Rogue heard a knock on her door. She ignored it, just as she had the other two times. This time, however, he seemed more determined.
"Rogue? Open the door."
She put her head down on her knees. Better for everyone if I'm on my own, she repeated to herself.
"Rogue." A pause, and then, "Marie."
She covered her ears with her hands.
She heard the door creak as he leaned into it. "Listen, Marie, I have to leave in a few minutes, and I need to know that you’re okay before I go.” His voice lowered to a growl. “I’m comin’ in one way or another, so open the damn door.”
He was leaving? Her heart sank further. Before she knew it she was in front of the door, her legs stiff and shaky underneath her. She turned the lock and he came inside so quickly she almost tripped over her own feet backing away from him, averting the exposed skin of her face and neck.
She sat back down on the bed, avoiding his eyes, not wanting to see what he thought of her now. Crazy, out-of-control Marie.
“Scoot over.” He pushed in beside her on the bed, startling her.
“What...”
“Hush. It helps.” He pulled her in close along his side, and almost against her will she felt it -- the easing of the tension in her chest, the reflexive way she relaxed into the warmth and heat of his body, the way her jumpy heart slowed into a more steady rhythm.
She pressed her face into his warm leather jacket, realizing he was in some sort of uniform. “Where are you going?” she mumbled.
“Ororo thinks we found one of ‘em. The little kid -- Owen. We had to trace it through a bunch of dummy accounts, but we have an address, at least, to check out.”
She was startled into looking up, into his eyes. “Really?”
He smiled, his golden hazel gaze warm, not at all what she had expected. “Really.”
He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching hers. “‘Ro told me what happened.”
She ducked her head down again.
His arm around her shoulders gave her a squeeze. “That was a gutsy thing you did, gettin’ the password.”
She shook her head miserably against his shoulder. “Ororo is...she’s nice, and I hurt her. I keep hurting people. That’s all I’m good for.”
“Dammit, Marie...” His voice was sharp with irritation, and she flinched. He stopped and took a deep breath, apparently gentling his voice with an effort. “You couldn’t be more wrong. If we find Kitty and Jubes, it’ll be because of you. If we find this kid tonight -- that’ll be your doing too. Ororo’s fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”
She pulled away from him, moving to look out the window at the gathering dusk, trying to keep it together. The last thing she wanted was his pity. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?”
She leaned her forehead against the chilly glass. What could she say to that? Of course she wasn’t fine. She was crazy. Violent. Toxic.
He sighed. She didn’t hear him move but suddenly he was behind her, his strong chest against her back, arms wrapped around her, his chin resting on her head. His voice was rough when he spoke. “Marie...”
Whatever he was planning to say, he seemed to change his mind. He pulled away, clearing his throat. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the mornin’, okay?”
She didn’t turn around until she heard the door shut behind him.
_______________________
Logan sat in the bucket seat of the jet, his leather-gloved hands clenched on the armrests. Flying, like pain, was another thing he should be used to by now, but he just hadn’t managed it. To add to the fun, Ororo had stayed at the mansion to track the remaining transaction. Scott was flying the jet, leaving Logan and Jean in the back.
Ten minutes into the flight and he was already tired of her anxious smell and the way she was avoiding meeting his eyes.
“Out with it, Jeannie,” he finally snapped.
She shot a nervous glance at Scott, but he was still engrossed with his instrument panel.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said, to his surprise. “For...a lot of things. But especially how I treated you and Rogue when you got back to the mansion.”
She looked down, fiddling with a fingernail. “I know that you were right about some of the things you said to me, but...it hurt. And you said them and then just took off. I just had to stew, and wait, and worry when we thought something had happened to you...”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow, and she sensed it. She met his gaze now, anger coloring her voice.
“It’s true -- I worried just as much as Scott and ‘Ro and the rest of them...spent half the night wide awake, worrying, and then you just breeze in, with that girl wrapped around you, wearing your coat...” Her scent was tinged with jealousy now.
“Jesus Christ, Jeannie, she’s just a kid.”
Now it was her turn to raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you actually believe that, Logan.”
Unbidden, the memory of saying goodbye to Marie sprang to his mind. How it had felt to hold her in his arms as she looked out the window, the thoughts that had been in his mind before he had managed to catch himself and pull away from her...
Suddenly it was he who couldn’t meet Jeannie’s eyes.
He looked out the window at the lights of rural Pennsylvania below, flexing his fingers. “I’m not...some kind of animal,” he muttered, wondering which of them he was trying to convince.
“Oh, Logan...”
Scott popped his head into the back. “We’re starting our descent. Should be on the ground in a minute or two.”
Jean smiled at him. “Thanks, honey.”
She looked at Logan again, her voice amused now. “Well, anyway. I’m sorry. I hope...that we can be friends again.”
“I’d like that. And...I shouldn’ta threatened you like that.”
She smiled. “Yeah, probably not. But I think I know why you did.”
“What do you mean by that?” he asked sharply.
His only answer was a widening of her smile as she moved forward to join Scott in the front, volunteering to help him with the landing sequence.
________________________
Their point of entry was an attic window. Scott took the lead at first, but the house -- smaller than Xavier’s but definitely a mansion in its own right -- was so large that Logan took over, tracking the faint scent of a young boy through the maze of rooms and passages.
The place seemed abandoned, but the boy’s scent was fresh. They passed through room after room, each one darkened, the white hulks of dustsheet-covered furniture looming eerily up out of the gloom.
Finally, a few rooms on the lower level showed signs of habitation. A messy kitchen, with dirty dishes piled on every surface. A once-grand study littered with newspapers and coffee cups.
Scott paused for a moment, shining a flashlight on the study walls. Framed newspaper articles touted the accomplishments of Randolph Coal, accompanied by pictures of a bewhiskered Martin Randolph, and then later what appeared to be his son, a grim-looking Samuel Randolph. From what Ororo had been able to tell, Samuel Randolph had raided the last assets of his failing company to buy the boy.
Logan rumbled his impatience, and they moved on. They entered a dark hallway where the silence of the house was finally broken, two televisions flickering behind two different doors. The door on the left was slightly ajar, but the door further down the hall on the right was deadbolted and chained on the outside.
Scott gestured unnecessarily -- Logan was already snicking out a claw. He inserted it between the door and the frame, the adamantium blade cutting straight through the bolts and latches like a hot knife through butter.
He gritted his teeth, preparing himself for what he might find, and opened the door.
A young boy sat on the bed, fully dressed. Logan scanned the room, finding only more newspapers and magazines -- the Wall Street Journal, Financial Times, the Economist, Finance India, Kiplinger -- and a television, locked in a glass cabinet, blaring the stock report.
The boy raised his head, regarding them calmly. He hopped off the bed.
“I’m already packed,” he said, reaching under the bed and pulling out a battered suitcase.
Logan, Scott, and Jean exchanged glances. Jean stepped forward into the room, coming to a crouch in front of the boy.
“Owen? Hi there. I’m Jean, and that’s Scott and Logan. We’re going to...”
“I know,” the boy interrupted.
Jean looked uncertainly back at the others. “Um...”
“I can see what’s going to happen,” the boy added. “But only sometimes.” He shifted the suitcase to his other hand, gesturing to the television. “Not like he wants.”
His face was expressionless, lit in flashes of greens and blues by the television screen.
“He’s going to die now,” he said, his voice flat.
Jean looked back at the others again, and then her eyes widened.
“Scott!” she yelled in warning, just as Logan launched himself at the man who had appeared in the doorway of the other room, gun drawn.
They went down together, the gun flying from the man’s hand -- aided no doubt by Jean’s telekinesis -- as the man’s head hit the hardwood floor with a loud crack.
Logan jerked his hand back with a snarl, snicking the claws out.
“Wait!” Scott grabbed Logan’s arm, and Logan shook him off impatiently.
“Logan...” Jean was there now, pushing between Logan and the man. “Let me see...”
Logan managed to rein in the bloodlust, breathing heavily. He stood up, watching as Jean opened the man’s eyes, shining a light into his pupils -- one small, the other blown so wide the man’s iris was just a thin blue rim. The man jerked -- his arms pulling up into his chest, hands clenched in fists, while his legs strained outward.
Jean pulled the man’s robe open, pressing her ear against his pajama jacket. “Subdural hematoma,” she muttered. “He’s herniating.”
She placed two fingers on his carotid artery, and then looked at Scott, shaking her head. “It’s too fast.” Logan could have told her that, he could already hear the man’s pulse stuttering to a stop.
Jean’s eyes strayed to the boy, standing in the doorway now with his suitcase, watching the scene impassively. He shrugged. “I told him.”
Scott’s mouth was compressed into a thin line. He flipped on the light, crouching down in front of the boy as Jean had. “Anyone else know that you’re here? Was anyone else a part of this?”
The boy shook his head.
Scott straightened, assuming the mantle of authority that came so naturally to him. “Logan, he slipped in the shower. Set it up. Jean, wipe this room clean of prints.” He took the suitcase from the boy. “Owen and I will start the jet. Sound good to you, buddy?”
The boy smiled for the first time, his face pinkening with excitement. “Cool.”
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