A Chance of Rain: Part two

by Coda

She watched him be bathed by moonlight. Sterile radiance poured down upon the blood and dirt that soiled Warren's body to play tricks upon the eyes and perform miracles of sight. Droplets of mud glowed like black opals; bloodstained cotton held the color and sheen of red velvet beneath lunar rays. Storm pulled a stray feather from the down of her comrade's wings. "I suppose you wish to talk."

"You'd suppose right." As an afterthought he took her hand into his own. It was the first time he had moved in over an hour, save to roll his azure eyes back and forth across various points in the dark firmament.

Storm paused to observe him study the stars, curl his ice-blue irises across sultry summer skies, offer the celestial space above him his thoughts and prayers--and be refused. The heavens that had once guided and consoled him would not provide any answers that night. She had silenced its whispers. It hung above him like a shroud. Blank. Lifeless.

Angel shook his head in disbelief--or perhaps defiance--attempting to rearrange the events of the evening into some form which he could comprehend. Golden locks matted with blood scratched against his cheeks. "Did you toss her out into the street?"

"You think so little of me that you would believe I could do that?" White brows knitted together in anguish.

He didn't answer her with words but squeezed her hand lightly in his own, massaging her cool fingers with the pad of his thumb. "Cold hands, warm heart." 

"You do not know all the circumstances behind--"

"Then tell me the circumstances."

"When Gambit returned, I knew Marrow would kill him on sight given the opportunity." Tears gathered in Storm's eyes. Leaves shifted beneath a breeze in the distance. "I made sure that she would not have that opportunity."

"By beating the crap out of him first?" Warren halted his bitter laugh as he witnessed warm tears spill from chiseled cheekbones. "I'm sorry."

"I admit I had my own anger to deal with. I also knew that if Gambit were injured, Marrow would not approach him until he had healed and could defend himself. Perhaps during that time she could have come to forgive him. The Morlocks are a fair people. They believe in duels--not massacres." She averted her eyes under Warren's doubting gaze. "They once felt that way."

"And what do X-Men believe in that they carve holes into little girls?"

"She is not as innocent as you believe her to be!" Storm jerked her hand from Warren's grasp. "I told Marrow that I would stand in Gambit's place."

"I don't under--"

She tore at her costume to reveal the discolored scar running across the width of her neck. "I agreed to take whatever punishment she felt Gambit deserved. I did not believe she would attack me. I was wrong."

"My God…"

"The wound appears worse than it actually is. I do not believe she intended to kill me. She did, however, intend to hurt me."

"And Logan?"

"Thought that I had been seriously injured and responded as only he knows how. Marrow was frightened and ran off." She tugged the cloth back around the scar, hiding it from view. "He has always protected us. Logan would not harm anyone unless his hand had been forced."

Warren turned his gaze to the ground below, harvesting his words for speech. "We were fine before he came back here. You know that."

"Gambit is an X-Man."

"Marrow was starting to fit in. Rogue was happy with Joseph." He took her hand in his once more. He slid his fingers around the cool adamantium band encircling one of her own. "Logan was still here."

"Once again, you do not know all the circumstances behind--"

"He's brought nothing but heartache here."

"I cannot ask him to leave."

"Why not?"

"He is an X-Man."

"He was an X--"

"He is family!"

A cell phone purred beneath Storm's jacket, cutting through the tension like sharpened claws. The X-Leader pulled its sleek case from her pocket, flicking open the receiver with a well-manicured nail. "Hello? Kitten! Isn't this a lovely…Where?" Her face was brightened by a surprised smile--only to be tarnished by a worrisome scowl moments later. "Goddess. We shall be there as soon as we can."

"What's going on?"

"How do you feel?"

He raked his fingers through dirty locks. "A bath and a good night's sleep and I guess I'll be fine."

"I am afraid that you will have to sleep on the plane." She cast a troubled look at the phone in her hand. "I need you in Madripoor."

He threw his head back. Arms and wings opened to their full span as if to embrace the whole of the heavens. Laughter rose from Warren's throat to cut through the still sky like a stone dropped in calm waters. "Life in the X, huh? When it rains it pours."

She slipped within his open arms. "Without rain, the world could not grow."

"I'm tired, Ororo."

"We are all tired, my little sky-bird."

He folded his wings around her. "You haven't called me that in ages."

"You have not been that in ages." She handed him the stray feather she had plucked from his form. "But lately I have seen a glimmer of it in your eyes."

******** 

"I am losing my lover."

"To who?"

"Marrow." Elizabeth Braddock sparked a cigarette and placed it in the groove of the chrome ashtray by her side. She inhaled deeply, hoping the smell of smoke would fire memories of her father's study, and of the innocent child who used to play amidst the weathered books and papers. A dim remembrance was all she could capture. She waved the smoke away with a slim hand. "Storm, Rogue...whoever the next damsel in distress is."

Reyes turned over and let the heat that she had trapped against the lounge chair dissipate into the chilled darkness. "Oh yes. I'm sure he's leaving you to run right after Marrow's bony ass." Her sarcastic smirk and drowsy honey-colored eyes flashed interest for a moment, then faded back into awaiting slumber.

Elizabeth sighed and snuffed out the cigarette to let her barren memories rest in the ashes. She glanced at Reyes from the corners of almond-shaped eyes, then picked up the lighter and began to burn the ends of Cecilia's synthetic braids, watching the nylon curdle and pop beneath the brilliant flame. She studied the sleeping woman whose warmth radiated from across the patio chair. She could feel the woman's colorful dreams spin out across the horizon of her mind. Psylocke let her telepathy dance along the edges of Cecilia's fantasies for a moment or two, then smacked her hand across the abundant flesh of Cecilia's posterior--hard. "I do believe I was talking to you, love."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" The harsh phrase rolled from Cecilia's tongue, anger heavily accenting the words. Reyes turned over once more, flashed an annoyed expression at her companion, and returned to her dozing.

Psylocke lit another cigarette.

It was calm by the pool--perhaps too calm. Elizabeth watched waves of chlorinated water lap lightly against glossy tile. Her lilac eyes swayed back and forth to the liquid's slow rhythm. The monotony of the past few weeks pressed upon her, smothering what was left of her soul; it extinguished her essence like powder or soot cast across the struggling embers of a dying flame. Psylocke closed her eyes and listened to the droning hum of bedroom fans dancing above her ears as she struck her foot against the tranquil surface of the water. Ripples stretched out across the once calm pool, sending faint shockwaves into its farthest reaches. And after a few moments, all was as it had been before. Her existence had made no difference.

Cecilia's frame stirred beside her. The woman's smooth brown skin had deepened to rare ebony in the dim atmosphere. Shadow given flesh.

Elizabeth crept towards her. Years of training had altered her movements into an event akin to a dance. Her actions were refined and without flaw--as if they had been rehearsed and practiced countless times before. Milk-white limbs eased effortlessly through midnight, stealing closer to Cecilia's dark skin. Shrouded in stealth, the telepath stopped millimeters from Cecilia's prone form, close enough the feel warm breath that seeped from between the sleeping woman's moist lips. Psylocke dropped back upon her haunches to watch the rise and fall of Cecilia's chest. Soft mounds thrust forward into darkness--the outward evidence of pulsing life and the stirring of a soul.

A host of brilliant butterflies fled from Psylocke's palm to dance around the sleeping woman's crown of braids, ensuring that she would remain asleep. Pale moths from the dusky woods were drawn to the radiant evidence of Psylocke's telepathy. They fluttered around the two women like the fairy companions of childhood heroes found in ancient tales. Pink and white, like the petals of flowers, soft wings brushed against the women's flushed cheeks.

Sure of her companion's slumber, Psylocke eased her frame over Cecilia's--straddling her. A pale pink tongue darted from the telepath's tightly drawn lips to taste the salty sheen of sweat upon her face. Silently, trembling hands slipped through the young woman's ebony skin. They faded into coal black tresses; they melted into breasts the shade of raven's wings.

Psylocke could feel the cold realm of the Crimson Dawn just beyond the heat of pliant flesh. Using Cecilia's soul to anchor her, she dipped deeper into the Crimson Dawn, burying her face into the shadows that pooled in the sleeping woman's valleys. Shudders consumed her. She could sense the forces warring within her--the bright energy of Cecilia's soul and the pull of the Crimson Dawn--devouring her essence and ravaging her frame. Her muscles tightened. Her skin gave birth to beads of sweat to trail the length of her body and nestle in the hollows of her form. Psylocke cried out into the Crimson Dawn--attempting to give voice to the satisfaction she longed for. She could feel it--the pressure--tightening within her.

"Bets? You out there?" Warren's voice called out from the farthest reaches.

"W-Warren?" In the instant it took to recognize her lover's voice, the dark realm slammed shut before her. She snapped back. Adrenaline flushed into her extremities to send shooting pain through clenched muscles. A low whine of longing escaped from the recess of her throat. The satisfaction that she longed for wrenched from her grasp, leaving an empty core within her soul. Psylocke unwillingly slithered from Cecilia's chair and stalked towards the woods to join her lover's voice in the darkness. "What?"

"We're being sent to Madripoor."

She shot a look back at the blurred silhouette of Cecilia's shape in the distance. "Indeed."

"The Hellfire Club strikes again." Warren held two suitcases in the air. "You can always count on the Inner Circle for a little excitement."

Moonlight spilling across the trees trapped Psylocke in a maze of shadows. She pulled a suitcase from his grasp. "Always."

********

She had heard him as soon as his foot had approached the first step. The stairs whined underneath his weight as he approached her bedroom door. Storm rose slightly, careful not to rouse Marrow's sleeping form, ears cocked to hear the ascending cries of stressed planks of wood. The door opened. A thin line of faded light washed upon her face. Cat's-eyes narrowed beneath the illumination. It wasn't him.

"Logan?" Why had she asked the question when she was already aware of the answer?

He winced at the sound of hope in her voice. "No, chere. It's me."

Gambit moved into the room, stopping short as his eyes fell upon the sleeping child nestled against the X-Leader's form. Carefully, he drew a nearby chair to the side of the bed. Callous fingers danced against rough-hewn cartilage and bone. Gambit bent closely towards Marrow's face, terrified that his movements would rouse her, but compelled to be close to her--to touch her. As he moved his hand over her body, his breathing slowed in time to match hers. In the darkness they moved in unison--appeared as only one form.

Storm's smooth hand slid over his. "I do not feel that this is the best time to--"

"How long she been out?" He nodded and withdrew his hand, acquiescing to Storm's wishes. Gambit's eyes fixed upon the skylight above. Crimson irises glittered in the moonlight like freshly spilled blood. It had all begun there.

"She has been sleeping for about four or five hours. She is fine." Storm's eyes followed Gambit's gaze to the skylight. "Physically."

He rose from the chair to circle the bed in shadow, absentmindedly charging objects and letting them power down in his hands. Storm watched his form quickly appear and disappear at various points in the confines of the room. The charged trinkets illuminated his features like the body of a firefly.

Morlocks were sensitive to light. Storm moved quickly to draw the blankets over Marrow's thankfully calm face, deja vu crackling throughout the scene like an electric current. Had she drawn a shroud over the face of Marrow's mother years before? Shielded the dead woman's eyes to the massacre before her? Storm dropped the blanket in disgust. "I take it you did not find Logan?" She cupped her nose over her hands and mouth as Gambit's movements forced a familiar odor to waft throughout the room. "Goddess. You smell like a sewer."

A charged gold necklace gleamed in the dim chamber. "Found a lot o' t'ings, chere. Too bad Logan wasn't one o' dem."

"Do you wish to talk about it?"

"You?"

She sat quietly in the darkness, fingering the raised scar on her neck. "Sometimes I wonder if I am trying to destroy myself…to sacrifice myself the way my mother gave her life for me."

"Long as we're bein' so honest..." Gambit stopped moving. A low sigh hissed between white rows of teeth. "Callisto's dead."

Ivory orbs fixed upon him.

"Legacy virus." He dropped into the chair. "Maggott an' I were in de tunnels--"

"What were you doing in the tunnels?"

He ignored her. "We found her body down dere."

"The truth, Remy."

"Huh?" His hand grasped the flask beneath his coat. Hot flesh warmed cold metal. He desired nothing more than to take a drink and let the brandy burn away his memories of the night. Of all the nights. He rolled his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.

"The truth."

"She was still alive when we got down dere. Stabbed herself in de heart when I said I was going t' take her back t' de mansion. Get her some help." He took a gulp from the flask. He deserved it. "Satisfied?"

"Goddess..."

"Jus' wanted t' spare your feelings, chere. Dat's all I ever want t' do. Tired of bein' crucified for it." His weary eyes roamed over the sleeping body in the bed. "You goin' t' be as honest wit' petite as I was wit' you?"

Thunderheads darkened the skylight's view. "I do not know."

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