Smile Back: Part Seven

by Minisinoo

DEATH SMILES AT US ALL
Storm:

I take a shower before I trust myself to come out again. My face was a mess from crying, and I'd needed to change clothes or Hank -- whose senses are almost as keen as Logan's -- would've smelled the arousal on me from being with Scott. I put on something pretty, that leather mini-skirt he likes so well, and find him hanging out in the den, watching Scott's movie and trying to appear unconcerned. But he jumps up as soon as I enter and comes over to put an arm around me, leading me to the couch. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

I can tell he doesn't believe me, but he lets it slide for the moment as we settle down, his arm still around my shoulders. But I'm raw yet from what almost happened in my bedroom with Scott, and hold myself a bit stiff, try to concentrate on the movie. I'd never much considered why Scott is so fixated on this film, but thinking about what Peter had said earlier -- that Scott wants to be Russell Crowe -- it suddenly makes sense. Scott sees himself as the beleaguered but faithful general, prisoner of duty and fate, who really just wants to go home and be your average joe. But he doesn't have a *clue* how to be normal, not any more than I do. Like the character in the movie, he commands without trying. It's his nature.

When the power goes out suddenly, shutting down lights, TV and DVD player, Henry and I both sit up in confusion. From the kitchen, we can hear Scott scream, "Hit the floor!" But before I can even think to respond, the den windows blow out behind Henry and I, and I'm sailing through the air to land hard on what used to be the coffee table-top. It stuns me and my ears ring from the echo of the explosion, but I can't afford to let myself black out.

*What the hell is going on?*

I should probably be afraid. But mostly, I'm furious with that instinctive indignation of the assaulted and start to pick myself up. Turning my head to the side, I see black boots approach. Black boots are going to pay. An electric tingle races through my body as my powers respond to my rage. "Well, well, well," says a voice above and to my side, a gravelly voice. "Look who's trying to show the world what a dangerous little girl she is."

I don't bother to reply, just let the lightning crackle from my eyes and race along my fingers. I start to lift a hand when I feel something slam hard into my head. "Don't even think about it, honey."

I can't black out, I can't black out, I can't black out . . . . I say it over and over as the world tunnels, spins, and takes a nose-dive. As if from a distance, I hear Henry bellow, "*Get away from her!*"

"What's the matter monkey-man?" says the same gravelly voice. "This lucky lady your girlfriend or something?" There's an awful sound, like meat slapped onto a cutting board, and then a grunt and the noise of a body collapsing.

I try to blink my eyes open to see what's happened, see who was hurt, and how badly, but I don't have the strength. It's all I can do to stay conscious. My head is pounding.

Above me, Gravel Voice says, "Well, she's our girlfriend now, fatso."

For the first time, I feel real fear, and then there are hands on me, rolling me over and feeling up my chest. I want to jerk away, but don't dare. I can't let them know I'm still awake. "Our girlfriend now," the voice repeats and the hand slides under my mini-skirt, between my legs. I clench as tight as I can while trying to pretend to be out, but rough fingers with sharp nails wiggle their way between my thighs and poke up into my vagina.

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. *It hurts.* This can't be happening to me. Shock, fury, and fear all mix together and hold me immobile.

"Leave her," says another voice. "You'll get your fun soon enough, Sabretooth. You know Wraith wants us to find Wolverine."

With a curse, the fingers retreat, and then so do several pairs of feet. My relief is overwhelming. If I can just crawl off somewhere, maybe I can get to Scott. I can hear him in the kitchen shouting obscenities at our attackers over the sound of rifle gunshot and his own optic blasts.

Jesus, Scott, don't get yourself hit.

But as long as I can hear him, I believe we have a chance. I lift myself up on my hands but get barely a foot before another pair of shiny black boots enters my field of vision, followed by a rifle barrel pointed at my nose. "Forget it, mutie bitch." The barrel disappears for a second, then I feel it hit the side of my head.

I wake again as I'm being carried outside - thrown across someone's shoulder like a bag of rice. But I'm not really aware of much. Everything's fuzzy and my head pulses. I think I'm going to be sick. All I can see, from upside down, is two men in front of us, carrying a body.

Scott's body. There's blood on the side of his head.

*Oh, no. Oh, please, no.*

I pass out again.

The next time I wake, I'm in a vehicle and it's moving. I feel as if my head might explode at any minute, and don't dare move. Everything is dark and my hands and feet are taped. I can smell iron from blood, and the ripe acid scent of bodies too close together. I'm *surrounded* by bodies, flung on top of them in our small captivity. Almost, claustrophobia swamps me, but my head hurts too much for me to panic, and I practice breathing until I no longer feel ready to throw-up, or to scream. Someone is lying under me. A man. Against my cheek, I feel chest hair and warm skin through the rips in his shirt. His heartbeat sounds strong beneath my ear. A broad chest. Peter? Henry? But his body isn't big enough for Peter or Henry.

It's Scott. I'm lying on Scott. It has to be. Oh, praise Allah. Scott's alive.

"Scott?" I whisper. There's no reply, and I have to call his name twice more before I get any response. "Scott, wake up!"

Finally, he murmurs, "Ororo?"

"It's me," I reply, very softly -- in case any of our captors are listening in.

"How badly are you hurt?"

"Just whacked on the head, but I'm nauseous from it. How about you? They were shooting at you."

"They got the professor and Jean, but nothing hit me. Well, not bullets. Something stole my visor and then brained me."

I think of the rain of bullets all around him, and of Dani's bracelet. Maybe there was something to her visions. "Do you know what happened?" I ask.

"You mean aside from the obvious -- that we were attacked? No."

"Do you know who's still alive? Beside you and I? I saw them knock out Hank; I don't think they killed him."

"Jean and the professor are alive, too -- the gunners weren't shooting to kill. And I can feel Peter on my other side; he's warm, so he's alive. The rest, I can't say, but I don't think they were trying to kill any of us, Ororo. They want us alive."

"Who's 'they'?"

"That's what I'd like to know. Did anyone get away that you saw?"

"If Peter's beside you, everyone's accounted for except Bobby."

He thinks about that. "Wolverine is still free."

"Are you sure?"

"Not positive, but he'd already left the mansion. Even the professor wasn't sure where he was going. I'd bet he's still out there."

That knowledge should relieve me, but it doesn't. The fear rushes back on me instead. "What are we going to do?" I try not to let panic invade my voice, but I know he can hear it anyway. "What if they try to kill us?" Or do worse things, but I don't tell him what Gravel Voice said -- 'She's our girlfriend now' -- or what he did with his fingers.

I feel Scott shift just a little, then his lips are warm against my forehead. A kiss to reassure. "Don't be afraid. Death smiles at every man," he says, "and every woman. You just smile back."

It takes me a minute to remember why that sounds familiar.

He's quoting his movie, the very one I'd been watching when our world had shattered, and the whole, awful reality of it crashes down on me like the rubble of the ruined mansion, burying hope. "They blew it all up," I say, sick with the knowledge. "They blew everything up."

"And they'll pay. We're going to kick their collective ass."

It should sound like so much impotent wind. Here we are, trussed up like chickens in the back of a van, being taken God knows where by people we barely saw, for purposes unrevealed. But it's Scott who's saying it. Cyclops. And I believe him. As long as Cyclops is alive, we'll get out of this.

I don't dare believe anything else.

"Whatever you say, General."

He kisses my forehead again. "That's my girl."

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