Working Title: Days of Our X – Chapter 5 Authors: ebonbird & kassia Date: January 20, 2002 ***************** Thanks to her ninja training, Kitty could be very stealthy even without making herself intangible. More importantly, she had a devil of a good time sneaking through the sleeping underbrush of the grounds. But Wolverine had trained her and she wasn't trying all that hard. It was all she could do not to laugh as she watched him wait for her appearance. He drew a cigar from his mustard and black plaid shirt. A 'snikt' sounded as one of his adamantium claws sliced out of the bristly back of his hand. Gleaming, the blade lopped off the end of his cigar. Kitty braced her hand on the cold, rough trunk of a convenient spruce and popped her head into view. "Wolvie?" "Yeah, punkin'?" Wolverine glanced at his protege sidewise, pausing in the middle of lighting his cigar. Kitty hadn't called him that in a long time. She scrunched her nose, her cheeks rosy with surprise. He hadn't called her that in a long time. His tender delivery clashed with his rough appearance; all Canadian roughneck what with all his hair, his massive build, the steel of his flame blue eyes, the biting nose, craggy cheekbones. "How 'bout you write a check?" She waggled her eyebrows. "Help the school out." "How 'bout you write a check? Girl like you oughtta be sittin' on a couple a patents worth a lot o' money 'bout now." Kitty blinked. "Dammit." She slumped, her elbows resting on her jean clad thighs, her slim hands crossing at the wrists. "I wouldn't be good for it." Logan shrugged a shoulder, pinched out the flaming match, and puffed on his stogie. She leaned on the stump beside him. They were of a height but he dwarfed her. She took a deep breath of the rich smoke drifting from his canted mouth, exhaled, and let crisp air into her lungs. "See," Kitty said, more to herself than to him,"if we were solvent we could get the water back on and do something about our wells like we should've the last time they conked out. Or maybe we wouldn't have to be solvent." "You a hydrogeologist now?" "Do I have to be?" Bemused, Logan twisted down a corner of his mouth. She snorted with impatience. "Breakstone Lake," she jerked her head in its direction and raised a finger; "lake in the cavern," she raised a second finger, splayed her hands in the air, wiggled them and hunched her shoulders. "We've got water. We just need to pipe it into the . . . pipes." "You clear this with Chuck?" "The professor's headin' out. The Skrull mutants have been really helpful but they've gotta get off-world. Need to find their own sanctuary and they need guidance." She sighed. "He's got other mutants to train. Apparently, they *really* need him." She tried not to sound bitter. A branch snapped under the weight of snow. Only Logan heard it fall – into a cushion of snow over a hillock of leaves. Shadowcat sat a little straighter, blinking while her lips thinned. She fixed Logan with a stoic glare when the burly arm closest to her shifted suspiciously. He blew a smoke ring, put the hand that held the smoking cigar on the stump beside her. She looked down at it, looked a question at him. He nodded, most slightly. She took it from his hand and examined it, glistening end to burning end. "Didn't you give these up?" she asked. "Yep." She handed it back to him. He puffed on it. Her shoulder docked against his arm; then, she nestled close, closer. "We've survived without him," she eventually said, staring at their breath, so white in the air. "Despite him." Logan's eyebrows twitched upward at that. He smoked. She inhaled. She didn't ask about Jean. Didn't ask about anything and he didn't say a word. * In the basement, in the recently refurbished laundry area, six driers and washers were going; thumping and swishing as clothing and linens were sloshed and tossed. Marrow – Sarah - shivering slightly, lay curled in the corner of long couch, a ragged yet surprisingly comfortable piece of furniture. She grunted as pain flared in her ribs and heat blazed in her solar plexus. Stressed muscles in her torso and back gave off the sick achy feeling she got after only the most brutal physical exertions. She'd heard other women complain about cramps, sometimes. Seen them hunch over, put their hands over their stomachs, whine a bit about the pain. Ha. She took a deep breath in anticipation, right before her body turned into one huge cramp. She sensed a *crunch*, felt pectoral muscles tear as a bone spur started working its way free of her ribcage. An off-balance washer began to jump and shudder but she couldn't hear anything above the deafening roar of blood rushing through her body. *Yeah, I have bones popping out of me, but I'm not in pain.* She'd seen people go hysterical, even faint, from injuries involving protruding bones. It made her want to laugh; sometimes she had. This was bad. As bad as puberty, when her hormones had kicked her mutation into high gear and out of her control. When all the lessons Callisto, her foster mother, had taught her turned out useless in the face of her warping bones and screaming flesh. Marrow blamed the High Evolutionary for tampering with the genetic structure of mutants and upworlders in a bid to get them to 'all just get along'. The blood roar abated; her body relaxed. She counted breaths; listened to the thumps and muted splashings the working machinery, the banging of the off-balance washer, and heard the soft footsteps of an X-Man entering the laundry area. The lights overhead snapped into gray-hued life. She groaned, and then realized that the X-Man would probably interpret the noise as an expression of pain, instead of the expression of annoyance it was meant to be. She straightened out and fixed a surly expression over her anguished one. Her eyes narrowed against shock at the fresh onslaught of pain that accompanied her new position. She slid a hand over the third and fourth ribs of her left side. In that spot, her tank top was sticky to the touch. She slid her fingers under the deep armhole, lifting the lycra-like material from her swelling skin. She looked over to see which X-man had invaded her privacy - it was Rogue, who was looking from Marrow to the noisy washer. The curly hair was an auburn browner than Marrow's. As it fell past Rogue's shoulder it'd be useful against her. Rogue only looked pretty. Marrow couldn't crack those slight-looking bones and her bone knives wouldn't score that fine skin or slash those lush curves on her best day. "Hey," Rogue said sympathetically. "How ya doin'?" Marrow just raised her eyebrows. So much energy was going into pretending she wasn't in pain, she didn't have any left with which to think up an answer. "I mean: ya feelin' okay?" "Fine," Marrow bit out. She stood, stepped over the tumbled hopper of magazines and newspapers that were scattered between the couch and the machines, crossed to the troublesome washer, and jerked opened its door, silencing it. "You want something?" Marrow asked, her back to Rogue. She used her clean hand to redistribute wet linens. "It's okay if ya don't want to talk to me. Lord knows, Ah do my best to not talk to other X-Men about things." Marrow turned to face Rogue, and leaned against the washer. Rogue smiled slightly. "But, about the X-Men - you can't fool 'em, Sarah. No point in pretending, 'cause no one is falling for it. Ah speak from experience." "Great. Glad we had this chat. Bye." "Like Ah said; no one's falling for it." Marrow bit her cheek, her hand tensing over her fourth left rib. "Would you fall for a bone spike in your throat?" Rogue forcibly straightened out her smile. "Ah'll stop botherin' you now. Just wanted to point that out. Hope ya feel better soon." Rogue glanced at the colorful splash of magazines, newspapers, and puzzle books on the floor as she passed through the doorway. The moment Rogue was out of view, two tears, grown fat from standing in her eyes, raced each other down her cheeks but she quickly took hold of herself again, washing her hands in the laundry sink and drying them. The pain was abating. She'd had worst spells. They'd pass. This would pass. Another would come. And so would an X-man. She knelt in the midst of the spilled books and magazines and began to organize them. Her teeth ground together but her eyes were dry. Marrow had long ago decided she preferred the men to the women. It was a close call, seeing as how X-males got her people massacred and an X-female had ripped her heart out, but what it came down to was that the males were less likely to ask searching questions about her feelings. "Sarah?" Soft, heavily accented. Of course, that described half of the X-Men's voices. But this was the softest, certainly. Didn't grate like Rogue's stupid hic talk. And it was a masculine. "Hey," said Marrow, glancing up at Colossus. Her face soured viciously at his look of sweet concern If she sent him to hell, would he go, and then another person come, and then another and another until she finally broke into a sobbing heap and babbled about childhood traumas, just so they'd stop? "Sarah. Are you in too much pain to put up with a little conversation right now?" "Not in any pain," she replied, making three piles of the reading materials. "Hmm." He knelt on one knee. She kept an eye on his massive foot - covered as it was by a gray crew sock and in a beat up sandal - and piled fashion magazines. "I was going on a drive. To search for inspiration. Would you care to accompany me?" Marrow scowled at this bit of kindness, weighing scathing replies against acceptance when Kitty rushed into the room. Her, Marrow could break but she'd have to trap her. "Hey, Sarah!" Shadowcat said breathlessly. The magazine in Marrow's grip tore loudly as she flung it into the hopper. *An endless stream of X-Men, alright. They're trying to break you.* Putting her hand delicately on Piotr's boulder hard shoulder, Kitty bent at the waist and gushed, "Piotr, I need, need, *need* your help. There's been this slight mishap involving large, heavy pieces of the mansion cluttering our entrance to the Morlock tunnels." Several driers buzzed. The noise level diminished. Colossus glanced quickly, covertly, at Marrow. "Sarah and I were about to go out..." he began. The look he gave Kitty was pregnant with meaning, Marrow suspected, but she had no idea what sort of meaning. Probably bad. For her. A washer whirred to halt. "Uh- well, uh." From the look in Shadowcat's eyes, the lump of mushy gray matter in her skull was trying to translate Colossus' hidden message. Marrow liked that the shadow-kitten was also confused. "I guess it can wait," Kitty said at last. "Are you sure?" said Colossus softly. Always softly. Even when he was angry. "Positive." Kitty flashed a bright smile, and disappeared through the doorway. "I'll get started, and if I get stuck, I'll come back to you – or Rogue." Marrow didn't hear her walk away, but that could be nosiness on Shadowcat's part. Colossus turned back to Marrow. "I'm afraid I spoke out of turn. *Are* you and I about to go out?" "Fine," Marrow said, her lower lip protruding. He smiled. She remembered Rogue's words: You can't fool 'em, Sarah. No one's falling for it. Gathering the three piles of reading materials, he dropped them in the hopper and said, "We'll be driving out to the naval yards. I can finish up here while you get ready." Marrow sighed, a sigh of resignation more than anything else He looked at her searchingly, pulled off the gray and burgundy sweater he was wearing and extended it to her. She jerked away from it. "Is this the prelude to some strange X-initiation?" "Your top." He gestured at her left breast. She looked down and saw that spots of blood had soaked through the pale teal of her clothing. * In a section of her workroom clear of Forge's stuff, Kitty stood over a partially unrolled sheaf of dusty, faded schematics of the Xavier institute. She pressed a yellow bandana over her mouth while she studied documents that dated from the original construction of the house by the light of an adjustable fluorescent lamp. "Hrm," Kitty said, her finger tracing the location of the spring fed cold house which used to be by the outdoor kitchen which was now - sheets of paper rustled and slid as she moved the old designs aside and examined the grounds' map - the chapel cemetery? The bandanna fell from Kitty's hand as she bent forward while reaching for the fluorescent lamp. She brought the lamp and her head closer to the old schematics. *Where was the well?* There had to have been a well for water back then. And it wasn't by the cold house... Kitty's finger, bitten back nail and dry cuticle, traced around and around until she did indeed spot the well. "Bingo!" she cried. "What's this got to do with Skrull code?" Forge asked at her shoulder, causing her to jump. His breath smelled like fresh coffee. She glared at him. He didn't notice. "You shouldn't sneak up on people," she grumped, scrolling closed the designs. Forge's large, fine-boned, red-skinned hand flattened a corner open. "1855," he read from the upper left hand corner. "We've got the architectural designs for the Institute going back to the late eighteen hundreds on database." "Don't like ESRI," Kitty pronounced but he was already walking away from her and heading towards his temporary workstation, complete with desk and bank of flat-screen computers and ergonomic pullout everything. His black hair, longer and thicker than hers, snaked down his back from a leather-cinched ponytail. He favored her with a dubious look. "I don't like ESRI," Kitty insisted. "That mean we're not working today?" Forge asked, hitting power buttons and flipping toggles in rows as he turned on his system. "You're the one who called me in to help you with security." Kitty's nostrils flared but she did not share that the Professor had suggested she call Forge and speed up the process. Strings of code appeared on the central screen of Forge's computer bank. He stood with his hands planted on the pullout keyboard drawer. He squinted as he scanned the code as quickly as it appeared. "We've got this water problem," Kitty said. "Took a shower earlier this morning," Forge answered turning off his system. "City water. We can't afford city water." He stared at her. "Not for long anyway. Have you considered making a donation to the school yet?" "Pryde," he took a deep breath. The words that followed were measured, even. He was being patient, and this only made Kitty's face contort in annoyance. "I'm here for one reason, one reason only, and specifically at your request. And, you're no hydrogeologist." He ducked under his desk. He was a bendy one, managing to fit his length beneath it though his legs went on and on against the floor, ending in duct-taped cowboy boots. Kitty could hear the 'fsst' noise of an air duster. Forge cleaned his station before and after every use. It was wild. Fsst! Fsst! Fsst! Before and after he powered down. "Forge!" she yelled. The fssting noise stopped. His foot began to bend back and forth. How was she going to put this? "You've built a house from scratch before, right?" Forge's foot stilled. Kitty winced. Forge crabbed out from under his desk. Pens tumbled from his chambray shirt pocket and he reached for them. When he lifted his head to address Kitty it was doubly red. Kitty told herself it was from blood pooling in his features but she knew better. "With running water, right? And, and --" "Storm told you." She nodded. "I've built a house before. From scratch. Not the same thing you want to do." He gripped the back of his chair, punctuated that movement by extending and retracting his chin. "I'll be down in the tunnels. Don't test those security protocols until I get back." "We're on a schedule," Forge answered, his mechanical hand holding the chair steady while he lowered himself into it. Kitty spared him a glance, noted the breadth of his shoulders, the size of his arms, the fluid yet massive grace of them and shook her head. Storm had her reasons, but Kitty very much doubted that they went beyond the aesthetic. Falling in love with Forge that was. Not being in love with Forge anymore - and, oh god she hoped so, well - Kitty got that just fine. "What are you saying?" "I don't have time to waste. So why don't you pull out what *you* wanted *us* to solve, and if I have the time, we'll figure out you water problem later." "But the water is -" "Not my concern." And then he turned his back on her. Kitty covered her eye with her hand. Her fingers drummed on her forehead as she counted to three – then counted to ten. "Sure," she said lightly. "Whatever you say." But her cheeks were tensed and her mouth clenched on the last word. * * * "Ungh!" Beast. "A little more – oh! – to the left…" Storm. "Goddess! So heavy!" "Apologies, my dear – " he grunted. "Now, on the count of, three… THREE!" Storm slid out from beneath the fallen wall strut. And Henry let it fall to the ground. The walls of the second subbasement rang hollowly with the sound. "Now how did this happen, again?" "From what Katherine explained to me, the maintenance robot began dismantling this room; beginning by knocking out the dividing wall between the storage closets and discarding the material against the lock." Storm sank to the ground and put her head against the wall. Henry did the same opposite her. They stretched their legs out. She reached out a hand And placed it over his ankle, squeezed. "Thank you, my friend. In my haste I could have done myself great injury." "Tis no matter, milady. I am, as ever, at your service." Ororo tapped the golden X-Com pinned to her purple sweater. It chittered and clicked. "Rogue," Storm said. "Come in. Rogue." Henry shook his head. "They malfunction at this level." "Forge and Kitten have been working on these for two days. When will they be done?" Storm asked, closing her eyes. "I'm sure he's working as fast as he can," Hank said softly. "As ever." Storm replied, closing the subject. Henry cleared his throat, "And how is Jean." "I do not know. She has not returned any of my calls." "She shouldn't grieve alone, Storm. It's not good for her. The last time she did this –" "She wasn't herself. That wasn't even her. That was the Phoenix entity as her." "But wouldn't it stand to reason that the Phoenix entity was her in many of the ways that matter?" Storm was considering her reply when Forge and Rogue appeared in the company of Kitty. "Sorry 'bout the hold up," Rogue said cheerily. "Kat had to 'round us up and the X-coms weren't working. "Tis no matter, Storm was in no danger." "H'lo, Forge." Storm said. He met her gaze after a moment's hesitation. "Storm." Rogue tried to exchange glances with either Hank or Kitty but neither would indulge her. "No point in reprogramming this 'bot to clean up this mess." "Nope." Kitty replied, kneeling before the maintenance bot and detaching the top from the bottom. "Until we deduce the cause of the malfunction," Hank placed his paw on the ground and stood upright, "we should place the entire system on hold." "Already done," Forge said but his eyes were on Ororo's blue ones and hers regarded his. His hand extended to her, he stood before her. With a tiny smile, and shimmering gratitude in her eyes she took it, and rose gracefully to her feet. She took her hand from his reflexively. Swallowing, she looked away from him, to catch the eyes of the X- people. "We secure the maintenance robots and we move the debris from the tunnel entrance, in that order." Storm said but Kitty had already secured the 'bot. In tandem, Kitty and Rogue lifted the robot and walked the 'bot down the hall to one of the labs. Henry studied the rubble and wall struts. "I propose we reconfigure this door." * * * Great Falls, Montana's international airport only had six terminals. Jean got off the plane and checked with the airline representative for information regarding her connecting flight. The attendant told her she had two and a half hours until boarding time – if the weather held. Jean glanced around at the short corridor, and considered the plexiglass lining it. It was still light outside, it being early afternoon, but the day outside looked dreary what with the grayish sky and skuzzy snow. The tarmac looked wet and the people working out there looked as if they were freezing, bundled up as most of them were. When she went to the information desk, she meant to inquire about hotel lodging – just in case. She didn't relish staking a claim on the brown carpeting and using her carry-on as a pillow if her flight were snowed in. She waited in a long line for her turn, glancing at the lighted posters advertising Montana attractions. Several advertised casinos and other gambling establishments. Those in particular caught her eye. Instead of asking about nearby motels, she heard herself say, "Is there a shuttle that goes out to the Magic Diamond?" The complimentary beverages and snacks were good after her cash ran out. Whenever she wanted more tokens she sat herself down at slot machine next to a man. Most overlooked her faded jeans, the red chamois shirt. They'd let their eyes linger on the lace edging her camisole… the ring hanging from the chain on her neck. She'd say, 'hi'. Either they'd smile back, or freeze. She'd reach over into his bucket of coins or trough and help herself to a couple of tokens. "For luck," she'd say if he protested, and this was really rare. So eventually, she'd say, 'for luck' as she reached her hand past their leg anyway. * * * Cars sped past the stalled limousine. The chauffeur looked immaculate in his gray uniform. His expression was slightly sheepish as he fetched out his employer's briefcase from the trunk of the stretch Continental. The chauffeur slammed the trunk shut. Warren Worthington, III tried not to laugh at the chauffeur's discomfort. Though dressed in a red tracksuit with white piping (his wings hidden under the tracksuit jacket), and cross-trainers, and a five o'clock shadow highlighting the angularity of his chiseled jaw, Worthington looked immaculate as well. "I'm so truly very sorry, sir." "Well, don't let it happen again." "Oh no, sir." Warren sighed inwardly. Sometimes joking only made people more ill at ease. "Port Jefferson is –" "Much too far. Another limousine will have arrived by – of course, sir." "We just passed the exit. I'll walk into there. If I need anything, I'll use my cell'." "Yes, sir. But it's *cold*, sir." Warren missed his usual chauffeur. What was this one's name? "Horribly, terribly cold." "Ah, the exercise will keep me warm." If the unstable molecule undergarment he was wearing didn't. "I can't apologize enough, Mr. Worthington." "It's your first day, Goethke." Yes! "First days are notorious." Warren smiled and shouldered his briefcase. "I'll see you later, then." Goethke visibly relaxed, "Oh, thank you, Mr. Worthington." Still smiling, Warren nodded. He slipped on his Van Cleef & Arpel shades and headed to the Iceman's house.