Title: Some sacrifice's are worth the world
Author: Firesong (firesong@ukonline.co.uk) & Limo Lady's (LimoLady@prodigy.net)
Website: none
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Some sacrifice's are worth the world 2
By Firesong & Limo Lady's
The alarms thundered through the corridors. Every able bodied X-man was racing to the damaged areas. The professor headed to Cerebro in order to keep any telepath from attacking. Scott, Jean, Bishop and Wolverine headed to the west wing. Betsey, Warren, Bobby, Nightcrawler and Hank headed for the east. They had been trained thoroughly to automatically respond to any threat against the mansion. Their home. Jubilee headed straight for med lab and began to set up for casualties. The only x-man not responding was Gambit. Still caught up in his web of fear and panic. Oblivious to any outside stimuli.
Wolverine unsheathed his claws, and launched himself into the fray. The giant sized tin cans known as Sentinels had been attacking the mansion on and off for the past two months. It had only been because of Wolverine’s healing factor that he had survived the first attack.
Remy remained huddled in the corner his legs shaking, his body breaking out in a cold sweat. His head hurt and his balance was not all it should be. He got to his feet slowly, and started towards the kitchen door.
I may not be able to fight well, but a good hand of cards never went unnoticed, non? He encouraged himself, concentrating on keeping his feet moving as he felt the strength slowly coming back. An’odder ten minutes an I’ll be back on track. Just ten minutes be a long time.
A loud smash of glass followed by a low growling laugh made his skin crawl. Turning slowly he saw the body of Sabertooth climbing through the window. “Hello pretty boy. Looks like I picked the right time to come calling.” He jumped over the table and landed on the startled Cajun. Pinning the smaller man’s wrists above his head palms up, he settled on the man’s middle. Remy squirmed and wriggled as much as he could, but the weight on his hips and the strong hand on his wrists made it futile. “Why don’t you be a good boy, and give up.” Remy spat in his face, and dug his nails into Creed’s wrist. It wasn’t much, but at least he felt like he was doing something, and that he wasn’t totally helpless.
“If you’re looking for your catnip ball, I didn’t take it. I may be a t’ief , but your toys ain’t wor’d shit.”
Creed slapped him across the face with his free hand, and watched the blood trickle slowly from Remy’s lip. “You always look so much better when you’re bleeding, Cajun.” Creed licked the blood from his face. He could hear the Cajun’s accelerated heartbeat, and rapid breaths. “Mmm. Spicy.”
“What you want, homme?” He tried so hard to keep the flash backs from coming back. But with the man on top of him, the breath on his face… He bit his lip trying to keep with reality, trying so hard to keep the panic at bay.
Creed sensed his fear. Mixed with the smell of blood, he was sorely tempted to take this job a little too far. His common sense told him to take his prize back to the man who wanted him, the other half wanted to tear the red head to pieces and smear his blood all over the walls before devouring the heart. He hadn’t done that in a long time. Well, a week was a long time to some people.
He settled for the first choice, and gripped the Cajun round the neck, and squeezed. It wouldn’t take long for him to pass out. The Cajun was known to make a lot of racket when out of other choices. Remy kicked and struggled. His lungs screamed for air that just wouldn’t come. The face staring down at him smiled and leaned forward to kiss his lips. It was too much and he surrendered to the blackness, and the nightmares that waited within.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Voices all around calling him. Hands that he couldn’t see but still feel reaching out for him. He was up on is feet with catlike agility and began to run. Away from the voices. Away from the hands. The floors were shiny and well polished, causing him to skid if he took the corners too fast. No matter how fast he ran, they followed. No matter which way he twisted and turned, they were there. Finally he scrambled into a dark corner and pulled his knees up. Hiding his face in his hands, he rocked himself gently. Sobs racking his body. His hands and legs shaking uncontrollably. He felt helplessly alone. He was too tired to run anymore, and resigned himself to his fate. If he was going to die, then he wasn’t going to do it running. But then he wasn’t going to face it with his head held high either.
The voices grew nearer. Remy’s heartbeat increased. Adrenaline began to pump through his system. I’m not goin’ to run. I’m not goin’ to run. He repeated to himself. It’s what they wanted. They enjoyed the hunt. They enjoyed feeling their prey’s fear. He wasn’t playing their game any more. He heard distant footfalls. He heard the chains and restraints clinking against each other. He heard their maniacal laughter. He tried quieting his sobs. Tucking his body as far against the wall, and into the shadows as possible. They came closer. He kept his eyes shut and held his breath. The smell made his stomach turn. It was their smell. The smell was of pure evil. They were right in front of him.
It’s over. Dey found me. I’m gon’ die.
The voices wandered off. The smell disappeared. His heart slowed down. He opened his eyes, and shakily got to his feet. His hand resting on the wall. It felt different than before. It felt like velvet. It felt solid. Not cement solid, but like solid muscle. He slowly turned to look where his hand lay. He did indeed have his hand pressed against a chest. He watched in terror as the rest of the man slowly formed in front of him. His feet wouldn’t move. He tried to scream but his whole body was paralyzed. The man appeared before him. Purple, black and red. These colors alone drove stakes of fear through his heart. Arms encircled him pulling him close, the man’s lips so close to his own.
“You’re mine.” He whispered. Remy found the scream he been scrambling for. Then all went black.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
He sat up a strangled scream on his lips. Looking around fearfully, he saw that he wasn’t in a lab. Just a warm bed. His clothes had been folded and hung on a chair next to the bed. He relaxed onto his elbows and closed his eyes. Letting the fear subside, and forced himself to relax. Opening his eyes again, he noticed that the room was simply decorated. A set of katana hung on the wall along with a few pictures of a Japanese family. The room was incredibly tidy. Not a speck of dust, or misplaced item anywhere.
Remy rustled his hair and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. They were wet. A sudden wave of panic grabbed his heart in a vice like grip. The shadows seemed too thick. Too dark for the candlelight. Then a familiar scent of pine and cedar wood was in the air, and an all too familiar hairdo appeared at the end of the bed. Reality crashed back in.
“Calm down, Cajun. Yer ruinin’ me meditation.”
“What ‘appened?” He pulled his knees to his chest, and rested his chin on his knees.
“Sabretooth’s taken care of, darlin’, don’t worry about it.”
“But, cher…”
“No buts, Cajun. Just relax, eat some fruit from the bowl over there, and let me finish up.” Logan always found that as long as you didn’t pamper they wouldn’t cause so much problems.
“Je suis désole, mon amour.” He smiled thankfully, and snuggled back under the covers.
“In English, Gumbo.”
“But you know what I’m sayin’ cher.”
“Yeah, but if yer gonna improve yer English, yer can quit with the French stuff.” Logan looked over his shoulder at the Cajun. “It took long enough ta break ya habit of talkin’ in the third person.”
“Only coz you said you’d break every bone in my body at least twice, non?”
“Worked, didn’ it.” A big wolfish grin appeared before he turned back round to finish his meditation. “Now, Remy…”
“Oui?” He looked apprehensive.
“Shut up.” Logan smiled to himself, as he heard a little chuckle from the Cajun. He loved his laugh. Pity he didn’t laugh all that often.
Remy stared at the wall opposite. It was a picture of Logan, Yuiko and Amiko. They looked real happy. Remy had tried to talk to Logan about his time in Japan, but he always changed the subject, or found something else to do as soon as it changed to him and Yuiko. He looked at the bedside table. A vial and syringe lay on top, along with a packet of baby aspirin. Hank had been his usual over efficient self. Logan must have had to pull a lot of strings to let Hank agree to keep him out of med lab. He had another panic attack, and couldn’t remember anything apart after the attack from Creed but the bad dreams. Logan had stayed with him, just like he promised after the first real bad one last month. None of the others had known about his problem, and now… God knows whom else.