her breath caught -- he was coming around behind Storm and Cyclops, intending to cut off their escape route. The soldiers still weren't shooting, and Rogue refused to consider the implications.
Letting her eyes drift shut slowly, Rogue shifted against the air conditioner, trying to appear slumped instead of poised for action. She gambled on the idea that the soldiers wanted them alive. If she was wrong, it could turn out very, very badly for her. But if she was right and he got close enough, she could take him out before he hurt Scott or Ororo.
Carefully, she pressed her hands together, squeezing the loose fabric at the ends of her gloves in between the fingers of her other hand, easing her hands free. She inched the glove off, not wanting the lone soldier to realize she was awake and planning for his death.
Too late, a metallic sound from the side of the building alerted her that Logan had handed Bobby off to Kitty and was scrambling back up to the roof. Rogue's stomach gave a sickening lurch as she realized that he'd pop up not ten feet from the stealthy soldier. The soldier with the very scary Skorpion. The soldier who'd frozen right when she had, and who was scanning the edge of the rooftop where Logan's head would appear any second.
Fuck.
"No," Rogue shouted, rolling to her feet. The soldier's gaze swung her way a half-second before the barrel of his gun. She knew she couldn't reach him before he fired, but she was acting on pure instinct, on adrenaline. Even if she was dying, she could incapacitate him if she could just get her hands on him.
The soldier didn't fire, and Rogue could hear the voices yelling, soldiers, Scott, Logan -- all ordering her to stop. And still the soldier didn't fire, and she knew she was right. They wanted the mutants alive.
Enraged now, Rogue made it two steps before she felt the familiar sting, this time in her shoulder instead of her neck. At least they hadn't killed her outright.
Still, the world tilted crazily as she fell, fighting the drug's pull. She heard Logan roar her name, then, finally, the staccato stutter of automatic gunfire.
Air slammed out of her lungs as she hit the rooftop hard, and she wondered if they hadn't shot her after all. She rolled to the side, clawing at her throat, desperate for air. And then it didn't matter, because she saw Logan gain the edge of the roof, saw the small red holes appear in his chest, saw the rage on his face turn to surprise as he tilted so, so slowly out into space, arms flailing for balance.
The last thing Rogue heard before the blackness took her was her own anguished scream.
Logan came to slowly, blinking groggily up at the curved metal ceiling above him.
The jet. He was in the Blackbird. And it wasn't moving, thank God. It was also empty -- save Ororo.
"Logan?" she asked, sounding... worried?
He frowned, turning towards her. "What happ--?"
And then he remembered. A dozen soldiers with Skorpions on the rooftop. Bobby's unconscious form slung over his shoulder. Marie's refusal to retreat without the last rescued mutant. His hurried trip down and back up the fire escape.
Marie's enraged scream. Hot lead piercing his chest.
Marie charging towards the shooter, stumbling, falling.
Falling.
Falling for hours, for days, knowing he'd failed, knowing Marie was hurt, was being taken, as he fell endlessly towards the earth.
Logan jerked upright before the lingering pain in his torso registered. "Where's Marie?" he demanded, sounding breathless. He flexed his fingers, his toes, checking for damage. Because he was going to kill the motherfucker who'd tranq-darted Marie, and he wanted full muscle control so he could do it slow.
Ororo watched him silently for a moment, then said, "Scott was shot. Flesh wound in his thigh. Kitty took Scott, Bobby, and the others back to the mansion in the SUV for medical attention."
She wasn't telling him something. "The others?" he growled, low and intimidating.
Ororo blinked rapidly. "Logan--"
She wasn't telling him something damn important. "Where's Rogue?" Smart men knew to run when Logan used that particular tone of voice.
Ororo held her ground. "I'm sorry, Logan. They captured Rogue."
"No." That wasn't possible. They couldn't possibly have rescued Bobby only to lose Marie. Because losing Marie was simply not an option.
"You were shot, Logan. Several times. And Kitty was with the others at the SUV. Once the gunfire started--" She shuddered. "It all happened quickly. The H.S.E. reached Rogue at the same time Scott reached the last mutant we rescued. He was shot going over the edge of the roof and barely made it down to the ground. I was their only target, Logan. If she hadn't been captured already, you know I would've stayed to draw their fire away from her. But in the circumstances, I--"
"You *left* her," Logan interrupted, his claws releasing as he struggled for control. Killing Ororo wouldn't do anything to help him find Marie. But, damn, it was tempting. How could she *leave* Marie?
"They already had her, Logan, and she wasn't conscious to aid in her own escape. There were fourteen soldiers with automatic weapons and I don't have a healing factor."
How could he have let himself get shot? Goddamnit. He could've taken out fourteen guys with Skorpions easy, and then Marie would be back at the mansion fussing over the freezepop. He turned his anger on Ororo. "You could've fried the fuckers who were holding her."
"That would have killed her, too," Ororo answered quietly. "Kitty helped me drag you to the SUV and I instructed them to drop us here so we could begin the search as soon as you woke up. Jubilee, Remy, and Kitty are awaiting us at the mansion if we need backup."
Logan shook his head, not liking the implications of her words. "Search?"
"I heard engines. I believe they abandoned--"
"Fuck!"
"Logan--"
"Motherfucker!" He sliced an impressive gouge into a nearby chair before he brought himself under some semblance of control. "How long?"
Ororo gave him a puzzled look. "What?"
"How long have I been out?"
"Your injuries were severe, Logan. You were shot several times and you fell three stories. We weren't even sure you would survive--"
"How. Long."
Ororo sighed. "Almost four hours now." She tensed, obviously expecting another outburst, but Logan was past panic, past the violent anger.
He retracted his claws and marched toward the gangplank, ignoring the pull of not-quite-healed muslces in his torso. Nothing was going to stop him from finding Marie, certainly not his own weaknesses. "You coming?"
Silently, Ororo joined him at the foot of the ramp, climbing onto Scott's motorcycle behind him. She didn't comment when he roared right up to the building's main entrance, and by the time Logan climbed off the bike, he knew the facility was abandoned. If anyone had been left inside, they'd have been attacked by now.
When he pushed the main doors open, Logan froze.
Death.
He smelled blood and death.
It took immense effort to clamp down on the panic before it consumed him, but he took a deep breath and managed a couple steps into the large foyer.
"What is it?" Ororo asked, glancing around in the unnatural stillness.
"They killed the mutants," Logan answered grimly. He moved swiftly now, barely sparing a glance for the empty labs. Up the stairs, down the hallway that stank of death. Doors ajar, crumpled forms in hospital gowns in each cell, single, grotesque gunshot wounds through each forehead. Behind him, Ororo was whispering something in a tongue Logan didn't recognize.
He pressed on. Up another flight of stairs, and this hallway was lined with cells, too, but it didn't reek of death. Third floor. Bobby's floor. Logan and Ororo took opposite sides as they moved down the hallway, peering into each empty cell. No bodies, no executed mutants on this level.
"Bobby was held on this floor," Ororo mused as they neared the five doors bearing scorch and claw marks. "Maybe the stronger mutants were held up here."
Logan drew to a halt, blocking out the death smell and concentrating. He took a few steps back the way they'd come. "These mutants were evacuated," he said. "No panic. Probably still drugged."
Down a small side hall, through a door that led to a bank of large service elevators. Without comment, Logan and Ororo chose the emergency staircase and made their way down to the underground garage. Logan halted and studied the abstracted pattern of oil stains on the smooth concrete.
Giving the empty spaces a frustrated glare, Logan said, "I don't smell Rogue." He turned back to the staircase, taking the stairs two at a time until he gained the roof. It didn't look like the same place -- just an ordinary, empty rooftop glowing dully in the moonlight.
"Over here." Ororo led him to where Rogue had fallen, and Logan winced. He could smell her fear and her rage and his entire body trembled with the effort of staying in control.
Crouching down, Logan ran his fingertips over the rough surface on which she'd lain. "Marie," he whispered, breathing her scent in deeply. The rage was diffuse here, giving way to a drowsy sort of fear. He stood, testing the air. "This way."
Logan led Ororo to a large open portion of the roof, an area free of the large air conditioning units. He knew already, with a sudden, sickening certainty, even before he caught the scent of jet fuel. He stubbornly ignored the burn of failure in his gut as he kept moving until he stood where her scent... ended. Where the helicopter had landed.
"What is it, Logan?"
He couldn't bear to see soft sympathy in Ororo's eyes, so he stared vacantly out at the dark woods. "They took her in a helicopter," Logan said in a voice so rough he barely recognized it as his own. "I can't track her."
A long silence, and there was fear in Ororo's voice when she said, "Logan?"
He shook his head. "She's gone."
Consciousness returned in fragments.
An aching shoulder. Dreadful thirst. The smell of antiseptic. Leather cuffs chafing her wrists. The absence of sound. Too much light glaring down on her exposed face.
She tried to think through the haze of the sedative, tried to remember what had landed her in the medlab this time. Mission, no doubt. But what mission? What had the professor briefed -- Oh, God. The professor.
And the rest came flooding back.
Logan.
Eyes wide, Rogue jerked up, trying to sit, but a strap across her chest robbed her of breath. She flopped back down, breathing hard, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the glaring light.
Blinding white everywhere -- walls, ceiling, even the floor when she rolled her head to the side. She fought back her instinctive panic, telling herself to remember her training. Calm. Centered.
Unsteadily, she drew a breath. Then another. She was still drugged, her thoughts sluggish once the adrenaline flood began to recede. Still, she was conscious and she would catalogue her surroundings like she'd been taught, so when they rescued her, she could describe them accurately.
She thought of Logan again, but her mind shied away from the obvious conclusion.
No. Her surroundings. Concentrate on the room.
Problem was, the small cell that held her was almost entirely featureless -- diffused, recessed light, and white everywhere. The only thing that passed for furniture was the stainless steel table she was strapped to, and the only splash of color came from the dull brown of the leather restraints that held her.
Good, then, she told herself. She could give a very accurate picture when Logan rescued her.
Logan.
He would rescue her. She just had to be patient and try not to go stark raving mad in the overwhelming whiteness.
Because Logan would rescue her. Her mind replayed that hellish image -- Logan's bullet-ridden body falling off the roof as she watched in horror -- but she refused to believe it.
He couldn't be dead.
He couldn't.
Because he was Logan, and he could survive countless bullets and a three-story fall. He could. He had to have survived.
Because if Logan was dead, she was lost.
"No," Rogue moaned, her voice rough with disuse. "No, no, no."
Eyes squeezed tightly closed, she turned her head to the side and began to cry.
THE END
Author's note: As you may have noticed, I don't particularly care for plot-point warnings (e.g. "character death"). I hope this creative decision doesn't alienate any of y'all. And props to Tori, whose song "Gold Dust" provided the obscure summary.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
THANKS: To all the kind souls who encouraged me after I posted the first story. And most definitely thanks to Em and Lulu and Philateley for bringing the funny and the betacomments *and* for saving me from Lost Fic Hell. Extra special thanks to Em for the spa gloves. ::snorgle::