Chapter Eighteen: Vanished
Prison gates won’t open up for me
On these hands and knees I’m crawlin’
Oh, I reach for you
Well I’m terrified of these four walls
These iron bars can’t hold my soul in
All I need is you
Come please I’m callin’
And oh I scream for you
Hurry I’m fallin’
~Nickelback
The baby was shifting inside of her, rolling and pushing until she smiled. Her hand splayed over the cloth-covered swell. Child sensed mother, pressing at her palm with an easy insistence. Ororo closed her eyes, envisioning her tiny baby floating content and warm within the haven of her body.
Tears threatened for the third time that day, blackening the skies. She controlled it, barely, but not before her Bostonian guard poked his head inside. He questioned her with a glance as she turned toward the sound of the heavy door creaking open. Her small smile was taken with a nod and he left her alone again.
She wanted Logan. No matter how brave she needed to be and how much she wanted to remain aloof and above it all, her stubborn heart wept for its mate. Everything felt so strange without him by her side. She knew he was with her, in spirit at least, but the loss of his presence created an almost debilitating loneliness inside her.
Looking out the north-facing window, she stared into the thick tree line. Her hands left the generous swell of her abdomen to flatten against the plexi-glass. She wanted to shatter this flimsy plastic, to rush into the forest. Logan was waiting for her somewhere, wanting her back as surely and deeply as she needed to be in his arms.
Her soul called for him, screamed into the dying light as though she were taking her final breaths. Had she been born a telepath, her screams might have driven him to madness. Instead, stony silence allowed the unanswered call to echo.
A disturbance outside of her cell whipped the white-haired mutant around. Ororo, poised beside her bed as though to defend herself, listened to the startled shout of guards and muffled curses coming from somewhere down the hall.
“Lucky?” She called to the guard. “What is it?”
“Dunno,” he answered. The click of his rifle sent a ripple of fear through her. “Stay back, doll.”
Heeding his urgings, she darted across her cell, toward the standing toilet and stainless steel sink. It was the most protected space inside the room, sheltered just slightly from the wide door. If nothing else, it would by her time to gather her mutation.
“Let me in, you fuckin’ bastards!”
Ororo felt a punch to her gut and the breath was stolen from her lungs. “L-Logan!”
‘’Ro?!”
“Here!”
She raced for the door, shouting at Lucky to open it. The Bostonian guard appeared startled, watching as another door in the long corridor swung open. Ororo heard Goldstein order her cell opened. Running footsteps, almost achingly familiar, echoed in resounding concussions as she stepped back.
The door opened. Before she even caught sight of the person that flew through the open entryway, she was enveloped in strong arms. Almost collapsing against him, Ororo threw her arms around Logan, clinging to him as though her life depended on it. All pretense of bravery fell away, clouds rolling in the heavens to reflect her turbulent emotions.
Her belly had grown considerably in the three weeks following her arrest, but that did not inhibit Logan from crushing her to his chest. She could not see his face, not that she needed to. His scent and feel were more intimate to her than any other on the planet.
“God damn, I’ve missed ya.” He whispered in a choked voice.
Whiskered lips brushed her hair, her cheek, but the grip of his arms did not loosen one iota. Ororo thrust her hands into his hair, fingers wrapping with expert familiarity through the coarse raven locks.
“We’re all right,” she replied softly. “We’re all right.”
Slowly, as though they both feared the other would vanish, their grips relaxed until they could pull away. Ororo’s tear-filled eyes danced over the features of his handsome face. He looked weary, dark eyes reflecting pain and relief. She gifted him with a small smile, her fingertips caressing his smooth bottom lip.
His eyes drifted closed, as though her touch were the most exquisite of pleasures. When they opened again, she clearly saw tears standing in the ebony pools. Touched, pained, terrified, Ororo wrapped him back into her arms.
He embraced her with the gusto of a sailor six months at sea. They pulled back more quickly this time. Before she could catch her breath, he stole it away. Lips warm on hers, emotion clearly written in every gesture, she whimpered somewhat helplessly under the assault. Her nails scraped over the nape of his neck, even as he pulled away to stare at her again.
“You ok?” He demanded breathlessly. “Really ok?”
Ororo, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks, nodded eagerly. “They’re good to me here, I swear.”
“She’s a killer Spades partner,” Lucky offered from the doorway. “Miz Munroe, you’ve got a while, ok? Gonna close the door.”
“Thanks, Lucky.” She thanked him without turning, her eyes for Logan only.
Once the door clanged closed, Logan sighed heavily. “Spades?”
“I have to pass the time somehow,” she chuckled softly. Her eyes stubbornly refused to leave his face, taking in every feature and expression. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Hank,” he grunted. “You need a baby check up and I told him if he didn’t get me in here, I’d start killin’ people.”
Ororo grinned, her heart thudding helplessly against her breast. Logan’s hand left her face, reaching down to touch the bulge beneath her shirt. When he managed to tear his eyes away, they widened at the size of their restless child.
“Wow,” he choked again. “He’s getting big.”
“I know,” she answered, heart broken to realize how much he was missing. “We miss you.”
He smiled softly, taking her back into his embrace with his free arm. The baby kicked viciously against his or her father’s hand, making Logan choke on the emotions. She heard him sniffle and felt tears slip down her cheeks.
When they first met in the Professor’s office so long ago, she never would have thought the Wolverine capable of such emotion. But she knew him now, deeply, intimately as only a mate could. His love for her, for the family they created, was as consuming to this brash man as any rage.
She led him to the small cot that was her bed, settling him on the edge of it so she could lower herself beside him. Demanding that he tell her of the school, she set him at ease quickly, wanting to simply bask in his presence.
He had heard her call, she thought as he told her the antics of their students. He answered her, even if he hadn’t known it. Her heart swelled inside of her, love for him almost a living entity. When all of this was over, she was going to marry this man. That was the end of it.
Their visit lasted the better part of an hour before Henry joined them. Having been filled in on the state of her dear friend’s relationship with Trish, she refrained from asking about it as he unpacked his medical case.
Lying back against the cot, Ororo held Logan’s hand, looking up at him with a smile. The portable ultrasound machine whirled to life after Hank squirted cold gel onto her bare stomach. The trio watched a small monitor curiously, Ororo brought to hormonal tears again at the sight of her developing child.
“Well, kids,” Hank said jovially. “You have a healthy son.”
Ororo startled. “A boy? Are you certain?”
Her blue friend grinned, canines flashing. “As sure as anyone could be about such things. See there?”
He pointed to a small, gray blur on the screen. Ororo rolled her eyes as Logan’s eyebrow hitched up, obvious pride written clearly on his face.
“Atta boy,” he congratulated himself.
“Men,” Ororo teased, staring at the rapidly beating heart of the child. “Everything is normal?”
“Perfect, not that I expect any less,” Henry nodded as he switched the machine off. “Your weight is on the lighter side, but not cause for concern. Uterine growth is as it should be, and judging from the ultrasound, your son is in excellent health.”
Ororo exhaled sharply, looking back up at Logan. He leaned forward, kissing her forehead gently.
“A boy.”
“Yeah.”
~**~
They stood side by side, watching the unconscious mutant as she slept peacefully unaware on the medical bed. Monitors were hooked up to her bulging belly as they strapped her arms to the table.
The examinations would not take too long. They would gauge her power, classify her, then continue the testing on the child she carried. Rarely had anyone had the chance to study so powerful a mutant. Certainly no one had ever studied one with child.
How did pregnancy affect her power? Was she muted or diminished? Did the fetus increase her abilities?
It would be a most interesting take on the way mutants operated. Stryker grinned at her, wanting to touch that sleeping face. She was going to break open the barriers of biological science. The child she carried could be everything he worked for.
The two of them would bring back his Wolverine.
He glanced to the dark man beside him, slipping a hand into his pocket. Things were moving forward now, his carefully laid plans executing with hardly a hiccup.
Trask was staring with open hatred, loathing oozing from him directed at the woman innocently lying on the medical bed. Eyes flickered over the personnel hooking her up to the equipment, as though detesting the fact that they were anywhere near her.
Stryker fingered the pistol he always carried, glancing around the corridor quickly. Trask’s men had been taken out early on, leaving him with the loyal.
“So we’re clear,” Trask spoke suddenly. “You extract the fetus and then turn her over to me.”
“Yes,” Stryker lied easily. “That is the plan.”
“When will you take the fetus?” Trask demanded.
“When it is viable outside the womb,” he answered. “The child means nothing dead.”
Trask grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. “The woman is not to be harmed.”
“Of course.”
Stryker pulled the pistol from his pocket with no change of expression. In one fluid movement, he raised the weapon, placed it against Trask’s temple, and squeezed the trigger.
His eyes were still on Storm’s beautiful face as brain matter sprayed all over the polished tile. The others in the hall paused at the echoing gunshot, but went quickly back to their work before the body had even hit the floor.
Sighing, Stryker placed the weapon back into his pocket. He addressed several of his men standing behind him.
“Pick that up. Dump it somewhere.”
The men scrambled to do his bidding as he pushed open the door to the medical examination room. It was time to meet his new best friend.
~**~
Piotr watched his fiancée sleep, concern written clearly over his usually stoic face. He glanced at the clock again, then back to her face. She was crashed against the pillow, hair a mess and mouth open so she could snore loudly.
She’d been asleep this way for twelve hours. Not even loud noises or jostling was successful in waking her. Concerned, but without any way to ask for help in the matter, he frowned and stared.
Kitty’s snoring turned into a gurgle as she changed positions, but she continued right on sleeping. Colossus had read in their baby book that pregnancy could make the expectant mother tired…this seemed excessive. It seemed in the last few weeks that all Kitty did was sleep or vomit.
And yell at him.
He was still staring at her, the book open in his lap, when Wolverine came into the room.
“Hey,” he greeted, poking his head through the cracked door. “Seen Kitten?”
Piotr tried to shove the book under the bedspread while nodding, but something in the shift of Logan’s body said that he’d caught the gesture. Piotr cleared his throat, indicating to the woman completely knocked out on his bed.
“She’s sleeping.”
“Huh,” Wolverine grunted, shoving the door open further without invitation.
His head cocked to the side, as though he were listening to something. Piotr stood slowly, cautiously so as not to startle the suddenly over alert feral. Two sets of dark eyes met across the dim expanse of the bedroom, a million things flooding each mind in an instant.
“Been sleepin’ a lot lately.”
Logan turned and closed the bedroom door. Piotr swallowed thickly, glancing where Kitty still slept, innocently unaware of what was happening over her prone form. When Wolverine took a step closer, Piotr instinctively shifted to stand between him and his pregnant love. It was a predator’s move, something so innately primal that he was somehow certain Logan appreciated it.
“When were ya plannin’ on tellin’ me?”
There it was. No pretenses, no wiggle room. Logan looked the issue directly in the face and laid it all out with one sentence. Even if Piotr had wanted to lie, to avoid talking about it all, there was no way aside from sending his friend out on his backside.
He glanced back at the expectant young mother again, this time letting his shoulders slump slightly. Though he had hoped she would be awake, she was still asleep, her changing body demanding that she stay just as she had been for the last several hours.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.
“She seen a doctor?” Logan asked quietly.
“Yes,” Piotr nodded. “Everything seems fine.”
Logan sighed, reaching behind him to grab the desk chair. He sat heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. There was something changed in Wolverine, Piotr thought. Paternal, burdened with worries for family instead of the unanswered questions of his past, this was a man with a home now. No more the renegade without responsibility.
Piotr sat on the edge of the bed, clasping his hands between his knees. The two men regarded one another across the few meters separating them, each gauging and calculating. Logan finally sighed again, leaning down to rest his elbows on his knees.
“When’s she due?”
“Late autumn,” Piotr answered uncomfortably. “Logan…”
“Save it, kid,” he cut in.
“I understand your anger, your disappointment, but…”
“Whoa,” Logan held a hand up. “I’m not angry or disappointed about you two havin’ a baby. Don’t think that.”
Piotr exhaled sharply. Until that very moment, he had not realized how much he feared Logan or Storm would reject their child. He never wanted to disappoint them, but he loved the child within his beloved Katya and would suffer no one making her feel guilty for carrying it.
“I’m disappointed you two didn’t come to me, or to Hank about it.” The elder mutant continued.
“We wanted to be sure,” Piotr said softly. “And with Storm’s arrest…”
“I get it,” Logan cut in again. “Lets just concentrate on the here and now, ok?”
Piotr nodded.
A shift on the bed brought both men’s attention to it. Kitty was sitting up, her mussed hair and sleep-plumped lips oddly endearing as she rubbed at tired eyes. She was staring at both men with a mixture of tenderness and slight embarrassment.
Logan shrugged one shoulder at her, giving the young mutant girl a soft smile. She returned the gesture before scooting down to the edge of the bed. In her short boxers and t-shirt, she was unashamed as she climbed into Piotr’s lap.
“Everything ok, Uncle Logan?”
His grin widened at the endearment. Piotr mused that he had somewhat of a soft spot for Kitty and had since she ripped him apart that day in the kitchen. She loved to remind Piotr of that night, when she had so easily stood up to the Wolverine and come out on top for her efforts.
The three of them were silent for some time, lost in their own thoughts. Piotr knew that their mentor was thinking of Storm, locked away in a cell with their unborn child. He didn’t know how Logan managed to keep it together. If someone took Katya from him, he was likely to lose his mind within seconds.
But here he was, patient and paternal and ready to dispense advice.
“You’re grounded, Kitten,” he said gently. “No more missions and light training only. Got it?”
She nodded without a fight. “Understood, Bossman.”
“I’ll talk with Hank bout getting you a bigger room,” he continued, scratching at his whiskered cheek. “You’re plannin’ on stayin’ with us, right?”
Piotr and Kitty nodded eagerly. They had both feared being removed from the team, but it seemed that fear was unwarranted.
“You two happy about this?” Logan asked them, looking from one to the other. “I mean seriously happy?”
Kitty grinned, leaving Piotr’s lap and moving to their friend. She hugged him tightly and Piotr caught Logan inhaling deeply. His friend had admitted that the scent of a pregnant woman brought about paternal instinct and calmed him at the same time. It was a reassurance, he thought, that the pack was thriving.
He wondered what Logan would say to that particular observation.
“We’re thrilled,” Kitty whispered to Logan. “Really thrilled.”
“Good.”
~**~
Henry entered the foyer from the kitchen, smiling a greeting at the tall Cheyenne standing beside Wolverine.
“Forge,” he said in a booming voice. “You’re looking well.”
Logan, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, indicated to the man before speaking.
“He just finished the extermination.”
“Ah,” Hank answered, shaking his friend’s hand.
“I think we found them all,” Forge answered with a quick glance around. “Over two thousand. State of the art.”
“Two thousand?” Hank blinked in surprise. “Someone was watching us quite closely.”
“Quite an understatement,” Forge chuckled.
The technologically advanced mutant had been called weeks ago. Logan had come into Henry’s room at two in the morning, raving about being watched. Even through his sleep-clouded mind, Henry had known something profound had happened to his friend, but thought it best to not push the issue.
Come morning, he had immediately put in a call to the X-Men’s inventive former staff member. Though Forge had been trained as an X-Man and even fought with them for several years, he was offered a position with the government. Knowing the opportunity was his best bet for aiding the school, he had taken it gladly.
Many of the advanced technologies in the mansion were thanks to this young inventor. With his uncanny ability to invent anything he could think of, had created the Danger Room, the protective leather uniforms and intricate security systems.
Even the cloaking devices on the Blackbird were compliments of their friend.
“I still don’t know how these bastards got in here.”
Forge shrugged his human shoulder. “I’m not sure. Some of the bugs were easily placed, just tacked onto chairs or picture frames. Others…”
“Like the one’s in the baby’s furniture?” Logan met Hank’s eyes. “Found three in the crib.”
Startled, Henry frowned, worried that someone could have come that close to the infant, had he been born. “Unnerving.”
“I suggest another sweep in a few days. If someone is getting inside undetected, they might make a play to replace some of these.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, man,” Logan extended his hand, shaking Forge’s bionic limb in a friendly fashion.
Once Forge was gone, Hank turned to Logan.
“The baby’s furniture?”
“Trust me, I about lost my fuckin’ mind over that already.” Logan shook his head, turning toward the hall and moving at a steady pace. “Someone watchin’ that close has to know about Kitten.”
Henry felt the fear kick at him again, licking at the compounded worries he desperately tried to keep a tight lid on. “We will keep her on the grounds at all times.”
Logan nodded. “She’s scared. She moved against Trask first. Guess she ain’t stupid enough to think he’ll let that go yet.”
“She could be correct, as much as that worries me.”
The two men entered the main office, which was left tidy in the wake of Marie’s workday. She had been pushed out of the house for the evening by an insistant Angel. Henry smiled to himself at the thought, wondering just how deeply those two were going to fall. It was pleasant to see young mutants acting as any others their age.
Sitting on the wide leather sofa, Hank contemplated putting in a call to the security team that had worked for him during his time with the United Nations. George had said, on no uncertain terms, that if the former-ambassador ever needed some extra protection, he was to call on them.
Perhaps fitting the mansion with a detail would help. No, he dismissed the idea. Though he trusted George, such a rotating detail was too easily infiltrated.
“You catch Trish’s report last night?”
His world came crashing down in an instant.
Trying to tuck away the pain and lonesomeness before Logan caught on, Hank cleared his throat. Of course he had seen her report. He watched every moment of her he could, lost in regret and self-pity. He wanted her back, missed her more than he thought his heart could take.
“Yes.”
The answer was calculated to be short, almost terse. Logan arched a brow, but pressed on anyway.
“You talk to her?”
“No.”
“Ok.”
They lapsed back into silence, each consumed with their own thoughts. Logan was careful, Hank mused, to never press. He opened the subject and offered an ear, but never went further. It was as though he wanted to ensure someone could back out, keep things close to the vest while knowing he was there to talk to.
Such a thing was precious and though Henry longed to spill his proverbial guts, he felt the compulsion to keep his mouth shut.
“Lets go whoop the Brotherhood in the Danger Room,” Logan offered, hopping to his feet.
Hank stood as well, his smile nearly feral.
“An excellent suggestion, my friend.”
~**~
Across hundreds of miles, Patricia Tilby stared out of the window of her high rise apartment. Lights from the city below entranced her, drawing her from thoughts of work into the low hum of meditation.
Her glass of wine sat untouched on the kitchen table along with the meal she’d prepared for herself. Her work clothes were replaced by soft cotton pajama pants and a matching tank. Mindful of the chill she always kept her apartment cloaked in, she’d thrown on her thin robe over the simple clothing.
Through the open material, she idly touched the bumpy scar beneath her breasts over the cotton of her tank. Her thumb traced the line of it, knowing the spot intimately. It no longer ached with pain, but there was a numb throb to it with every beat of her heart.
Looking out into the darkness, she let the oppressive weight of silence press in all around her. The music she usually played while alone in her home was absent, leaving her to the quiet. Trish was never one for the silence, preferring noise at any given time. There was something about noise that soothed her.
Perhaps it was the byproduct of being an only child in a cold home. Her parents had ever been concerned with parties and image. Mamma was too distracted by work to pay attention to the daughter she birthed. Having Trish was just another check on one of her endless lists. College, check. Marriage, check. Baby, check.
Trish never wanted that for her children, if she ever managed to have any. She wanted noise and messes and hugs. There should be the screaming of fighting siblings, the wail of a television blaring some sort of cartoon program. Yelling, arguing, family. Cold and quiet were memories from a painful past.
Her mother had called just hours ago. One or twice a year, she received the token phone call from the parents that used her position and success as bragging rights at the parties they still attended.
When she made the decision to attend college in lieu of marrying some pretty son of her father’s friend, Trish knew her life had to change. She nearly severed all ties with her parents, wanting to reinvent herself somewhere far from them. NYU was perfect. Noisy, crowded, and filled with interesting people.
Meeting Hank had changed her life. She wanted nothing more than to entertain him, to bring him out of that shell. She’d succeeded, much to her pleasure. He helped build her career, steering her away from the family that wanted to shove her into a nicely labeled box.
Her eyes closed, letting the single tear slide down her cheeks.
Work was empty now. No one was waiting for her call, to celebrate no matter how many miles separated them. There was talk of awards, offers for news magazines. This story was fast tracking her career in a big bad way.
So why was she miserable?
Lew’s dinner invitations were continually passed over as rain checks. Trish ensconced herself in the stillness; hating it at the same time she embraced it.
The phone rang, shrilly breaking the suffocating quiet.
“Tilby,” she answered on the first ring.
“Hey, it’s me,” Lew said shortly. “You busy, sugar?”
“Not at all,” Trish said with a silent sigh. “What’s up, handsome?”
“Better get down to the station,” he said carefully. “Trish, Ororo Munroe was just taken from her prison cell.”
The world stopped. “What?” She demanded, switching from bitter melancholy to journalist in seconds. “What happened?”
“We’re not sure, but two guards wound up dead. Get down here, sugar.”
Trish slammed the phone down onto the receiver and picked it back up without thinking. She dialed the number by heart, tapping her fingers impatiently on the table while the ringing seemed to go on forever.
At the sleepy greeting, she inhaled deeply. “Blue, it’s me. Something’s happened.”
“Trish?” Henry’s slumber-ridden voice was thick and adorable. She pushed it aside, keeping her emotions locked up so that the reporter could function.
“Wake up, Hank,” she demanded harshly. “We’ve got a huge problem.”
