CHAPTER 26 - Cover
She wanted to say something, anything, but all she could do was open her mouth and then snap it shut again in confusion. Here, in the middle of hell, was someone she actually knew.
“Rogue?” He repeated. “What are you doing here?” He almost seemed mad at her, as if she had decided to borrow her old man’s car to go underage drinking at a bar.
And quite frankly, her presence made far greater sense than his did.
“Me?” She shook her head in disbelief. Bringing her hand up to gesture at him she said, “What about you, Detective Rogers?”
He looked around nervously. “Don’t say my name out loud, Rogue.” He checked the door, listening to see if Philips was eavesdropping. He turned back to her. “It’s a cover, Rogue. Here, I’m Carver.”
She drew her head back in complete bewilderment. “A cover?”
He sighed and, satisfied that there was no one at the door, walked back over. “I’m undercover as a guard. I’ve been here for four months.”
She drew her head back sharply. “With who?”
He scratched at his beard. “FBI.”
She didn’t get it. “But...you’re NYPD...”
He nodded. “Yeah, Narcotics. I’ve spent ten years going undercover trying to bust some major dealers in the city. ATF got a whiff of some major arms trafficking going on, with the same guys pushing some blackmarket Cure ammo we’ve been going after. They wanted experience, so they pulled me in.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “This started off to try and bust some arms dealers...and now...it’s gotten so deep...I’m knee deep in this shit.” He spat his words out now with disgust. “It’s humans, too. Not just mutants. They’re just...selling people, trading them.”
She nodded. She’d been bought before they’d even caught her.
He looked at her, more closely now. “You’re hurt.” He came up and took her chin in his hand. She flinched a bit and he glared at her. “I’m not going to hurt you, kid.”
His words hit so close to home she suddenly felt tears burn at her eyes. “Sorry.”
He grabbed her chin again and turned her face from side to side. “Damn. They did a number on you.” She waited as he checked her bruises. His face was hard and unreadable. “Fucking bastards.”
She snorted. “That’s actually kinda sweet of you to say.”
He grumbled. “Can’t fucking handle any more of this shit.” He pulled away, rubbing his face and turning away. He walked a couple of steps, one hand on his hip, the other nervously rubbing his beard.
“What now?” she asked.
He turned and he looked utterly lost. “I’m undercover, Rogue.”
She felt the breath leave her lungs. “You’re not going to do anything, are you?”
He rubbed his face and stamped a foot. “Dammit.” He turned on her, raging. “What am I supposed to do? There’s literally dozens of people in this facility. I can’t blow my cover to save one when I’m trying to save all them too.”
She shook her head. “Call your men in.”
“They won’t come!” He said forcefully. “They aren’t going to jeopardize an entire operation for some woman I know. They’re waiting for names, connections, real information.”
She felt the rage build. “They peeled off my skin!” she hissed. He looked taken aback. She pushed back one of the bandages and showed him the large patch of meat. He flinched.
“Yeah, she said snidely. “It feels as bad as it looks.” His eyes moved up to hers. “They strapped me down to a table and peeled my skin off in blocks,” she spat. “No sedative, no remorse, no nothin’.”
“Rogue...”
She cut him off. “I’ve been leered at, felt up, and promised sexual assault more times in one hour than I was in the entire seven months I spent on the streets!”
He swallowed and she kept going. “And they find me so interestin’, in fact, that they plan on takin’ me back into that awful room to take more skin tonight! And you know I’m not the only one it’s happenin’ to.” She felt the tears spill over. “All the people in here...” she stated. “They all have families, probably lookin’ for them. Wonderin’ where they are. Hopin’ to God they’re still alive.”
Her throat closed up and she was practically sobbing now. “He doesn’t even know where I am,” she said hysterically pointing out into space. “All he knows is that I’m gone and he doesn’t know where to find me and there’s a good chance I’m already dead or on my way to being dead. He knows what goes on in here and I can’t deal with him thinkin’ that’s what’s happenin’ to me.”
Detective Rogers stood motionless, stunned at her words. He worked his throat several times before he spoke. “I get off at midnight,” he said, checking his watch. “I can’t make any promises. But I’ll see what I can do.”
She nodded.
XXX
By the next morning, she was huddled up on a cot, rough threadbare cotton sheets pulled tightly around her shivering body. She’d never been so cold in her life. Between having been drenched in sleet and snow during her capture and the freezing shower she’d been forced to take upon her arrival, she’d had no real opportunity to actually warm herself. Barefoot and with only a thin set of scrub pants and shirt, which were stained with her own vomit, she couldn’t stop the trembling in her limbs.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to close out the images of the past evening. Trying not to remember the way they painstakingly removed patches of skin from her back while she screamed in agony. She felt hot tears run down her face.
Logan’s soft voice had whispered soothingly to her the entire time, telling her it would be over soon, to hold on just a little longer.
She wanted to keep him strong, to let his warm rough voice loose in her mind. But she had to shut him away. Had to push him back. Voices, no matter how loving and sweet, were never good. And while he might break free during those agonizing moments on the table, he needed to go back into his box as soon as possible.
Her body jerked involuntarily at the sound of the door opening. She looked up and guards came in. She looked at their faces, but none of them was Rogers. When they picked her up, Dr. Sanders came in with his clipboard. “Transportation unit is here. Take her up to the truck.”
She let out a little cry of distress as they restrained her arms behind her back again and led her out.
She kept looking for him, wondering if he’d gone for help, but he was nowhere to be found. She cussed at the guard leading her, trying to jerk her hands away, and was rewarded with a knock to her head that made the world turn grey for a moment. When her head cleared, she realized they had led her into some sort of container, hanging her from a hook in the ceiling by her bound hands. They closed the door, plunging her into darkness. She fuzzily realized the crate was solid metal -- only a small amount of light filtered through a slit at the front.
She was too short for her feet to brace completely against the floor. It quickly became agonizing to hang there, the strain rubbing her wrists raw. She heard an engine come to life and suddenly realized she was in some kind of vehicle.
Her heart picked up speed when she heard a low growl coming from the other side of the container. She couldn’t see yet, her eyes not having adjusted to the near-total darkness. She looked around wildly when the growl turned into a chuckle.
“Taaaasty,” the voice crooned.
She jerked in surprise at the familiar voice she’d been subjected to that night and day before Liberty Island.
“You’re dead,” she whispered. “You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead.”
Her vision was clearing and she could make out the outlines of his figure. His long, stringy hair, his muscular build. Dread welled up inside of her as his black eyes focused on her.
The vehicle pulled forward and her body swayed with the movement.
“Creed,” she whispered.
XXX
It was a seriously long drive from Malone down to Westchester. Six straight hours as a matter of fact. He’d had to stop once to get gas and to empty his painfully full bladder at some rundown gas station midway.
He checked his mirrors, probably for the five hundredth time since leaving the gates of the containment center. Paranoia wouldn’t begin to cover the psychological fallout running through John Rogers’s brain. This was no doubt the fucking worst cover he’d ever taken.
He’d gone in assuming there would be nothing but a whole bunch of gun- and drug-pushing criminals to take down. He could handle that. He knew how to handle that. But when he’d walked into those rooms...seen what he’d seen...he’d never get another good night’s sleep again.
But he had a job to do. So he stayed and witnessed the torture, the degradation, the humiliation... telling himself the entire time that when this was over, he was going to put in for early retirement and head off to Fiji and never look back. Not ever.
Then he’d looked up to the unfortunate face of Phillips’s attentions and had almost swallowed his own tongue.
Rogue.
Her distinctive white streaks were a dead giveaway, but he’d found himself looking at her features, just to be sure. Her deep brown eyes, bowed lips, angled face. It was her. And damn if this entire operation hadn’t just gotten a whole lot sicker.
She looked a bit worse for wear and he just knew that if that boyfriend of hers -- what was his name? -- had any idea what she looked like right now he was going to be less than pleased.
So he’d gotten off his shift and very casually sat himself on the shuttle to the parking lot located outside the facility, spent ten or so minutes talking to the other guards, like he always did, and then started his engine, laughing and waving.
And when he pulled out onto the freeway he’d pushed the speedometer to the car's limits, praying to God he didn’t get pulled over and have to pull his badge so close to the facility. He didn’t dare use a phone, cell or otherwise.
That had been over seven hours ago, between early morning traffic going into the city and stopping for gas. When he pulled up to the mansion, he was barely still awake, but he had to keep going. Get here, tell them, and get back...all before four when his next shift started. He sighed. This was going to be a very long day.
He looked up at the building and sighed. It had been a while since he’d stepped into the place. Almost fifteen years, at his sister’s graduation. He’d been there to support her even when their parents hadn’t been willing to. She was a secretary now, happily living in society, hiding her mutation. She had fond memories of the place. Professor Xavier had taken a shine to him, then, a young college student. Given him a whole spiel about needing non-mutant supporters and gee, wouldn’t John be a good one.
He’d agreed to help out when needed, which wasn’t often. When he heard the Professor had died, he was just as disappointed as everyone else, although not as emotionally attached. Ororo had kept in contact with him after that and through her, he’d run into Rogue and - damn, what was his name?”
He pushed the main doors open and stepped inside. It was quiet. Winter break probably. He looked around, nervously trying to figure out where to go.
When he heard something crash in a room not too far away, he flinched.
“I don’t give a fuck!” The voice was a near roar.
Suddenly a door was nearly ripped off its hinges as a seriously pissed-off man came tearing through. He looked crazy, dangerous crazy.
Ororo came through the door, hands up placatingly. “We have the files,” she said. “Kitty got them off the mainframe. Just give us time to go through them and we’ll have a better idea.”
The large man turned on her and pointed a finger at her. “I’m not, waiting around. I’m going to San Francisco and I’m going to tear his intestines out through his mouth until he chokes up what I want to know.”
Another, smaller, man came through, white wings like that of an angel’s tucked in close. His face was pale and drawn. He looked sad.
Ororo was staring at him with hard eyes. John thought now was a good time to let them know he was there. He cleared his throat.
The man, Rogue’s boyfriend, snapped his head over and he straightened up in agitation, probably pissed he hadn’t noticed John standing there until now.
Ororo looked at him only for a moment in surprise. “John, what...? LOGAN!”
John’s shirt was snatched up and he was smashed against the wall so hard he must have left a dent in the wood paneling. He hadn’t even seen that coming. When he opened his eyes, three sharp metal claws were pressed against his throat. He didn’t dare breathe.
His eyes left the blades for a second to look at -- oh, yes. Now he remembered. Logan. He was breathing through his gritted teeth, breath coming out in rage-filled pants. His hand -- the one with the blades -- was actually shaking.
“You smell like her,” he growled dangerously.
John noticed Ororo’s frozen form back by the door they’d just come out of, her hands to her mouth in shock. He felt a blade nick his throat. Now would be the time to spill the beans.
“I found something of yours.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
OK....umm, I made this big boo boo....I accidently left out an entire chapter........eeep! So, hopefully You'll go back, take a look and things will make more sense.....enjoy
Chapter End Notes:
Hope you enjoyed!