Peril of Flight
Chapter 2
by
Paxnirvana
Author's Note: Rating for language, rape & violence, mild sex. Hey, it's the X-Men, right? Wolvie cusses, Sabretooth's mean to somebody in it, they dress in black leather and beat people up, and Logan/Ororo are hot for each other. What more do you want - milk and cookies? *Original Character warning.* Thought I'd forgotten her, eh?
The limitations on Storm's powers are Bryan Singer's fault not mine - it's Movieverse.
Disclaimer: They belong to Marvel and 20th Century Fox. Not me. I just love 'em. This is for entertainment purposes only. I make not one thin dime off this. Trust me.
Breakfast had become one of the more interesting parts of the day, Bobby Drake thought as he stole another look at the teacher's table. It was the one meal you could count on finding nearly everyone at. Dr. Grey sat beside Mr. Summers, her face pale. He was as unreadable as usual behind his red glasses. On the other side sat a calm Ms. Munroe, but then she was hardly ever out of sorts - unless they were goofing off in class. Beyond her sat Logan. The Professor himself had even joined them today, taking his place at the end of the big table.
For some reason, Logan was in a foul mood. Not that it was an unusual state for him. He ate with concentration, ignoring everyone around him. Ms. Munroe seemed undisturbed by the Wolverine's mood, speaking easily with the ever-stoic Mr. Summers. And that was strange, since that day in the rec room when she went to him and he carried her out of the room, they'd seemed to be an item, of sorts. The girls were still going on about how romantic it had been. It was enough to make a guy sick.
Dr. Grey and the Professor were looking serious as they discussed something between themselves. Maybe another trip to the Senate? St. John nudged him with an elbow, disrupting his thoughts. "What's with the Wolverine?" he asked quietly. Bobby shook his head.
"Dunno," he replied with a shrug. "He always seems to be pissed about something."
"Think it might be about you spending so much time with Rogue?" St. John didn't even try to conceal his glee over that possibility. He'd had his eye on the new girl too and was still ticked that she'd scarcely given him the time of day.
"I hope not," Bobby said with a shuddering glance at Wolverine before darting a look at the far corner table. Rogue was sitting in her usual spot, alone, reading a textbook as she ate. He'd tried to join her, but she'd told him she wanted to study. She seemed a little down as well.
Something seemed to be up, and if there was one thing Bobby hated it was to be out of the loop. The X-Men had taken the jet out in the middle of the day a few days ago. Some humans had snatched Ms. Munroe from the museum field trip. He'd never seen the cool Dr. Grey so upset before. They'd got Ms. Munroe right back, but since then, things had been tense.
Mrs. Quinn, the housekeeper, came into the dining room. A slightly plump older woman, she was ostensibly a mutant, but no one knew what her power was. It was an ongoing challenge among the students to try and discover it. She would only give a strange, secretive smile if asked and no one had yet managed to trick it out of her.
"There's visitors for you, Professor," the housekeeper said quietly, her cheerful face unusually sober. The Professor traded looks with Dr. Grey, then nodded to the housekeeper.
"Thank you Mrs. Quinn, please tell them I will be with them shortly," he said, wiping his mouth carefully. Mr. Summers raised an inquisitive brow at him. The Professor gestured for Mr. Summers to remain, then he and Dr. Grey left the dining hall. Logan watched them go, eyes narrowed. Ms. Munroe put a hand on his arm. The Professor must have used his telepathy, because he hadn't said a word, yet they all seemed to be in on it.
That still weirded him out at times, the whole mind-reading thing, but it was a comfort as well. The Professor was watching out for them all the time. It was cool how the X-Men had gone after Rogue and Ms. Munroe. They were just like a big family.
* * * * *
"Professor Xavier?" Two men awaited them in the front hall; a tall man with shockingly orange-red hair and liberal freckles to match and a shorter, heavier man with dark hair and perpetual stubble. They were obviously policemen. Both of them cast appreciative looks at Jean as she walked silently beside him.
"Yes, gentlemen, how may I assist you?" he asked, a pleasant expression on his face. He didn't really have to try to read their minds, they were broadcasting nervously. They suspected, but did not know for certain. He carefully shielded his mind from theirs; spillover could be quite distracting.
"I'm Detective Riley and this is Detective Carter, sir," the taller man continued, tearing his gaze away from Jean with difficulty. The man was nervous about speaking with him. Because he was in a wheelchair, or because he was a suspected mutant was difficult to tell without a deeper scan. Which he would not do.
"Detectives," he acknowledged. "This is my associate, Dr. Jean Grey." Jean nodded elegantly to them.
"Sir, we hate to disturb you this early, but we've had complaints about noise," Detective Riley said.
"Noise?" he asked, raising a peaked eyebrow. The two men shifted nervously.
"Yes sir, like a jet engine."
"Shouldn't you be consulting the Army, gentlemen? They do have an air base not too terribly far from here," he said calmly. They exchanged looks, then the shorter man spoke for the first time.
"We've already communicated with them. They deny it." His tone was sharp and suspicious. "Witnesses claim they saw a jet hovering over your school a few days ago."
"Really, gentlemen," the Professor said with a faint smile. "This is a private school for children, not a military installation. I'm afraid your witnesses were mistaken. And the Army is hardly likely to admit to classified maneuvers."
"Maybe," the shorter man said, expression hostile. "But these people were pretty clear in their description. A black jet came out of the trees near here and took off north over their heads. They thought it was going to clip the trees, it was so low. Nearly drove them off the road. Then there was that incident up north with a VTOL jet landing on the highway."
"How interesting," the Professor said politely, clearly disinterested. "I hadn't heard. The military seems to to be very active this time of year."
"So you claim to know nothing about it?" Detective Carter demanded.
"We certainly would have noticed a jet hovering over the school buildings, Detective," the Professor said with mild amusement, exchanging looks with Jean. "Now, if you will excuse us, gentlemen, it's time to get classes started for the day."
"Okay," the tall red-haired man said, catching his partner's arm. "We're sorry to have disturbed you, Professor Xavier. Dr. Grey." They turned and walked to the door, but not before the shorter man cast them a sour look over his shoulder.
Once the door had closed behind them, and they both felt the policemen enter their car and drive away, Jean turned to the Professor.
"They didn't believe you," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, her expression worried.
"I know," he replied with a sigh.
* * * * *
Toad was gone. He'd taken the big cargo helicopter to the Mainland sometime during the night. Nene was temporarily alone on the island. How long it would be before he returned was uncertain.
Maybe it was finally time for Mystique's little job. And a grim thought occurred to her, not for the first time; would they still need her around when it was done?
During the last time Toad had left, running errands, she'd discovered Magneto's special device. According to the minimal computer information she could dig up, it was an apparatus for amplifying the thoughts of non-telepaths. And probably dangerous as hell. But she was desperate. Last night, Toad had let slip in his taunting way that something big was coming, something she'd better be up for. Then she'd thank him properly for making her practice her powers like he did, she would. As if the torment he'd put her through for weeks had actually been some kind of sick favor.
The device was a strange helmet-like affair, silver with odd arcs connecting heavy cables to the side of it. It sat on top of a short pier centered in the middle of a small round room. The door closed ominously behind her when she lifted the helmet off the stand.
Taking a deep breath, she set the thing on top of her head.
At first there was nothing, save the hum of the machinery amplified in her ears. Then the pain began; a piercing sensation starting behind her eyes as if a white-hot sliver of metal had been thrust into her brain. She clutched the sides of the helmet, fingers white with strain. And forced herself to think.
//Professor Xavier!// she tried calling, unsure if she was making progress. The pain grew more intense, stabbing deep behind her eyes, making her cry out into the echoing space. But she gritted her teeth and tried again.
//Help me, Professor!//
* * * * *
He was in the middle of the morning Physics class when he heard the first whisper. He raised a hand to stop St. John's rambling recital of Feynman's Six Easy Pieces and cocked his head, as if that would help him identify the source of a mental cry. So faint was the call that he dared not split his psychic attention.
Charles Xavier pierced young Kitty Pryde with an urgent look. "Get Dr. Grey. It's an emergency. The rest of you, go now." Kitty, bless her, gulped in surprise, then obediently phased through the floor toward the lab. The rest of the children gathered up their things with only slight hesitation and scrambled out of his office.
The elusive whisper came again. //Help me, Professor!//
//Who is this?//
//Please. *hurts so bad* Help me, Xavier!//
He could hear running feet in the hallway, then the door to his office banged open. Jean was there, among others, coming to his side, her face concerned. He nodded once to her and she put her hands beside his head, her bracelets ringing comfortingly. Her warm presence touched his mind.
//Who are you?// he called again, following back along the tentative call, trying to forge a stronger link with his powers. With Jean's steady anchor he could project farther, see more clearly, without risk of losing his way. The link wavered and might have been lost, but he took a risk. Lowering his shields, he strained farther, then winced as a wave of jumbled agony/hope/fear/desire came crashing through his lowered shields. He was just able to block it from rolling over Jean, but only by absorbing more of it than he cared to. Jean shuddered, feeling the echoes of it, but held steady for him.
//Nene?// Charles cried, identifying the mental voice at last. //Where are you, child?// Her sense was flickering, fading, her thoughts dominated by searing pain.
//Island. *burning* Sabretooth. Toad. *deep* Help me!//
Then she was gone. He probed for her an endless moment longer, then lifted his hands to lightly touch Jean's, releasing her anchor. She looked down at him in surprise as she lowered her hands.
"They're alive. She's alive," she gasped. Charles took a deep breath and closed his eyes for an instant, gathering his thoughts, trying to control the unaccustomedly wild emotions he'd taken in. Then he looked around the room. Scott was there, his expression concerned, overly protective since Mystique's penetration of their security. Logan too, lurking against the far wall, more spooked than he'd care to admit by psychic goings-on, as he'd term them.
"Who's alive?" Scott demanded. Jean sighed deeply, trading looks with the Professor.
"Sabretooth and Toad," he said, more sharply than usual. "And Nene as well. She's in danger."
"Hell, I thought we toasted those bastards," Logan snarled, coming away from the wall. Jean stepped away to the windows, needing to distance herself from the Professor now after the vulnerability of anchoring. Scott let her go, watching her with helpless concern, well aware of a telepath's need to re-establish boundaries after an unexpected event.
"Sabretooth has a healing factor perhaps even more powerful than your own, Logan," Charles found himself explaining as his mind reluctantly settled. "Toad, however, could just have gotten lucky. Electricity can be very unpredictable."
"And the girl?" The news of her death had made its rounds of the school, apparently.
"I don't know, but it was definitely her," he replied, trading looks with Jean. She nodded once in agreement. "She risked a great deal to contact me."
"However she managed it, it was quite painful," Jean agreed, rubbing her temples. "Substantial feedback. She's no telepath."
"Where are they?" Logan asked eagerly.
"I wasn't able to determine. I'll have to use Cerebro to pinpoint her, if I can."
"What do you mean by that?" Scott asked, walking over to Jean. She reached out and took his hand with a weary smile.
"Eric had developed a way of shielding against my power. He used it to conceal his base of operations from me as well as his own thoughts. When she stopped projecting, I lost contact with her. If she's on his base, I won't be able to find her."
"I don't suppose any of you have considered this might be a trap," Logan said with a sneer. The Professor raised a brow at his cynicism. "I don't think you quite understand what's involved in telepathic contact like that, Logan," the Professor said with kindly patience. "There is no way for a non-telepath to deceive me. She truly believes she's in mortal danger." Jean nodded her agreement, her face pale, remembering the force of the emotions the Professor had deflected onto himself. Scott drew her hand comfortingly to his chest. She darted him a grateful smile. Logan glared at them all, clearly not completely convinced.
"Then look for that Sabretooth bastard," Logan growled finally, turning away to the door with a reluctant shrug. "I doubt he hides out anywhere long."
* * * * *
She didn't know how long it took her to wake up - but it was probably too long. She was still flat on the floor of the little round room, the helmet dangling at the end of its tethers above her. With a groan, she rose to her knees. She'd done it. She'd felt Charles' reassuring determination in her mind. They would come for her. But right now her head felt as if it was going to burst, like a blowout hangover only worse, and her vision pulsed with odd black spots. Had she fried her brain somehow?
Worrying about permanent damage would have to wait. She had to get out. If the big one came back and found her here, she'd be dead for certain. With shaking hands, she fumbled the helmet back into its holder, releasing the door.
Unable to summon the strength to stand, she crawled out of the room. But outside, she was forced to draw herself painfully up in order to close the door again. She wasn't certain how she did it, but she managed.
Swaying and clutching the wall, she stumbled out of the lab area. A common room would be okay, if they discovered her unconscious there. Her own room would be best. They might not look for her right away.
Nene staggered down the hallway, fighting the blinding pain in her head.
* * * * *
The Professor dispatched Scott to calm the students after his abrupt actions in class. They seldom saw him so agitated and he was too preoccupied now to settle them himself. Intrusive thoughts and feelings swirled through his mind. Nene's thoughts. Nene's hopes. Nene's fear. The signal she'd used to contact him had been strangely familiar, yet odd. He guided his chair automatically, clearly preoccupied. Jean, anxiety plain, followed him down to Cerebro. Logan trailed along.
"I shouldn't be long," he said, smiling reassuringly at Jean. She gave him a weak smile in return, then stepped away from the door. Cerebro's glittering access port awaited him. He rolled toward it eagerly.
The huge door slid silently closed behind him.
* * * * *
Logan was staring at Jean with narrowed eyes. "What really happened up there?" he asked suspiciously.
"What do you mean?" she replied, turning reluctantly away from the closed door.
"Chuck's bent out of shape about this kid. Not like him."
"The Professor feels very strongly about saving mutants from harm," Jean said stiffly. "He was distressed by her death. He's just pleased to discover she's still alive."
"Right," Logan said sardonically, but let it drop for now. "How likely is it he'll be able to find her with that if Magneto had all that blockin' stuff he claims?" He jerked his head toward the door leading to Cerebro.
"Not likely at all," she said with a sigh. "But your idea about Sabretooth is a good one. It might just let us find her before they find out what she's done."
"How could they tell?" he sniffed. "All in your heads, wasn't it?" Jean shook her head and crossed her arms, unconsciously taking on a lecturer's pose.
"Whatever amplification device she used was very powerful. Too powerful for a non-telepath. If she's still conscious, she probably won't be able to get far. They'll find her near it and deduce she used it - and what she likely used it for," Jean said, her expression grim. "What do you think Sabretooth will do?"
"Fuckin' kill her," Logan said angrily, clenching his fists. "Stupid, brave kid."
* * * * *
Their earlier contact had at least given him a general direction and range. He probed out past the coast, seeking far out to sea. Island, she'd said. He glanced across ships and planes and the simple minds of birds.
Nothing. She was shielded on Eric's hidden base. Frustrated anger surged. Surprised, he paused and gathered his control carefully. Cerebro did not forgive lapses in attention.
It was time to try Logan's suggestion. He started looking for Sabretooth. And was chagrined by how easy it was to find him - just before he disappeared.
* * * * *
She heard the helicopter dimly through the pounding pain. The sound, and the terror it brought, pushed her to her knees. How long had she been lying there on the floor? She was still in the lab area, too close to the secured section. She crawled painfully toward the door.
Darkness swallowed her again, but she came back abruptly when she was flipped onto her back.
"What'cha been up to, frail?" the dreaded voice growled. "Bad shit, I think." He bent close, sniffing her suspiciously. Then he walked away from her, deeper into the labs. An outraged roar came echoing back.
"Damned bitch!" he snarled, the angry sound piercing her painful head. "Ya ratted us out!"
He had obviously tracked her scent back to the round room and knew what it was used for. She shivered in terror, trying to prepare herself to die. He came tearing back, pouncing down to crouch over her, his teeth bared at her.
"I outta rip your guts out, bitch," he snarled, clawed hands poised to do just that. He warred with himself for an instant, obviously remembering the plan and Mystique's orders. Then he grabbed her shirt and shredded it instead. Her bra was reduced to tatters, the skin cut beneath. She cried out, her voice shrill. Growling laughter echoed around her. Her pants went next, torn roughly away.
His dark gaze ran over her naked body, followed closely by his clawed hands, the sharp tips trailing thin lines of blood behind them. Across her breasts and belly, to her thighs. She cried out again, a high keening sound of terror and pain. ". . . as long as it don't show," he growled half to himself. Then he opened his own pants, releasing his huge erection.
She fought the pain in her head, the fear rising to choke her, then she struggled wildly under him. A swinging fist hit him solidly, splitting his lip against his sharp teeth. Blood spurted for an instant then stopped. Before her horrified eyes the cut sealed itself, vanishing without a trace. He smiled evilly, wiping the blood away with a clawed hand. Then he dropped down hard on her, crushing her into the floor, stopping her pitiful resistance. He pushed inside her, tearing her, and his claws bit deep into her arms. She felt as if she was being split apart, her head pounding, her body invaded.
She screamed again, someone's name, then blackness rose and mercifully she knew no more.
* * * * *
The X-Men stood around the magic table, watching the shifting pins as they plotted their plan of attack. Their goal was a tiny, rocky dot of an island off the New York coast - just outside the 12 mile limit. International waters. The Professor had lost contact with Sabretooth more than ten minutes before, it would take them perhaps the better part of an hour to reach the island. They split up to get ready.
Charles Xavier stayed beside the map, staring pensively at the little island represented there.
* * * * *
It was Toad who took care of her, to her numb surprise. She woke again when he was carrying her into the big suite. Her head swam with pain, her body ached. Cursing under his breath the while, he cleaned her up with all the detachment of a doctor, washing her carefully, spraying a sealant on the long scratches down her body, feeding her medication. She swallowed everything he gave her with dull indifference. He then dressed her like a child in clothes he pulled out of a suit bag.
She complied with every request like a zombie, standing, moving sitting to his every command. He led her back to her own room finally, ordering her to stay there until he came back for her. The mission was on, and she'd better be ready when the time came.
She lay down on her narrow bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, waiting. For death or rescue, she was no longer sure.
* * * * *
Logan came up silently behind her as she was putting on her gloves. His hands slid around her waist and he pulled her back tightly into his embrace, burying his face in her snowy hair. Ororo tilted her head back against him, her eyes closing in pleasure.
"Don't say it," she said quietly.
He grunted into her hair. "How'd ya guess?"
"Logan, you're not exactly subtle." A small smile crossed her lips. "I've been an X-Man for a long time. I can take care of myself."
"I'm takin' him out this time," he growled menacingly, hugging her tighter. "He's not touchin' you again." She was silent, remembering the feel of a thick claw trailing slowly down her face, fetid breath, and gleeful anticipation in wild, dark eyes. Then she turned in his arms and kissed him quickly.
"Come on, they're waiting for us."
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