Empathy's Echo
Chapter 5
by
NYC
Disclaimer: All X-men and X-villians are Marvel's characters. Please don't sue me.
"Bent,"~ by Matchbox Twenty
(I think both Melody and Logan are "bent.")
If I fall along the way/ will you pick me up and dust me off?
And if I get too tired to make it/ will you be my breath, so I can walk?
If I need some other love/ give me more than I can stand,
And when my smile gets old and faded/ wait around, I'll smile again.
Shouldn't be so complicated/ just hold me and then/ just hold me again.
Can you help me, I'm bent/ I'm so scared that I'll never get put back together.
You're breaking me in/ and this is how we will end, with you and me bent.
If I couldn't sleep, could you sleep?/ Could you paint me better off?
Could you sympathize with my needs?/ I know you think I need a lot.
I started out clean but I'm jaded/ just phoning it in/ just breaking the skin
Can you help me, I'm bent/ I'm so scared that I'll never get put back together
you're breaking me in/ and this is how we will end, with you and me bent.
Start bending me/ it's never enough/ I feel all your pieces
Start bending me/ until I'm completely broken in.
Shouldn't be so complicated/ just touch me and then/ just touch me again
Can you help me, I'm bent/ I'm so scared that I'll never get put back together
you're breaking me in/ and this is how we will end, with you and me bent.
The trip up to Canada would have been long and cold without Scott's bike. Melody couldn't help but feel a little strange, realizing that this was the first time they had ridden the bike together without something majorly wrong going on between them. It was almost arousing, being this close to him, straddling him from behind, and she could sense in his mind the frustration of being so close to her and not being able to do anything with it. It amused her.
They left at midmorning and arrived by evening at the bar where Logan and Rogue had first met. They had not planned to stop there, but it was on the way, surprisingly enough. There was a cheap motel a few blocks up the street from the bar, and they checked in for the night, going to bed rather early and planning on getting an early start that morning.
After they had saddled the cycle with their bags the next morning, as the sun was just about to rise, Melody climbed onto the back of the bike, adjusting the modest lengthen Katana that Logan had given to her, which she always carried at her back, hidden underneath her light jacket. Abruptly, she said, "Why don't we go down there? If I remember correctly, the diner is open by 6, and it's 6:30. And I doubt that any one who remembers your little brawl is going to be there now."
He paused, looking at her. "If you remember correctly?" he echoed. "You been there?"
She only smiled at him. It was a strange, sad smile. "Yeah, I have. I didn't realize you met Rogue there, but...yeah." She stopped herself, sighing. "Let's just go, okay? I'm hungry."
He nodded, got on ahead of her, and they took off. They arrived just as the bar was cleaning up, but the diner was open and the smell of frying bacon hung heavily in the air. They ordered generous portions, but ate in relative silence as Logan patiently waited for Melody to explain herself. He could sense that she wanted to, was a bit surprised that she hadn't said anything earlier, and was tempted to bring up the fact that they had agreed, even without words, not to keep anymore secrets. This temptation was quelled by the fact that she had pointed out at the same time that there were still things between them to be revealed, and when they were, they couldn't get angry at each other, but simply take the surprises as they came.
It was turning out to be a lot harder than he thought.
She went to pay the bill and he went to the bathroom. When he came out, he found her in the bar, standing outside of the cage that he had fought in not even a year ago now. It stank of blood and sweat and rage. She was smiling.
"I didn't tell you because I didn't really think it was important," she began, looking rather dreamily at the cage. "I didn't realize you met Rogue that night. But I was here, then. I came in," and her eyes grew distant, remembering the evening vividly, "as you were beating the tar out of some honkey...."
She would never forget that night. She had wandered in out of some need to put herself at risk. She had been in places like this dozens of times, and every time with the same purpose-- to hurt herself. That was it. No questions asked. She didn't understand these sudden impulses, but she was pretty much helpless to prevent them. So she went inside the bar, attracted by the sounds of fists hitting flesh and men shrieking for blood. She ordered a beer and took it over to a table a bit closer to the action, barely able to see who was inside the cage, but enjoying the darker emotions that were coming from the men inside.
Or maybe it was that night that she felt something familiar...she didn't know. After a while she grew bored and tired having to continuously strain her neck to see, and when the ringmaster of the cage announced that he'd never seen anything like this, "in all my years," he added with long, dramatic drawl, she was irresistibly pulled out of her chair and onto her feet, nearer to the big, dangerous cage. So many guys had gotten their guts handed to them that most of the more threatening rednecks were no longer around, and all that was left were the panting, greedy bystanders. She felt no real threat from them, except from one guy who sat watching everything with cold, calculating eyes--a guy with a bald head and some unflattering facial stubble, with three layers of clothing over his T-shirt. He was the king cock of this ring, she surmised from the way his displeasure increased every time the champion of the cage took out yet another one of his friends. Finally, unable to restrain himself any longer, he threw his hand up in the air.
"I'll fight him!" It was not a sound she expected from him. It was high pitched, screeching. Not so much threatening but rather pathetic. Everyone cheered--the ringmaster called him, "Our savior!" He peeled off his jackets and button down shirts and got into the ring. Then the ringmaster said something to him away from the mike. Whatever it was, it confused the honkey, and a shred of his overwhelming self-confidence came away. Melody's ears burned to know what it was that had been said, but the bell rang and the fight began.
Now she was able to see the man, the current champion--at least, his back. What a back it was, too. She couldn't help but be attracted to his lithe, muscular form. She would have had to be a lesbian not to be drawn by that kind of overwhelming maleness. The king cock got a few good punches in, took the guy down fast, pressing that beautiful back against the wiry fence lining of the cage. Melody was disappointed, sensing for a second that at last the king had reclaimed his crown.
Then the downed champion lifted the hand he was using to support his weight; the king was in the middle of a downward swing, his fist rocketing down toward the champion's face. The champion balled the hand into a fist and shot it upward. Fist connected to fist. There was a horrible crack as the king cock screamed in pain, pulling back and holding obviously broken fingers. Two more hits--three if you counted the floor--and it was over. She didn't even see the champion use his hands again.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the winner and still king of the cage--the Wolverine."
Then he turned, and Melody saw his face. Saw the hair, how much thicker it was, more unkempt than she remembered. Saw him shift his neck one way and then the other, obviously snapping things back in place. He glared at everyone around him, hating all of them, their boos and hisses and their prejudice against him because he was an outsider. But he didn't care--he didn't care about any of them. Not a single one.
"And then I knew it was you," she finished with a whisper. He'd gotten very close to her now, listening with an intensity that he rarely used because it was just too painful to get that near to anyone. "I left right after that, when you went to go get cleaned up. I didn't want to..." she shut her eyes. "I just...was too scared. You just looked so different. So angry. I was afraid of what might happen if I---"
"If?" he pressed. "What were you afraid of? I wouldn't a'ever have hurt ya. You know, it was just the smell of you that brought it all back to me. When I saw you in that bar last year, it all came back, all at once. If you had come to me then--"
She looked down. "Yeah, I know that. Maybe I wasn't scared of you. Maybe I was scared of me. Maybe I wasn't ready." Then she sighed and raised her eyes to him. "But you know, really, it was better that I didn't. If I had, you never would have met Rogue, you never would have become one of the X-Men, and Rogue might be dead as well as half of the world's leaders. So really, you should be glad I didn't." She paused. "It was better the way it went."
"Yeah," he said, "but still, Mel...I can't help but wish there had never been a reason to wait. That those fifteen years'd never happened."
She smiled at him. "You're sweet," she said, coming closer to him. He put one arm around her, breathing in her scent as it turned musky. Still, there was such a feeling of insecurity coming from her...as if she were beginning to question everything again. If they hadn't been separated that night, almost sixteen years ago, if they had stayed together...maybe it would never have worked out. Maybe they would have fallen apart eventually. Maybe he would have left her in search of better things...
"Hey," he said, pulling her even closer, if it were possible. "Come back here."
She shook herself. "I'm sorry," she said, blushing a bit. "Sometimes I forget you can hear me worrying."
"Yeah," he said with a forceful nod. "You ain't got nothin' to worry 'bout, you know." And he looked at the cage, cocking an eyebrow. "If ya want," he said, "we can find another bar with a cage ring, if it turns ya on." The brow wiggled suggestively, and his voice grew thick. "If it'll take yer mind offa stuff."
She giggled. "Careful," she warned, taking his hand and leading him out to the cycle. "I may take you up on that sometime soon."
"I'll wait with baited breath, darlin'," he replied, and they headed off again, back into the past.
Of course, that moment of levity was the last they experienced for quite some time. The next stop was the house where it all began.
It stood like a ghost, an oblivious ghost, in the middle of nowhere and yet surrounded by a perfectly normal suburb. It was overgrown and fenced in and abandoned, a world all its own, a place of nowhere. There was a chain on the fence preventing any normal entry.
Logan was not normal. One claw cut through the chain. Melody almost stopped him, but she felt very little fear of the people who had caused their past pain now. She'd seen something worse, something far more dangerous in Magneto's mind, and after Xavier's speech to Logan about the coming war between mutants and humanity, he had no anxiety that those who had helped create him might try and take him back again. It had been fifteen years. They had had more than enough time to try if they truly wanted to.
They went inside in silence, like they were approaching a grave. It was an errie metaphor. It made Melody shudder as she walked through the door.
It was open.
Logan went in first, but he didn't miss Melody's reaction. He turned and looked at her.
"This is...how it started." It was all she could say. He nodded, sympathetic. He had never come through those doors on his own two feet. Someone had brought him here, imprisoned him here for a very long time. He had not fully realized it then. It felt like it had happened to a different person. His memories were not as clouded as they had been when they had originally returned to him, but even having Melody's help in straightening them out, it still felt like they belonged to someone else.
Maybe they did, he thought sadly as he walked down the hall and reached the door of the basement. He had never walked these stairs in freedom...the closest he'd gotten was the time he had spent with Melody, getting to know her...how kind and gentle and patient she was with him...how she wasn't afraid of him...
Those things he remembered. Vividly.
"Should we go down?" she whispered, coming up behind him. She was so close her face was almost buried in the thick muscles on the back of his arm. Only one eye peeped at him over his shoulder, the other hidden by his own bulk.
"I guess so, darlin'," he muttered. "Ain't got much other choice, do we?"
He pushed the door open. It wasn't closed, but the merest crack showed darkness beyond. It creaked on its hinges, and Melody felt a terrible shudder run through her gut. It was like an old, bad horror movie.
Logan reached over and squeezed her arm. "Ain't nothin' gonna hurt you with me here," he assured her. "Promise."
"It ain't me I'm worried about, darlin'," she returned with a slight laugh, a lame attempt at levity. "You know what's down there, don't you?"
He nodded. "I've spent my whole life searchin' for these answers," he declared. "I'm goin'. If you don't want to, I don't blame you," he added soothingly.
She shook her head. "You go, I go. We face this together, remember?" She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his tightly.
They reached the bottom in a hazy daze, and Melody was struck by how little it had changed, and yet how alien it seemed at the same time. Or maybe she had changed. Or maybe it was her powers that had developed to the point where she could sense things now and understand them, where before that had been impossible.
Logan, however, was pale and withdrawn and quiet as he looked at his old prison. The door was still open, where he left it, after leaving it the last time. As he entered that dark room, the cold floor echoed underneath his boots and he smelled the faintest odor of dried blood. His eyes revealed, after a few seconds adjustment to the light, the dulled, brownish streaks on the floor. There had been nothing to disturb them all these years. Not even insects, or vermin, like rats. It had stayed perfectly still, gathering only dust and cobwebs.
But whose blood was it? He couldn't remember if it was his or if it was a kill...yes, he used to kill the animals in the cages when they left, or was it just that one time? Melody had been angry at him...or maybe it was the other way around. It was hard to remember now, as lost as he was in the mood of this place. He'd needed to eat, she wasn't anywhere near, he would just take one of the animals from the cages.
The way the light fell across the floor--Melody tightened her grip on Logan's hand. Yes, he remembered. The first moment they met. Looking at each other, two animals trapped in the same cage, two humans thrown together on a deserted island, bonded by the trauma of their crash landing. He remembered the first time he ever smelled her. He remembered the scent driving him nearly wild with things he could not have comprehended then, but knew very well now. Lust, longing, loneliness. It had all come to a head, and she had been the unfortunate trigger.
There was nothing in this room except the blood streaks and some scraps of cloth he had used as a bed. They, at least, had been eaten away with time. Turning, Logan motioned for Melody to go back out into the hallway. She did so, but did not let loose of his hand the whole time.
In the next room were the lab cages for the animals. They had all been left here, left to die. Their bones were still whole, but lay motionless in the bottoms of their homes. There were tables with beakers and test tubes and jars filled with evaporated liquid. There were pieces of equipment that Logan recognized. There were machines with strange leather straps hanging off of them, as if to hook up unfortunates for their various tests and torments in odd ways.
In the next room over, there was Dr. Andrew Logan's desk. There was a plaque on it, bearing his name. Logan finally let go of Melody's hand as he picked it up.
Papers and files and scribbled notes were nowhere to be seen. All of it was missing, cleaned out. The only things left were a box of cigars and a pencil holder with three half-chewed pens sticking out the top.
Logan turned around and hurled the name plaque through the door. It soared, crashed against the bars of the dead animals' cages, and tumbled across the floor with a sickeningly loud thud. Melody winced.
Logan's eyes glittered with rage as he bent over and picked up the desk, flipping it over and sending it all the way across the room to slide into the wall. The heavy oak splintered with the force of the throw. Then, strangely enough, he stopped. The burst left him as quickly as it had arrived.
Melody watched as he just stood there, almost stupidly. "What?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said, his voice carrying a strange emptiness. "It just doesn't feel worth it."
"Maybe you're just a lot more in control of what you are than you'll give yourself credit for."
He grunted. "That name they gave me...Ferro. It was short for Ferocity. Not Ferocious."
She frowned. "What makes you say that?"
"It was a stupid name, a name given as a joke. Mr. Ferocity. That was it." He blinked several times, the memory sliding across mental eyes. "Then they called me Ferro for short and it just took. Especially by Dr. Logan, who had never bothered to give me a real name. Some father," he added, giving Melody a positively vicious look. As if somehow, when he looked at her....
She felt the strange urge to cry. "He was a monster," she agreed. "But he's changed."
Logan just grunted. "Says you."
"I would know," she replied in a whisper. "I saw it happen. You've been cheated by more people than the ones who created this place, you know." She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. "You can't touch them here. They don't exist in this place anymore. But they didn't just steal from you, Logan. They stole from Andrew, too."
"Melody, you know I love you," he said with a growl, "but so help me, you try and defend 'Andrew' right now and I'll have to get nasty. And I don't want to do that."
She considered giving him some scathing reply, but instantly reconsidered. There was no point. Not now. Logan, in this place, was still facing things she had gotten used to over the long, hard years. It made her want to laugh at the twisted version of irony, to think that her skin might actually be tougher than his.
Of course, she did not dare laugh out loud. Not in this tomb. She took a step back into the next room, watching him carefully. Finally, he began to follow, and she turned around to head up the stairs.
Innocently, or as innocently as one could be in a situation such as theirs, she turned back to say something to him, and realized that he was not behind her. Instead, he was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at her. And with such an odd, haunted look, too.
She stopped. "What is it?" she asked, her voice a bit too loud and harsh for the quietness of this place.
He frowned. "When we first met," he said, his voice hoarse, "I tried to hurt you."
She swallowed. "You weren't going to hurt me because you wanted to hurt me," she replied, her voice scratchy. "You just got a little...carried away."
He chuckled, but it was humorless. "I was a wild animal, scenting a female," he said.
Melody felt a terrible trepidation in her stomach. "Yeah," was all she could say.
His eyes were practically shining. It could have been the light. Or tears. She didn't know which. "I'm sorry."
Confused, Melody just stared at him. Then, finally, she said, "But you don't have anything to be sorry for. You didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't your fault."
He shrugged. "I just...get sick when I think about it," he said.
"You think about it?" she pressed. "You remember it clearly?"
He looked down at his feet. "Sometimes," he replied. "Not really clear...but when we're close, sometimes...it comes to my mind. And it hurts," he added with a ripple of disgust. Then, he looked at her expectantly. "Do you think about it?"
She shrugged. "It's not the same now. It wasn't the same then. Come on, Logan...being down here is making you remember it all wrong. Well, maybe not wrong, but it didn't end as badly as you might be thinking."
She stretched her hand toward him down the stairs. After a moment's hesitation, he headed up and took it.
They reached the kitchen. He stopped in front of the door. "I chased you into here," he said, and then, touching his arm, he continued, "You cut me with something."
"A knife," she filled in quietly.
He turned around, and she saw his eyes. Carefully, she reached out with her mind, using just the barest tendril of her empathic senses. It was all she needed when he said, "And then I threw you over my shoulder and carried you up the stairs."
His eyes turned to her, rather wild. *My God,* she thought in horror, *he's reliving it.*
He darted out toward the hallway, her hand locked in his. She was practically dragged up the second flight of stairs and around the corner, like he'd been here yesterday. Then he stopped, and she nearly slammed into his back.
He pointed to the floor of the bedroom, beside the bed. "We were on the floor?" he asked hesitantly.
She got to his side. "Logan," she cried, "come out of it!"
He blinked, surprised. "Mel, help me, come on," he begged, grabbing her other hand. "Tell me...am I right?"
"Yes, dammit!" she replied, miserably.
"And then somehow we got to the bed. But we didn't--"
"No," she sighed, exasperated. "You stopped."
Those words were like the incantation to a magic spell. Relief burst out over his face like a rash. The crushing grip on her fingers eased. "I did?"
"Yes," she said, more evenly now. "You realized what you were doing. You knew it was wrong and you felt awful. I had to make you feel better. That was when I figured out that you weren't..." she hesitated, not knowing how to put it, "that you weren't just some sort of--"
"Animal," he finished for her, and then nodded, as if soothed by this knowledge. "Tell me more," he begged, going inside the bedroom to sit on the old, dirty bed. It cracked under his weight, but didn't collapse. She was pulled down beside him, and she perched on the edge.
"Don't you have memories?" she asked softly.
"I do, but I want you to tell me. It helps."
She shrugged. "I don't know...we sat and talked. I touched your shoulder, that's when I got my first feeling about you, that you had been abused."
He nodded again, eagerly. "Go on."
"Dr. Logan came in at that point," she said, obeying, "but that was it. They took you away."
"So what was I like?" he asked. He sounded so little like the Logan she knew and more like a little boy asking for a bedtime story.
"You...you were shy, at least about me. You were like a--" she searched for a better word, but only found, "a puppy, and a little boy, rolled into one. You didn't know how to sit in a chair, drink from a glass, or eat with a fork, but you knew how to read and you talked like a grown-up. I taught you those other things and we read some books in the house."
"But you were in the house with me," Logan pressed, "because they wanted us to...they wanted us to..."
"Mate," Melody finished rather bluntly. "Yeah. But when you tried again--this time more gently--I wouldn't let us because I didn't think it was right."
He glanced around. "How ironic that they aren't here to see the results of their work," he muttered. Then his face took on a far away look. He stood up, letting go of her, and stopped in the middle of the room.
"Logan?" she whispered after he just stood there for several long minutes, lost in the silence. "Logan, what is it?"
"Mel," he said, his voice so heavy, "what if that was all I am?"
"What? If you were what?"
"Just some accident...some creature for them to use as a guinea pig. Some animal that just takes what it wants and doesn't care about anyone."
"But you know that isn't what you are, Logan," she reminded him, her voice thick with feeling. "I've seen it. You're more than that. You've changed."
"Yeah," he said sadly, turning back to her. He came over to the bed and knelt down in front of her, his hands on hers, resting on her legs. "Mel...I look at those things that I did, at that time...and all I can see is you, and how good ya were to me. But I can't see myself. I can't see that person, that creature that I was. Ferro...whoever he is, he's not me anymore."
She reached out and stroked his cheek. She had an awful, terrible feeling about where this was going, and her fingers trailed over the wiry hairs like numb, lead weights. "What are you saying, Logan?" she whispered, her throat threatening to close as it tightened up.
"What if it's not me that you love, Mel," he said, his voice shaking. "What if it's this ghost of this puppy that you took into your heart fifteen years ago?" He shut his eyes, and to her complete surprise there were two tears standing there, threatening to fall but not daring, not down the face of the Wolverine. "What if--Mel, I have to tell you this, I couldn't live with it for the rest of my life and always be thinking that it wasn't me, but just some old vision that you had..."
"Logan," Melody groaned, reaching out and grabbing his shoulders, "stop it." It was like he was stabbing her through the chest with his claws, over and over. He looked at her, fear and pain in his face.
"I'm not him, Mel," he said, finally. "Whoever he was, he's gone now. There's nothing left of him except his memory of you, which I never want to lose. But it's not fair to you if I don't tell you. He's not me. Not anymore."
She looked into his eyes. "I know that," she said, unblinking. "I knew that from the first moment I met you, Logan. From when I saw you in the cage. I can't lie back and say that I wasn't afraid of what I saw. I knew it was you, I saw the change. But it's not a bad change. It's like being a child and then becoming a man. You're what you are now because of the life you had to lead. But what you are is not bad. You have a great power and you're not afraid to stand up for what is right and use it. You've just been running away from it all because you've been afraid of them trapping you again, like those you trusted most. You've been afraid to care for anyone because you know once you do, something will happen to take them away. But that's not true, not anymore." She stopped, her strength gone with the speech, wondering who she was trying to convince. It sounded like all the things she had been waiting for someone to tell her.
"I know," he whispered.
"And you may think that Ferro is dead," she added, resting her hands against the sides of his face, "but I can still see him inside of you...even if that's not all I see."
He sighed--a great, shuddering sigh that made his back rise and fall. "Every good thing I ever knew in my life," he said, "made me think of you. Even if I didn't remember you, it was still you. I just wish---"
"That you could be sure?" she challenged. "Like I could be sure that you didn't love me just because of some old dependency?"
He gave her the slightest makings of a grin. "That's a good point," he muttered.
"Yeah," she said. "And after all we've been through at Xavier's place for the last several months," and she stopped there, unable to finish the thought, unable to hold back the coiled spring inside of her that was trying to shake loose again and tear her insides apart with her horrible insecurity, the fear that he was right...
He chuckled. "Yeah, I guess we're both being pretty ridiculous then, aren't we?"
She bent over and kissed the top of his head, through the thick hair. "No, Logan...you're not being that ridiculous. Not about your past, anyway. You deserve to have this...everyone gets their chance and now it's your turn." She rested her cheek against his hair and he slid his arms around her. Her face slid to his shoulder and they held each other there for a long time. The shadows of the evening grew long through the window.
Finally, he said, "There's one thing I gotta do before we leave this place."
She nodded, feeling too exhausted from the days events to ask him what that was. She wished, later on, that she had, but doubted she would have been able to stop him.
She stood on the street, waiting. She didn't feel safe out here, but she felt a lot safer than she had felt inside. Then, she heard a strange rumbling, and a terrible groaning, and turned in time to see the house quake and shudder as if writhing in pain before the inside fell in, the roof caved, and all the walls cracked and broke underneath enormous pressure. Within minutes, the house was a pile of useless timber.
Melody just stared at it. What had Logan done? What had he been thinking? Even if he had a mutant gift, he could be buried, he could be pinned in place by the beams, he could be--
"Right here, darlin'," he said, walking out from behind the heap a few moments later, dusting off his hands.
"How in the hell---?" but the question died on her lips as he got closer, a fierce look of triumph on his face.
"I'm hungry," he declared, getting onto the bike. He looked at her expectantly, and she climbed on after him, silent. She did not bother to demand an answer for her unfinished sentence.
It was an odd thing...this diner, it felt familiar. It had to be. She knew it, its vibrations were going off in her head like Chinese gongs. She gazed across the street, reading the also- familiar sign. "The Lion's Den." Sounded like a clichÈ to her, but it was a familiar clichÈ. Then again, she pondered, wasn't that the point of a clichÈ? That they were familiar to everyone?
"Hey," came a soft voice from above. Melody turned her head, startled, to see Logan looking down at her. He'd disappeared into the bathroom for a bit, she hadn't felt like ordering yet. "You okay? You've been awfully quiet since we left...the place."
He sat down in front of her, watching her carefully. She wanted to tell him that she wasn't all right. She was certainly not all right. She hadn't been all right since Logan's outburst in the house, his feelings of insecurity coming up from his gut and into her head. She hated being an empath at that moment. And an insecure empath at that. Because now all she could think about was that maybe Logan had been more right than he'd thought before, about their relationship not being what they thought it was. How in the world did two people legitimately fall in love after the ordeal they had gone through--were still going through, for that matter? How could they possibly be secure in a relationship where there was so much *angst* attached to it!
But she did not voice this anxiety. She had given him this argument before and she knew what she was going to get. Worse yet, it was just going to hurt him, if she kept harping on it. So she tried not to. God help her, she tried.
Instead, she pointed across the street. "Do you remember," she asked, her voice a low drawl, "when I introduced you to the fine art of beer?"
He looked to where she pointed, gazing at the place across the street. Slowly, she watched as the memory danced across his face, into his eyes. When he looked at her again, he was smiling.
"Local brews are always the best," he said. "And some crazy elderly woman stopped us and took our picture."
She had to laugh. She hadn't remembered that part. "Yeah, I wonder what happened to them."
He looked down at his hands. "You know...I had that picture, for a long time."
"You did?" Vaguely, she remembered him telling her that all those months ago in her apartment, when they had first been reunited. "Oh yeah...but wasn't it destroyed in the fire that Sabertooth started in your trailer? The one that got your bike, too?"
He nodded. "I thought so." Then, slowly, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a very old looking piece of paper. "I was in the bathroom not ten minutes ago when I found this. It was buried in a pocket. I didn't even know it."
He turned the paper. On it was a picture of two young, haggard, and insipidly happy people. People who had no reason to be happy and yet had stolen a moment of it anyway and immortalized it on photographic paper. She had her arms around him, and he was grinning a grin that she still saw on Logan's face, whenever he looked at her with that sappy, love-sick, puppy- dog expression.
She felt tears forming. "God," she whispered, her throat closing. "It was so long ago..."
"You ready to order, honey?" the waitress asked, eyeballing Logan and then dragging her roving eyes reluctantly toward Melody. Melody's gaze was riveted to the picture. She didn't even hear the waitress.
"I'll take the steak and eggs, darlin'," Logan said idly. "I think she wants the club sandwich."
Melody just nodded, vaguely hearing the exchange. When the waitress walked away, she dared to look up again. It was too much for her--the hot and cold slamming together, it was enough to break anyone.
"I...I gotta go to the bathroom," she said, handing him back the picture so carefully, as if it were made of ancient, delicate lace that could disintegrate under the wrong touch, and she practically ran for the restroom sign before she lost it in front of everyone.
After ten minutes of carefully reconstructing her shields and getting her emotions back under her iron-tight control, which she had let slip entirely too far over these last months, Melody went back out into the hallway. But what she saw, she didn't expect.
There was a man standing there, with flaming auburn hair and a ruggedly handsome face. His eyes were unlike anything she had ever seen--black where they should have been white, a rich rose-scarlet color where the irises should have been. He peered at her over sunglasses that were normally raised to hide them, but even though the dark lenses, they twinkled with the dangerous, flirtatious fire of a playboy. He was dressed in a black shirt, khaki pants, and a long blue coat, with his shaggy hair cut loosely about his face, hanging in feathery tendrils.
"Hello, chere," he said, and instantly Melody knew he wasn't from around here. "Been waiting for you to come out of dere. Any longer, and I would've had to follow you in." He winked and gestured toward the back door, which was just on the other end of the hallway. "May I talk to you for a moment?"
Cajun? she wondered. The French around this part of the country did not sound like him. And he wasn't pure. Cajun was about the only other option. She hesitated. "Oh, yeah," she said, folding her arms, talking very low so Logan wouldn't hear her. "I'm just gonna follow you outside, where you friends are waiting. No thanks, bub."
He smiled at her, a disarming smile. "Please, mon ami, do you t'ink I would try to trick one who could possibly read my mind? I may be many t'ings, but stupid is not one of dem. I know you are an empath. You can trus' me, for dis moment. I promise, no tricks. Am I lying?"
She reached out, scanning his mind. She pressed harder, looking for just a tendril of deceit, something maybe he might just be able to withhold from her. But no, there was nothing. He really did just want to talk. She glanced toward Logan, who was looking out at the bar, lost in memories. He wouldn't miss her for another five minutes. "All right," she muttered, "but you go first."
He nodded graciously and turned to walk out the door. She followed, wishing she had her sword at her back, but she had had to leave it strapped to the bike, being unable to cart it into the restaurant without causing unwanted attention. Once they were out in the alleyway, he turned back to her, his blue coat swirling dramatically. "Merci, mon petite," he said, still keeping that smile. "I do represen' a man you have come to know in a rather negative light, however."
"Magneto," she said, nodding. "I had a feeling."
His grin turned teasing. "Not small words, coming from one such as yourself," he said. "My name is Remy LeBeau, but many call me Gambit."
"Well, Gambit, as I'm sure you know, you boss isn't that fond of me, if I remember right," she said, and then, with a wicked smile. "And I do remember quite well."
"Ah, yes," the Cajun said, waving his hand. "But de fact that he does not like what you did to him, chere, does not dampen his appreciation for your ability to do it. So I come as a messenger. He would like you to meet him under less dire circumstances."
"No," Melody said. "We done?"
"You do not even wait to hear de reason?" he asked, playing offended. "If it is on account of your hairy friend dat you refuse--"
"What?" she snapped, daring him to finish.
"We can take care of it," he complied, sounding like a gentleman.
She glared at him. "I don't know who's more ridiculous," she declared. "You, or your employer for sending you here. He must have balls made of iron."
"Oh, you misunderstand, chere," Gambit said, keeping that same civil tone. "Magneto wishes to enlighten you, but he would not permit any one of us to harm your friend if it would turn you against us in any way. I give you my word."
"As what, a thief?"
He seemed surprised. "They told me you were an empath," he said, "but not a telepath."
"I'm not, but I can pick up things. I can only imagine that you're a very good thief. You've managed to steal at least five minutes of my time."
"Such hostility," he sighed, "and you haven't even heard me all de way out."
"What else do I need to hear?" she asked, her voice rising a notch. She almost hoped that Logan would appear in the back door, ready to pound the snot out of this pathetic excuse for a messenger boy. Almost. "He wants me to join his precious Brotherhood? He's out of his mind. I'm not interested. Period."
He sighed. "Very well, mon petite. I shall relate your message." He snapped his fingers and the back door's lock snapped, crackled and popped before the door came open. She looked at him in suspicion. "It locked from de inside," he explained. "I was being a gentleman."
She nodded. "Goodbye, Mr. LeBeau," she said. "Maybe we'll meet again someday when you're not on the wrong side."
"Maybe," he said, and by the time she got inside, he was gone.
Melody came back to the table to find Logan looking anxiously at the clock. "There you are, darlin'," he said. "I was beginnin' ta worry--"
"We gotta move," she said, sitting down. She grabbed her coat and put it over her shoulders.
"But the food--" he protested.
She glared at him. "Then we eat and run!" she almost shouted, then hastily lowered her voice. "Dammit, Logan--"
"What?" he asked, straightening, alarmed. "What's got into you, Mel?"
She looked around. There were simply too many people. "I can't tell you until we're alone," she whispered. She sent out a tendril of her mind, scanning the room. No, there was no more sign of the infamous Gambit, nor any others of Magneto's squad. Still, being here made her uneasy. "We might be good for a few more minutes. When we leave, on the bike, I'll tell you."
He nodded. "Okay, darlin'. I'll eat fast."
"What did he say his name was again?" Logan asked. "Gamble?"
"Gambit!" Melody shouted into his ear. On the high speeds of the cycle, conversation was only possible if she got really close to his ear and spoke as loud as she could without screaming. Of course, it wasn't him she was worried about, his hearing was extra keen. All she could hear was a roaring in her ears. "Maybe we should contact Jean or Professor Xavier, run some kind of check on him. See how dangerous he is!"
"Sounds like a plan," Logan agreed. "When we stop, I'll call it in."
The house was exactly as she expected it to be. Still a broken down ruin, fenced in by high wire and signs that said "Keep out, Private Property." She was too upset by the day's events to feel too much when she saw it.
Logan was calling Jean on a cell-phone that they had given to them in case of emergencies. He was telling her the facts as he remembered them, namely, Gambit's name and the rundown of what he had tried to do.
"Magneto is probably trying to recruit some more mutants," Jean said thoughtfully. "I'll see what I can find on this guy and get back to you asap. Okay?"
"Thanks, Jeannie," Logan said, watching Melody with a touch of concern. She had been standing in that position the whole time, just staring at the ruins of the house.
"How's Melody?" Jean asked suddenly.
"I dunno," Logan said. "I'm gonna go find out. Talk to ya later." He hung up the phone without waiting for a goodbye. "Mel?" he called softly.
She looked over her shoulder. She couldn't have known how haunted she appeared at that moment, as if she were just one of the ghosts, getting ready to float away. "What?" she asked dully.
"Well, you knew it was like this," he pointed out. He came closer to her. "Weren't ya gonna ask around a bit? Maybe we can find yer old church, maybe yer parents left some word--"
She shook her head. "No, I already tried that. Nothing. No forwards or anything." She sighed. "And I didn't know any of the neighbors too well. My parents were never that social."
"You c'n at least try," he pressed.
"Logan," she said, turning away from the house to face the other side of the street, "I want to go back home."
He didn't know what to say for a second. All could come up with was, "But--"
"No," she cut him off. "There's nothing more here. I don't know why I even bothered. If the hackers can't find them, how can I expect to find them on foot? It would take a million years to search all the places where they could have gone."
"Mel," he said, a touch of admonition in his tone, "don't get carried away. You know if you put your mind to it--"
"Logan, please," she begged, real pain in her voice.
"Hackers look at computer screens, Mel," Logan protested, unwilling to let her give up. "You gotta put your nose in the dirt and sniff out the trail, if it really means that much to you."
She looked down at her feet. "I don't know if it does. Sometimes it does...but not right now."
He sighed. "Mel, this was your turn," he cajoled. "After this, I was going to have to go face that Andrew guy. You're skipping your turn and it isn't fair."
As she sensed what he was trying to do, it almost got a giggle out of her. "You know," she said, thoughtfully, "I did always suspect that he bought this place."
"Did ya now?" Logan said casually. "I do remember you sayin' somethin' about it."
"Maybe I should go ask him," she said, a bit brighter. Then she looked at him. Finally. "That is," she added, "if you're ready."
"I'm never gonna be ready," he pointed out, his voice taking on a gruff edge. "But I'll do what I have to anyway."
The ride was quiet. Melody did not know what to expect. She thought, deep down, that maybe she should call Andrew and warn him that they were coming. Or at least call him and make sure that he was all right.
Why she would be worried about his current state of health was beyond her for the moment. Something about the Cajun, though, made her worried. But what did any of that have to do with Andrew? Rather, she should be worried about what was going to happen to him after Logan and he met face to face for the first time. That was when the trouble was going to start.
Wasn't it?
Logan slowed the bike down as they neared the street, and Melody pointed out, with the help of a mental nudge, the right house. Maybe to Logan's eyes, she sensed, it was a bit strange. Not what he expected. Maybe he had thought he was going to see yet another replica of the place where they had imprisoned him for the first six or so years of his life. He did not expect this nicely-shaped, stone exterior home with a wide, enclosed porch and curtains hanging from the windows.
"He pick out those curtains?" Logan asked as they parked the bike in the driveway.
Melody considered the question. "Maybe," she said, "or somehow I might have done it."
"You?" It was sharply edged, more like an accusation than an affirmation.
"Yeah," she returned, getting a few steps ahead of him so that she had to turn back to see him. He hesitated on the concrete walk, as if it had suddenly turned soft and cemented him there. He looked at her with suspicion. It was a look she didn't care for.
"You knew, Logan," she said. "He's been all I've had for the last fifteen years. The only connection I had to you," she added, and that touched him, making the harshness relent, the tension ease. "I know you have a lot to work through," she continued, coming closer to him. Her tone softened, and she dared to send her more soothing feelings down the mental bond that they shared. "He knows that, too, you know. He doesn't expect anything from you."
"Good." It was like a low bark.
She sighed. "You want to pummel him, he'd probably take it. He's a healer, too. Like you."
"You think he would?" This got an eyebrow arched and a small grin being to appear at the corner of his mouth.
She nodded. "Considering this thing for penance he has, yeah, probably. At the very least," she added, "he doesn't want you to hate him, and he's willing to do what it takes to make things right. At least, as right as they can be."
"You know all that, huh?"
"No," she added honestly. "But considering how well I know him, how much I've seen him change, I'd be surprised if those things didn't happen. So come on, take a deep breath, and let's just rip this band-aid off all at once, shall we?" She stretched out her hand and he gave his to her. Together they strode up to the door, and Melody knocked.
The door came open at her touch.
"Shit," Logan hissed, pulling her back and getting in front of her. One hand held her pinned there against his back, as if he were afraid of someone snatching her away from behind. He looked into the darkness, and drew a deep breath through his nose. He seemed to hold it, considering it, then let it out and took another, several.
Melody waited. She did not need Logan's enhanced sense to tell her that there was danger close by. It had smacked her like a wave as soon as she had opened that door. But what kind of danger, only Logan could tell. It was hard for her to distinguish particular personalities through the haze of her empathic abilities. Unless she was focusing on someone specific, she could not draw a mental image of whatever mind she was inadvertently encountering. Like the night in the hospital, she thought with a strange tremor through her spine. The night she had used her power to save someone's life. She'd had to seek her out on foot, though, the young woman who lay in that coma. Just like now, she couldn't tell who was causing this---
The Cajun? The thought popped into her mind without prompting. Gambit. But that was impossible. How could he have beat them there? How could he have even known?
Unless somehow Magneto found out...but what possible good would that do him? It made no sense!
"Logan," Melody said, squirming in his grip, "whoever is really in there, I have to check on Andrew. Now."
He nodded. "Okay, but stick close to me. We find daddy, and get out. Reunions and ass- whoopin's later." He took a step forward and Melody followed.
The house had an eerie quiet to it, Logan decided, but Melody didn't seem to be thrown by that so he figured it might be a usual thing. Dr. Logan, or Andrew, as Melody insisted on calling him, had always struck him as being strange, among his many other qualities, most of which were not good. Obviously it stood to reason that the silence that would surround him would reek of the same unpleasantness.
He had smelled two someones he knew as he had stood in that doorway--Sabertooth and Mystique. And a third he didn't know, which he knew wasn't Andrew. He expected his father to at least smell like him, but this guy--for all he knew, it could be that Gambit guy. What in the hell those mutants would be doing here was beyond him. What they could want with a former mad scientist---
*Oh of course,* Logan thought with disgust. Magneto obviously had hatched up a new scheme. And after all, he'd sent Gambit to attempt to recruit Melody. Maybe he was trying to recruit Andrew as well. It really made perfect sense. Although how they would know about the connection between himself and Andrew did confuse him, because even he hadn't remembered it until recently.
Still, the smell of the two mutants was not strong. They may have been in the house, but they didn't seem to be there at that moment. So he let Melody go inside, carefully pressed against his back. When they reached the intersection where the hallway split off into several different rooms, she finally made him release her.
"No one is here," Logan said, "at least, for the moment."
"Wonderful. I wish I knew how to take that," she quipped. "Andrew was here...maybe there's a clue as to who took him--"
"Sabertooth and Mystique," Logan replied.
She stared at him. "But why?"
"He's a mutant. He's a former mad scientist. Do the math. He's got *Magneto's new henchman* written all over him."
"Andrew wouldn't go with Magneto of his own free will," Melody declared solidly, and Logan did not feel the need to argue with her. "If they got him, they took him by force. And if they took him by force, maybe they left a clue as to where they took him."
"You think?" He looked at her incredulously.
"Of course! Don't you ever watch any movies?" she returned.
He shrugged. "My life feels like a movie," he muttered. "Or worse yet, a comic book. All right, you go play Nancy Drew--"
"Who?"
He looked at her. "You never read Nancy Drew?"
"No. You've read Nancy Drew?" She was starting to laugh at him. It was insane, at this particular moment she had chosen to laugh at him because during his travels he'd gotten really bored one night and read an old Nancy Drew novel that someone had left in a bathroom stall. Of course, what it was doing in a men's stall was probably a more interesting story, but it was there, and he was bored, and so he'd read it. Not too bad, either.
"What's wrong with that?" he asked, looking around, feeling tenser as each moment passed, waiting for something--or someone--to happen. "You should be happy that I'm a modern, sensitive kinda guy."
She snorted her laughter. "Yeah, I guess, but I figured you for a Hardy Boys fan."
"Those geeks?" he snarled, scooting back to peek into one of the bedrooms. Melody followed alongside him, looking the other way. "I'll take a pretty little girl in a short dress any day."
"How short?" Melody said, not looking at him.
"When we get home I'll show you--" but the thought died on his tongue, because the next thing he knew he was being hit with a wave of wet, smelly fur right across his jaw. He felt the crack as it broke, shifted his muscles to put it back into place, ignoring the pain bright enough to blind him as he did so, and staggered himself so that he pushed Melody away from the intense stomping that was about to happen.
All over Sabertooth's face.
"Hey, runt," Sabertooth rumbled as Logan staggered into the wall, knocking over a halltable and the lamp that sat atop it. "Looks like yer daddy ain't home. But don't worry, I'll whip ya good fer 'im."
Logan turned his head and glared up at Sabertooth, then expertly raised one booted foot to knock Sabertooth's knee backwards, making the big cat-like mutant shriek. He stumbled, scratching deep gouges into the walls with his claws.
"You ain't my daddy, bub," Logan snarled as his claws came sliding out of his hands. Damn, if it didn't feel good, thirsting for this monster's blood. "And after I'm done with you, you ain't gonna be anybody's daddy for a long, long time!"
Melody stumbled into the bedroom, watched Logan pick himself up and proceed to beat the snot out of that hairy feline guy. Or at least, he tried to. Sabertooth wasn't the sort of guy who liked being kicked around, so he kicked back, and good. She watched for a mere twenty seconds before she realized she wasn't alone in that bedroom.
Someone was in the closet.
She strode over and threw open the door, then pushed back the line of shirts that Andrew hung so carefully. She was rewarded for her efforts by the smile of the familiar one, sheepish as it may have been.
"Hey, Mel," he said.
"Andrew!" she cried, stunned. "What the heck are you doing?"
"Uh...hiding?" he volunteered, stepping out and glancing at the chaos going on through his hallway. "Good idea, if you ask me. Maybe you should join me."
Melody just looked at him for a moment, and then raised her hand just how Logan had shown her and knocked Andrew right across the jaw. Surprised, he stumbled back, and fell right into the closet, grabbing the rack of shirts in an effort to break his fall, only to cause the hanging pole to crack and all of the closets contents to tumble down on top of them.
He looked up at her in outrage.
"You're not Andrew," Melody said.
"Andrew" smiled. "What gave me away?" It was so eerie--that voice wasn't his, but the rich baritones of a woman.
"Nothing," Melody said. "It was just a hunch."
Slowly, the woman in Andrew's form got up, and as she did so, her body began to change. Her skin turned to liquid and rubber and returned to its solid form again in a bright, intense blue. She had on a white garment of sorts, and on her head was a thick crown of rich red hair. Melody had gotten a look at her before, but this time she seemed a bit different.
"Decided to wear some clothes this time?" Melody asked.
The woman smiled. It was a deadly, yet patient smile. "It's always easier to deal with potential allies with some dignity," the woman returned.
"Allies?" Melody asked, cocking an eyebrow. "What are you babbling about?"
The woman's smile was pure disarming charm now. "Melody," she said, "I know you've been asked before, but no one's been able to explain to you the benefits of being a part of the Brotherhood. What you are, you've had to hide your whole life because of those who hate and fear you. With us, you'd never have to worry about that again."
"What makes you think I do?" she snarled. "Listen, lady, you may have blue skin, but you're still a devil, and I don't make deals with devils."
"Ah, but a devil you know," Mystique countered. "And what devils don't you know, Melody? There are threats to our existence as mutants that your poor little X-Men aren't capable of handling. They're burdened by their compassion, but their feelings of respect for these humans. They're Xavier's puppets. It's time they woke up and felt for themselves, and realized what they are."
"Darlin'," Melody said, her voice low and gruff in a nearly perfect imitation of Logan's, "you seem to forget, 'feeling' is what I do."
"If that's a threat," Mystique returned, "you'll forgive me if I'm not worried. Your powers aren't going to do you much good on me, and you don't have a stupid half-animal mutant close by to get you to do your fighting for you." She gestured out into the hallway. "He's obviously busy."
"I don't need him to fight for me," Melody growled. "I can do just fine on my own."
"By all means," Mystique said, spreading her arms wide, "take your best shot."
The growling coming from Logan and Sabertooth as they destroyed Andrew's house was getting more intense. And the worst of it was, Melody had a terrible feeling that Logan was losing.
It was all her fault, she realized, glaring at Mystique. She'd been relying on Logan too much. It had made her lazy, soft. He couldn't always protect her, no matter how much he might think he could. She'd been in tough spots in her life. She hadn't survived fifteen years on the streets, moving around, getting involved with the people she had, and not known how to get out of a bad situation.
She reached behind her, drawing the Katana sword as best she could. The metal made a high-pitched, ringing noise as it scraped free from its sheath. Mystique looked at it and smiled. The woman extended one blue limb, and before Melody's eyes a new shape appeared. An identical Katana sword.
"Maybe steel is superior to flesh and blood," Mystique said, her voice rumbling in that strange, vibrato-tone she used, "but knowledge of a weapon is far superior to--"
"Just shut up and bring it on," Melody snarled.
Mystique's yellow eyes flashed in rage. "Very well." And she struck.
Melody brought up her sword and barely countered. The blow was staggering. Mystique's limbs had to be made out of something really tough in order to send that kind of a shockwave through Melody's arms. But Mystique forgot something.
Melody had been taught by Logan.
Using the one opening she had, Melody brought up her foot and kicked Mystique hard in the gut. The shapeshifter had no time to screech as the air left her lungs, and she flew back on top of the bed.
Melody gathered herself up and pushed forward with her mind. Yes, there it was-- Mystique's rage had been tempered until that moment, but now it was coming up like a great, roaring fire, and Melody fed from that fire. She drew it into herself, trying to suck the fanatical mutant dry, but Mystique had been prepared for a telepathic defense. She shut her mind to Melody, but because Melody was drawing from her emotions, the door didn't seal her off tightly enough, and a considerable amount of fight left her body. Using the circular momentum, Melody shot back a good dose of soothing calm, making the adrenaline leave Mystique's bloodstream, causing her limbs to go limp.
"What are you doing?" But it was a squeak. The fire was out.
"The art of misdirection," Melody said, feeling a bit too proud of her victory. "You wanted a fight, but--"
And that was when the lights went out, turned off from behind.
"Melody!" Logan howled, feeling a sudden wave of panic, and then a deadening at the other end of their bond. Sabertooth was snickering at him.
"Don't let yer guard down, runt," he said, getting a good swipe with his claws across Logan's face. "Don't worry, she's in good hands. Magneto wouldn't want anythin' ta happen to his latest recruit. Not before she was any good ta him, anyways."
Logan's glare was pure hate. "Better get your head checked, bub," he said, his voice a low, slithering, dangerous whisper. "Better yet, let me check it for you." He brought his claws up and managed to impale one of Sabertooth's cheeks on one of the adamantium spikes. As Sabertooth withdrew for just a moment, howling in pain, Logan sent both of his fists into Sabertooth's gut, claws extended to the fullest length. Sabertooth slunk back against the nearby wall, his blood pooling underneath him.
"I gots a healin' factor, too, runt," Sabertooth wheezed, laughing up at him in defiance. "You ain't takin' me out so quick."
"You're not even worth spittin' on," Logan snarled, but there was someone behind him. Someone with flaming auburn hair. He felt a sickening zap at something made contact with his skull, and the world turned into rainbows and teardrops as the floor broke his fall.
"Hey!" Sabertooth wheezed, straightening in spite of the fact that he was almost shorn in two, "I had it unner cn'trol."
"I'm sure, my feline friend," Gambit said, stretching his stick across his shoulders. "Dat's why half yer guts are on de floor."
"Why don't we just finish him and be done with it?" Mystique snarled, sending a contemptuous look down at Melody. "If we kill him, it'll break her. And if we don't kill him, he's going to come after her."
Gambit held up a hand. "We can't kill him, chere."
"Why? Magneto didn't say---"
"Not Magneto," Gambit returned cooly, "healing factor. He's got a healing factor dat makes Sabertooth's here look like de slow motion of a John Woo movie. Whatever we do to him, he will survive it. No doubt." He nudged him with the stick. "Besides, if we kill him, I'll be breakin' my word, and I never do dat to a lady."
"Your...word..?" Mystique hissed.
"I promised her dat Magneto would never allow something to happen to one of her friends dat would turn her against him," Gambit explained patiently. "And if he is dis man of honor he wants me to t'ink he is, he'll be seein' it my way. Simple fact--if you kill de Wolverine, it's gonna piss her off. Really. And what good is dat?"
"You really think she's that spirited?" Mystique said, scorn in her glowing yellow eyes.
"You know it, chere. She didn't shrink from fighting you. And you, mon ami," Gambit added, looking to Sabertooth, whose abdomen was finally sealing back together, although it left him still considerably weakened, "you been inside her head. You tell me what you saw."
Sabertooth actually flinched. Just a little, barely noticeable, but he did flinch. He did not remember much for long, and with good reason. But he remembered her sucking him dry, or trying to. He had always had the feeling he'd just been damn lucky. Even now, looking at her unconscious form on the floor behind Mystique, he had the horrible urge to cower. His pride squelched it. "The Cajun is right," he growled. "Leave 'em. I prefer to kill my meat when it's movin', anyway."
Gambit nodded and smiled. "Then let us be takin' our prize and move along. Before our friend comes out of his nightmare."
As he woke up, he heard voices. Barely. Off in the distance. Retreating voices. They were leaving him...alive? What was up with that? No one with sense would leave him alive, unless they wanted---
*No.* His eyes widened as the smell hit him. He got his arms under him and pulled himself up, ignoring the tremendous pain inside his head. It felt like someone had turned his brain into fried walnuts and they were rattling around his skull. He crawled through the doorway and into the bedroom. A scuffle had taken place in here, he could tell by the way the bed was mussed and the rug on the floor was turned up. There was a pool of blood, not very big and smudged into the wooden floor. He reached it.
*Oh, please, God, no...* He shut his eyes, resisting the urge to howl. He didn't have the energy for it. He didn't have the time. They were getting away and they were taking half of him with them. He staggered to his feet and groped his way out the front door, going to the cycle. They hadn't seen it, small wonder. Or maybe they had and left it for a reason--
He heard a ticking. There was something on the bike. Something with glowing red numbers that were counting down rapidly.
Logan swore a hideous string of curses and groped on the bike's small control panel for the communication's link. He barely had it in his fist before he turned and ran for the bushes. The bike exploded into a hundred thousand little pieces, one of them slamming right into the back of his skull as he hit the ground, his thumb pressing down on the emergency beacon. He said a silent prayer that Melody would be safe until he could get to those assholes and show them, no holds barred, how bad an idea it had been for them to do what they had just done.
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