All right. A bit shorter chapter again, but it’s the week of Halloween, so I’m calling in one of my many excuses. But short or no, I hope you enjoy.
Happy Halloween, everyone! Drop a review for me instead of the usual candy!
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Chapter 47: Always Watching Over You
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Now:
Logan stared down at Emma Frost’s folder, a lit cigar held firmly between his teeth that he’d dug out from his secret stash in the kitchen. Good thing he kept a few handy: he wasn’t feeling up to taking the stairs at the moment.
He puffed away, frowning. The smoke burned his still-healing throat, but the scent made the world back up a hair, letting him breathe.
What in the world was he doing here?
Logan knew he wasn’t high-class material—not in morality, money, or manner. Storm had been—and still
was, he insisted—a goddess: gorgeous, natural in her beauty, clean as summer rain.
Emma Frost was a Barbie Doll from hell.
Course she’d probably stab him in the eye with her high heel if he were to tell her so, so actually saying such a thing out loud was out of the question. She was cool, collected, and completely no-nonsense despite her perfectly manicured hands. She looked like a *****.
He liked her right from the start.
Though ‘liked’ probably wasn’t the right word. At least he figured he wouldn’t have to put up with much crap from her, and that sat just fine with him.
She wasn’t wearing the corset. He was glad; not like he minded the view, but the whole outfit was a bit too kinky. She’d swapped it for low-riding pants and a weird top that left her shoulders and stomach bare, with a sort of cape that fell around her back and arms—all white. It somehow took the ****ty look one step higher to something almost elegant. Lady had guts, and a good bod—and wasn’t afraid to show either.
“All righ’” Logan said, pulling his feet down from the desktop and slapping the folder down. “Here’re the ground rules. There’s no point in playin’ with my head—it’s already screwed to hell, so stay out of it. And no messin’ with the kids or I’ll kill ya. Any questions?”
“Your bluntness, crass as it is, is strangely refreshing, Mr. Logan.”
“Jus’ Logan,” he said. “You don’t got my respect, Frost. You gotta earn it.”
“Very well.”
He leaned forward. “I’m gonna lay it down to you right here. This place is a mess. I’m probably gonna get hell for callin’ you in, but I didn’t see any other choice. I gotta kid downstairs whose losin’ control of her powers. Touches people, absorbs their psyche or whatever the hell. You don’t get in there and sort everythin’ out, she dies.”
“I see,” Emma Frost said dryly, lifting a perfectly sculptured eyebrow. “And once I’ve ‘sorted everything out,’ I’ll be calling back my driver?”
“Was thinkin’ about it,” Logan said, standing. “Any other questions?”
The telepath stepped to the side, gesturing with her hand for him to lead. “’Wherever you go, I will go,’” she quoted.
A sarcastic little *****, wasn’t she?
He smirked.
Frost followed him into the hall, eyes tracing the lines of the house with an aloof expression. They didn’t speak as he pushed the button for the elevator, and she regarded him coolly as they descended. Logan ignored her, along with the itch of his blood drying down his chest. His throat still hurt like hell as it continued sealed its way back up, and he could still taste fresh blood as it leaked slowly from the shrinking seam. His healing factor was still playing catch-up after being leant out to Rogue.
Great first impression.
Had to hand it to Frost, though—she had barely blinked when he’d answered the door. Good at keeping her feet under her.
Wolverine stepped out first, jerking his thumb towards the room at the end of the hall as he spoke around his cigar.
“Cerebro’s there. Might let you play with it once I figure you’re not gonna make all our heads explode or whatever the hell. Danger Room, Med Lab,” Logan pointed each out, and then swept into the last named. “How she doin’?” he asked Beast, not missing a beat.
Beast looked up and blinked. He turned slowly on his crutch. “Ms. Frost,” he said, his voice as polite as ever, but there was a hard edge to his tone. “I was not aware that we were going to be having company.”
“I was invited here to help,” Emma said coolly, “where it is so clearly needed.” She eyed his bandages and cast, and glanced at Jubilee before stepping forward, eyes on Rogue. “It seems the X-Men are never short of those ready to hand them their righteous asses on a platter.”
Beast’s eyes narrowed, and Wolverine made to step forward, but Frost had already moved on, looking down at Rogue. “Absorbing psyches, you mentioned?” she said, glancing up briefly at Wolverine before looking down at Rogue. She flinched slightly, pulling back. “Ah, yes, they are there. My, it is a bit crowded in there.” She straightened, bringing a hand to her forehead. “And loud. An unruly lot, for sure.” She looked at Beast. “She absorbs personalities by touch? Would you mind filling me in, Dr. McCoy?”
Hank still looked like someone had ruffled his fur the wrong way, but he just adjusted his glasses and spoke. “She’s absorbed a number of personalities over the years,” he said. “Her first at age 16. A slight touch is all it takes—draining the touched of memories, personality, what can best be described as ‘life force’ . . . and in a mutant’s case, their powers as well. The length of the touch ascribes the length of the effect on her; the longest I had observed previously was barely more than a few hours.”
“A handy gift, and a powerful one. And our little darling let the power get to her head?”
“Hardly,” Beast said, voice short.
Frost listened as he and Logan recounted the events of the last two days—the fight with the Avengers, Rogue’s absorption of Ms. Marvel, and the results. And then the fight with Bloodscream, and her following deterioration.
“I believe it’s not Bloodscream himself that is the cause, but rather that he is the last of many, and the last straw to unbalance the entirety of Rogue’s mind,” Beast finished off.
Emma Frost nodded. “A sound conclusion. The focal point of this incident is clearly her run in with Ms. Marvel.” She looked over at Logan. “You said the Scarlet Witch said Ms. Marvel’s
soul was taken?”
“Yeah, whatever that means,” Logan said. “We just can’t figure. She only absorbed her for a minute or so—she got stuck, or somethin’. It’s always faded after a while, but this time we hear this Danvers character’s still in the hospital—brain-dead, or somethin’, and Rogue’s got her powers strong as the first minute.”
“Hm. The abnormality may be due to the extraterrestrial aspect of Ms. Marvel’s powers. With the added supernatural aspect of the vampire, it appears that it may be beyond her mental strength to remain dominant.”
Logan took his cigar from his mouth. “Did you just say somethin’ about aliens, or is my hearin’ going out?”
Frost looked at him, half-exasperated, and half-haughtily. “Honestly, don’t you do any
research, Wolverine, or do you always go into battle with both eyes shut?”
Logan bristled, but Beast interrupted, leaning on his crutch as he explained.
“Ms. Marvel’s powers came from an alien race . . . the Kree. She ended up absorbing a certain extraterrestrial’s powers. His name was Mar Vell.”
So she took the guy’s name? “Cute.”
“What Ms. Frost is suggesting is that Rogue’s condition and the dramatic effect of the absorption may be blamed on that very thing.”
“Their minds—they are mixed—in turmoil,” Emma Frost said, her eyes shut in concentration as she leaned forward, stretching a hand over Rogue’s forehead without touching her white glove to her ashen brow. “But there’s more than two, or three—I can’t count them, they’re so . . . wild.” Her eyebrows raised slightly, her eyes remaining closed. “Well, well, well, Wolverine, and here’s quite a bit of
you in there.”
“What?” Logan demanded. He knew there would be some left over from touching her about an hour before, but it should be fading—surely not enough to stand out next to Rogue herself and Ms. Marvel.
Ms. Frost continued, sounding vaguely amused. “Oh, it is quite a strong influence.” A slight smile curved on her lips. “But don’t worry. The main conflict is not stemming from your aggressive tendencies, for once. It appears she’s reached a temporary impasse.” Frost opened her eyes, stoic, but she reached into her low waistline and drew out a petitely-folded handkerchief and dabbed the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead. “But even that cannot last. The only chance she has is if I push back the other personalities—bind them, if you will, and let her original personality regain control.”
It sounded too damn much like Jeannie—like the professor, binding whatever power had been fighting to get out. But hell, this Danvers character and all the others in there were intruders in Rogue’s head. They weren’t going to cage a part of her, but only a bunch of fragmented viruses threatening to kill her.
Logan looked down at Rogue’s still face—ashen and pale as death. Her fingertips were ashen—flaking away with decay. Her lips pale grey, her eyes sunken.
He drew his eyes up—catching Emma Frost’s cool gaze with his own.
“Do it,” he said.
Dammit. He hoped he wasn’t going to hate himself for this.
Again.
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Got rid of Bloodscream. Took his head and buried it a couple miles into the wood in a block of cement, buried his arms separate about a half a mile south. Even if he starts to pull himself back together, it’ll take a couple decades to find everything.
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