~*~
Rogue's head was buried against St. John's side--absently, he knew he was stroking her hair, knew he had to look at her, check and see how she was, but there was nothing he could do but let her know he was here. No light, no power, lots of space that was so dangerous that he didn't dare move. Third floor of an abandoned warehouse. Jubes was up here, he knew--but he couldn't be sure about Remy. He'd been too consumed with utter agony to really get around to seeing what else was going on around him.
"Johnny? Rogue? You okay?" Jubilee--he couldn't see her yet, it was too dark. Reaching out, St. John groped for a moment toward the sound of her voice, finding her hand and realized she was crawling in his vague direction. Fingers closed over his as he corrected her angle and she fell beside him, and a sharply indrawn breath made him wince. "Johnny? Where's Remy? Rogue there?"
"Fuck if I know. Rogue's here." Jubilee breathed out a sigh of relief and he could see the vague grey-darkness of her face. Rogue twitched but she still wasn't making any sounds, and he wondered what was going on in her head. He'd do just about anything for the Professor, for Logan, for Hank--hell, for Scooter or Jeanie at this point, anyone at all that knew how to handle this.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck times fucking ten, this wasn't how it was supposed to go. He shut his eyes, but all his reserves were gone--if he wanted light, he'd drain himself unconscious. Keeping his touch on Rogue's hair so she'd know he was there (fuck knew if she even knew there was a world outside her head), he shifted until he could pull Jubilee closer and guided her hand to Rogue's covered back. She breathed out in relief.
"You have anything that can burn?"
"No. Fuck. Reminder--candles next time. Or maybe we could just keep our fucking flashlight, like, with us. I can try--" He could feel her gather herself and grabbed blindly for her hands.
"You'll burn yourself out. Just relax--if I can find paper, I can do a small fire." Though he wasn't sure of that at all, not with his head and his ribs and his knee--oh, his fucking knee. A tension headache was pounding behind his eyes--or it could be incipient burnout. They'd stretched themselves too much too fast. Until they recharged a little, they were as helpless as any other human--even more so, because he knew they were wounded, no matter how stoic Jubes was playing it. And he knew his body temperature had dropped dangerously low. "That fucking bitch." Even his voice sounded exhausted--maybe that was what scared him about it. "That fucking little two-timing, psychotic bitch. I wish I'd killed her. Fuck, I wish I could kill her again."
Rogue twitched but only burrowed closer, and he reached under her, levering her head until it was on his lap. Through gloves, he couldn't get anything on her condition and he could only see the vague paleness of her face and feel the twitching of her body.
"She took it all?"
"Fuck if I know. Carol Danvers is very dead and Rogue's very alive, so you tell me. I don't know what the hell is going on otherwise. Shit, God, let Kitty have gotten the message through."
Jubilee shifted a little more and he felt her hand on his thigh, locating Rogue by following the line of dark hair until she found her head.
"Johnny?" Her voice was low--almost familiar, in that way that screamed she knew something he didn't, something she wished she didn't know.
"Don't say it. If they're not here in an hour, I'll blow this place. Nice and big and someone'll notice that." Hopefully the right people.
"You don't have that kind of control. Or that kind of energy."
"Trust me, Jubes--oh fuck--why the hell didn't you *tell* me?" The fresh smell of blood as she shifted and he felt her freeze. "How bad?"
"We got at least an hour, babe, so no problems--I got it bandaged, sort of. Gimme Rogue and go look for something safe to burn--I wanna make sure she's okay. Besides--well, you know."
Yeah, he did know, and Johnny made a mental picture of her positioning--yellow jacket, gloved hands, her thigh slashed to the knee and blood soaking steadily through her uniform pants. That was her injured left leg stretched--carefully, he gathered Rogue like a child and handed her over, bracing her head on Jubilee's good leg and taking Jubilee's hand from his leg and carefully showing her where Rogue's wounds were. Jubilee stopped him before he could wander off.
"No go--it's too dark to go without an anchor. Gimme a sec--" a pause and he heard her going through her pockets, finding the string she'd grabbed from her room that afternoon and forgotten to put up before they left. "Got it. Ten feet, that's all the give this thing has got. I know you're good spatially, Johnny, but this is absolute dark--and I cant' light fireworks for you, even if I so lost my mind as to do so in a dry wooden building." He could hear the forced good humor in her voice and had to smile himself. "Johnny? Be careful. Bobby'll have my hide if you get hurt."
What neither of them would say--that they couldn't be sure the other three members of their team were even alive.
* * * * *
{Two hours earlier}
"Johnny!" He stared up at the sky--was someone talking to him? He didn't know--but a body fell beside him, hard on its knees and he winced in sympathy. His knees hurt too. He supposed having one broken was definitely a bad thing. Definitely. "Oh fuck, Johnny--what the hell--"
What the hell *had* happened? Still mostly unclear and he was pretty sure he liked it that way--memory might tell him about more painful injuries and how he got them and that would be Bad. Capital B. Bad. Ignorance was bliss. St. John winced as he turned his head against the gloved hand resting on his cheek, wondering if he should tell--whoever--that. But it seemed like an awful amount of trouble, the whole talking thing. He really didn't want to do it.
"Fuck, sugar, don't you dare move your head--did you hurt your neck? Oh God--oh sugar, you're cold--who the hell--what the hell--shit, you're goin' into shock, aren't you? It's okay--I'm here, I'll get us outta this. You--just lay still. I'm here. Everything's fine. Just--just rest. Okay? I'm gonna--shit, where're the others--" A pause and he heard something ripping--leather ripping, and their uniforms were so new, so nice, fit so well. Hell of a first mission, that was for sure. Then gentle hands were probing his knee, but how odd, it didn't hurt all that much. Then--
"FUCK!" Talking was possible. Screaming was better. Much, much better.
"Okay--"
"OH GOD! STOP!"
He was such a whiner, fuck him. Tears burned into his skin--cold tears, very cold. That was his life--cold, cold, cold. Icy, even, like Bobby's skin. Nice skin. Nice, cool skin. Nice, cool--skin--in their bed, he'd woken up--
"Johnny! Snap outta it! You can't--fuck, Johnny! Listen to me!"
Reality was all sharp corners and pain unlike anything he'd *ever* experienced before. And there was something--something he had to tell her. Something important. His eyes didn't want to move at first, but slowly, so slowly, they began to open and he squinted into a night that had really started out much better than this. Had to tell her something.
"Jubes," he choked, because he was sure, so sure--sure that was important. Her eyes widened. "Remy. I don't--" Breathe out, blood on his lip and she reached down, wiping it away, and absently licked her glove clean. It should have made him slightly nauseated, but she was taking in the taste, just like she took in his scent. Marking him in her mind--he'd seen Logan do that once, when Rogue cut herself during a Danger Room simulation.
How very--er, primal--of her.
"Who did this to ya, sugar? Who is it?"
*That's* what he had to tell her. Tell her--tell her 'bout--tell her to run, because they hadn't known--
"You must be the last one--I thought he was, but guess I was wrong. Any more of you I have to worry 'bout?"
Midwestern, flat voice, slightly mocking, mostly annoyed. He felt the hand against his forehead stiffen and it took all the energy in his body to reach up, grab her hand--and who was she again? Dark hair, dark eyes, gloves--oh yeah. Got it. Good.
"Rogue," he whispered, trying to get her attention.
"Who the fuck are you?" The hand on his forehead pressed down briefly.
"I don't think introductions are really necessary, do you? You might wanna move away from him--I'd hate to hurt him anymore by dropping you on top of him."
"Carol," he choked out, and Rogue's hand on his forehead stroked to his singed hair. "Invulnerable--very strong--" wow, he remembered that. Something else--something important, something Rogue wouldn't know how to deal with, something--
"What are you doing here?"
He'd asked that question--he remembered that. Right before she broke his knee and the world went dark, right after he'd vaporized concrete around her that really didn't seem to have much an effect on her--no, something happened, because really, invulnerable or not, those were pretty high temperatures. Pretty fucking high. So invulnerable yes, but something else, something--
"I'm not here to play twenty questions, kiddo. Be a dear--pick up your friends and get outta here. If you can find them all, that is."
Kitty had gone to call for help. Yes, he remembered that, he gave the order. Go get help. Walk if you have to, use an unsecured line, scream at the top of your lungs, just get away and get help. Get help now.
Get out now. Get Bobby out.
"You want me gone too bad--whatcha up to, Carol?" A pause as he felt Rogue's hand leave his forehead and he clung to her fingers, wanting to tell her--tell her something, something important--he knew it was important. Knew it. But the blood on his tongue was so fascinating--did she get through one of his lungs? Maybe broke a rib, pierced a lung--yeah, it was possible and he could measure his life in minutes. On the upside, once he was dead, his knee would stop hurting, and that couldn't be all bad, right?
Her hand slipped from his grasp after a quick squeeze and he did the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life--rolled onto his side, his wounded arm a pillow for his head, forced his eyes to stay open, though God, that hurt his knee--that hurt like *nothing* except maybe the moment she broke it, but he wasn't sure about that because he'd passed out. Groaning softly, he managed it, he was on his side--would that be bad for splintered ribs? Hmm. Gotta think on that one. Biology class--
--no, he had to tell Rogue--tell Rogue--
"Have it your way." Her flat voice was really painful to hear. He didn't like it at all. Forced his gaze up, saw Rogue standing with that odd, perfect concentration of hers, the look on her face the one she got when Wolvie--hehehe, Logan, oh God, he had to be concussed too--ran them through drills. But she wasn't up to their level yet, she just didn't have the muscle developed--though she was a shitload faster than any of them and that made up for a lot. It really, really did. But speed--speed wasn't what he wanted to think about, because Carol had survived when concrete did not, and there was something wrong with that, because she did something then broke his knee and ribs and fuck, maybe his head too.
Maybe he could take a nap and forget about it for awhile. Though were you supposed to sleep with a concussion? Mr. Summers had said--had said--
"Shit!" Rogue, skipped backward, and Carols' fist just missed her face. Girl had the reflexes--couldn't be easy. Not at all. She was watching Carol--yes, that was why she was so still, Logan telling them to know their opponent, that blind attacks just weren't the brightest idea in the world. When he saw Logan again, he was going to tell him he was right--blind attacks were bad. Especially if you weren't around when Bobby went down, when she hurt him, you can hear in your head his voice telling you he loves you. This morning, in bed. Rolling over and smiling, going back to sleep against him.
St. John would be remembering that for the minutes, hours it would take for that theoretically broken rib to finish turning his lungs into confetti. It was a good memory. He wanted that to be his last. He did.
"No--fuck!" Rogue hit the ground inches from him at a bad angle for her shoulder and he watched her wince before she shook it off, rolling and on her feet--and did she growl? Yeah, she growled, and he dragged his gaze to Carol--she was used to fighting powers and Rogue didn't have that kind--Rogue was doing this the old-fashioned way, physical. And she was trained and Carol wasn't like that, all Carol had was that raw strength and the invulnerability crap that was really odd. It occurred to him, rather vaguely, that maybe Carol didn't know--
"Fuck! Shit!" On her back, barely landing well enough to avoid spraining something, and he saw the imprint of a fist on her eye--that would make a spectacular shiner.
"Stay down, kiddo. I won't have to hurt you anymore."
Rogue spit blood out on the dirt, gloved hand bracing on the ground as she got upright, and he watched her shake her head roughly, keeping the low crouch on the balls of her feet.
"Fuck you. Who the fuck you think you're dealing with, sugar?" A pause, and Rogue was crouched, still watching--and he wanted to tell her that it really didn't matter--that they were gonna be dead anyway. That Kitty and Bobby were probably dead, that Remy and Jubes were so totally unconscious that Carol'd have an easy time getting rid of the evidence. That Carol really couldn't afford to leave anyone alive, he knew her M.O., and God, he was so cold. So cold. He had no idea he could *get* that cold. He was drained down farther than he'd known he could go.
He could split a molecule of water with enough force, but taking out Carol should have been all about finesse. Because Carol was all about finesse. Fuck, she knew him too well. Rogue couldn't fight her--shit, she'd gone through four of them and who knew what had happened to Kitty? Who the hell knew?
Bobby--God, Bobby...
Rogue hadn't moved from her crouch, still watching--her eye was swelling shut and he could see the tears in her uniform from the rough handling, and it was odd, he hadn't known she wore jewelry, because she was wearing something around her neck, he could see it beneath the torn collar of her top. Blood was winding down her chin from her mouth and he wondered if Carol had broken some of her teeth.
And Carol was watching her, confused--but he could have told Carol that Rogue was methodical, that she was doing this by inches, testing for weakness. And the girl had a scary threshold for pain--he supposed nightly dreaming of being dissected or being stuck in a life-sucking machine changed your perceptions on pain. He himself--
"Come on," Rogue breathed, staring up with that intense focus. "Afraid of a little girl?"
Carol attacked and it was all dust and dirt and voices that didn't make any sense, though he could see the twist of Rogue underneath--big mistake, Carol was too strong, once Rogue was pinned, Rogue was very dead. Rogue was--Rogue was--
Rogue was spinning out and on her feet and blinking as Carol hovered a few inches off the ground.
"You're fast," Carol said, and Rogue shook her head--oh right! Carol could *fly* that was how she'd gotten away from Bobby and Jubes and him--she could fly and they fought in two dimensions, not three--back and forth and left to right, this up and down business was just for the dogs. No, he just didn't like it at all.
"Cool," Rogue murmured, watching Carol hover. "I like that. How many are you gonna kill, Carol? All of us? You gonna make a clean sweep?"
"Nothing personal, honey. Just a mission."
"It's never personal until it is. You took down a lot of my friends. Who ya workin' for?"
Silence, and St. John blinked rapidly--something about Rogue's tone bothered him. Something that made him want to lift his head--as if he could--and maybe ask what the hell was going on. Rogue was still watching Carol--Rogue was dangerously still.
Carol seemed to sense the same thing--she hovered a little, when frankly, St. John had expected her to attack the second she got the opening. Rogue had a bad shoulder and from the way she was standing, possibly a sprained ankle. Easy pickings.
"None of your business, kid."
Rogue's head cocked to the side briefly--and St. John had seen that look before, watching Logan and Scott face off in the dining room, watching Logan work out in the Danger Room, watching Jean cross a room. Measuring, testing, deciding--knowing. Fuck, knowing.
Then it happened--and maybe it was just Carol didn't really quite understand that Rogue hadn't shown off her mutation, though she wore the uniform. That Rogue wasn't the type to fight a losing battle--
--and Rogue was pinned on her back, a hand wrapped around her throat and not doing a damn thing about it, and St. John found something in him that dragged him almost upright.
"Rogue!" Could they even hear him? One of Rogue's hands was locked on the woman's wrist and she was doing all the right things to get her off--not that someone that strong could be thrown easily--but Rogue's entire focus wasn't on those reflexive movements, on the lack of oxygen or the crushing force of that hand that would wreck her windpipe in only a few seconds--he saw her free hand finally, braced under her hip as she began to pull her fingers free of her glove--
Oh no. No, no, no--
Rogue twisted her hand up and grabbed Carol's very bare face. Reflexively, Carol let go of the vulnerable throat and Rogue threw her over, pinning her under the weight of her body. Teeth bared in a smile that hurt to look at.
"The name is Rogue, not little girl. And you just fucked up bad, sugar. I'd like to learn to fly."
Both bodies went stiff as the connection snapped into effect and Rogue's eyes widened.
That's when they both began to scream.
~*~