Bones (Part Three)
Written by RatMist.
Caution: Rated R for harsh language.
It wasn’t until the end of the holidays that Sarah, codenamed Marrow, felt she was back to normal. Pacing the hallway, she was undecided whether or not to enter the kitchen. She had smelt Jean’s cooking all morning.
Normal. Well, what passed as normal for her in this life. But that thought was well trod, so she skipped ahead in her mind to something more pleasant.
Her nose caught a scent...wolf? No. Rahne had left along with everyone from Excalibur including Wolverine’s pet bitch, Kitty Pryde, aka Shadowcat. Ah! It was Logan, the Old Man. She smirked.
Heh, she thought wickedly. Time for a bit of fun.
She paced the hallway a bit more, testing her balance, then stalked into the kitchen heedless of anything that might have stood in her way. She would have knocked them down anyway. Time for fun.
She balanced on the fleshy part of her feet, and barely felt the impact against her chest as Logan launched himself at her.
Claws from his left hand were extended fully and as his left palm kept her throat hard against the white tiled floor. If he wished, he could have raked her throat with his left claws. For now, the pressure on her larynx informed her that he was still thinking about it.
His left knee bit hard into her stomach, threatening to take away all breath should she should loosen her muscles there, while his right leg pinned her left leg to the cold white tile.
It was his right claws, however, that were her immediate concern. Dripping a bit of blood from when they tore through the membrane on the top of his right hand, the bones were mere inches from her general facial area. She smirked again. Bones did not frighten her in the least.
“Hey Old Man,” she strained against the pressure on her throat. "It a crime to get a bit a’ breakfast ‘round here? Get the fuck offa me!” Her voice was harsh against his left hand at her throat. The claws got closer, close enough to smell the blood, only an inch away from her nose.
She tilted her head back a bit. Her tongue snaked out and licked a bit of the blood off a claw; she was still smirking. She felt a sting as the sharp bone claw cut her tongue, but she smacked her lips anyway.
Like lightning, he pushed himself off of her, disgust evident in his face.
“Ya go sneakin in this house like that, man don’ know what to think,” he growled. His claws, she noticed, were completely withdrawn and resting comfortably inside his skin. He was still in her face, nostrils flaring and adrenalin pumping.
Marrow saw how easily he handled his bone claws, and instant envy and anger flooded her. How lucky, he could play with his bones and put them away for later.
Snarling, she replied, “Ya go jumpin onta’ someone like that, lady don’ know what to rightly think either.” She pushed past him, towards the refrigerator.
He didn’t raise to the obvious bait. Instead of replying, he snatched his cowboy hat from the counter and left the kitchen. She had her breakfast in relative peace, making herself a pot of oatmeal the way she had spied Jean do it.
A bit of butter, brown sugar, white sugar, and cinnamon. She smiled a bit, and almost started humming as she sat on the counter, legs crossed and feet bare.
“Yum, Jean. Not bad,” she murmured.
“I’m glad you think so, Marrow,” said a light voice, and Sarah turned to see Jean come into the kitchen. Jean’s face was nearly hooded underneath the veil of brilliant red hair, looking like fire even in the dull light of the morning sun.
Sarah finished quickly, intent on leaving quickly. Her appearances in the mansion’s kitchen were rare anyway.
She hopped off the counter, leaving her dirty dishes and cooking pot on the stove. She was about to leave, but Jean’s voice stopped her.
“Marrow, you know you have to wash what you use and put it back.” Jean’s voice was strangely tired and missing its usual scolding tone at her back.
“No time, Jean. Got somethin’ better t’ do,” she half growled over her shoulder.
“Make time, Sarah,” Jean’s voice was a bit more forceful, just a bit. But it was the use of her first name that angered Marrow the most. She turned immediately, anger already at her side.
“You ain't Morlock,” she grated, “so don’cha dare call me Sarah. You and your little band of Upworlders codenamed me Marrow, so use it, cuz I aint answerin' to anythin’ else ‘round here. Got it?” Her voice had risen and fallen with anger, spite, and more than a good deal of hatred.
Jean put her plate on the counter with a resounding smack and whirled around to face the younger, angrier girl.
“You live here, you go by the rules. Clean the dishes and pot, and stuff the attitude.” Her face held no emotion but Sarah smelled something in the air. Something a lot like fire and death. Death did not scare her either.
“Sure thing, Red” she snapped. And she darted past Jean straight to the pot and dishes, and before Jean could stop her, the sound of broken china filled the air.
The pot, being metal, could not be broken so easily. Marrow had already ripped a raw boneblade out of her forearm and held it high in her hand, about to cut the wooden handle.
Jean grabbed Marrow’s left forearm before it could chop the wooden handle, and that was all the provocation needed. Marrow uttered a strangled cry and twisted with every intention of gutting Jean through the abdomen.
“Don’t TOUCH me!!” she raged, her battle temper completely out of control as she pulled a boneblade from her back with her free hand and twisted.
An intense pain hit her, three slashes of intense pain across her backside. They were followed by another three deep gouges, branding her. She jerked in pain so hard that Jean was forced to drop Marrow’s arm.
“Logan, NO!” Jean’s voice was full of panic, but Sarah barely heard it.
She dropped the boneblade and flipped over her assailant, already crouched behind him as he spun around and faced her.
“Let’s play, bitch,” he growled. He smelled her blood in the air, thick and pulsating as it formed a small puddle at the girl’s bare feet. It incensed him even more, pushing his barriers on his limited frenzy control.
Both launched at each the other, only to hang in midair as Jean telekinetically stopped them.
STOP BOTH OF YOU. The mental shout echoed through their minds and both Wolverine and Marrow shrieked in their fury and pain.
Jean telepathically called for Beast, Cyclops, and the Professor. Come to the kitchen, please, all of you, she called. And please hurry.
Moments later, Hank, Scott and the Professor came into the kitchen to the sight of Jean, her eyes tightly closed in concentration, and Wolverine and Marrow obviously in the middle of a fight. The kitchen looked relatively intact, save for the blood splattered on the walls, counter, and dripping from a suspended Marrow.
Sarah had not stopped bleeding.
“Stars and garters,” Hank said predictably, rather quietly. Jean almost smiled at that bit of normalcy.
I’m letting you down, Logan, she sent quietly, knowing that her tone warned him to calm down.
With visible effort, she set him gently upon his feet again, leaving Marrow alone in the air, visibly snarling as she looked at the five faces beneath her frozen body. Each face was impassive at her fury.
But she held onto her anger. It was strong enough to help the endorphins in her system deal with the six deep gash wounds still dripping blood onto the kitchen floor.
You WILL go with Hank, Marrow heard from Jean, and we will all discuss this later. You’ve lost a lot of blood.
SAVE IT, JEAN! Marrow had the benefit of seeing Jean wince at the mental shout. It was full of all her remaining strength, fighting her body’s inevitable responses to the deep lacerations on her back.
You couldn’t care less, Pretty One, Sarah projected fiercely, her anger and pain fiery strong in the thought. Jean was not sure if it was pain from her back or for any other reason, and being at the end of her concentration, Jean could no longer hold the other woman in the air. She abruptly released her to fall to the ground, no sweet descent like Logan.
Not that Sarah could have stood on her own feet at that point anyway. She landed in a shallow pool of her own blood, and chuckled as she remembered another time when she had once bathed in the blood of enemies on The Hill. Bathed and screamed at a half moon in the sky, naked and bloody as the day she was born.
But the memories slipped away as Darkness claimed her, her old companion. She welcomed it with a snarl on her face, one that did not smooth in her unconsciousness even as Beast lifted her in his powerful furry blue arms in a fireman hold on the way to the Medlab. The remaining X-Men looked at each other, indecision on every face but Logan’s. To Jean’s horror, Logan brought a bloodied claw up to his lips and licked a bit of Sarah’s blood off of it, a ghost of a smirk on his face.
Then the stocky Canadian left without a word in the direction Beast had taken, ignoring the indignant shouts from Cyclops and even a mental shout from Jean. The Professor simply contemplated the bloody kitchen in silence, his face a stoic mask.
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Continued in Part Four.