Last Chances

by Coda

The pressure built up at the base of her skull like a cancerous tumor. Sarah closed her eyes and felt the tissue throb and swell like the expiring flesh of wounded strays littering the glistening grounds of New York City’s subway tunnels.

She wanted to be underground. More than anything she wished for the cool dank air and the expansive caves that comforted her during her childhood. However, Marrow was above ground—with the bitter-smelling flatscans pressed up against her on the overheated subway platform. The silent sea of flesh swayed together in the dim light, and Sarah could taste the salt in the air from the odors that wafted from their frames. A middle-aged man in front of her bent over to draw out the damp and dingy newspaper clasped tightly between his porcine legs. The slight gust of wind he created carried with it the smell of sour urine and dried feces to assault her nose. She grimaced. A young kid nearby sneered in response, her braids shrouding half of her face as if to shield herself from Marrow's hideous visage.

"What the fuck you looking at, bitch?" Marrow popped her shoulders back, thrusting her face into that of her newfound adversary. "What?"

The teen sucked on her teeth and shrank from the confrontation, attempting to lose herself in the crowd. Unfortunately the crowd had little interest in neither her escape nor in her protection and boxed her in firmly. The train would arrive in no less than a minute, and not one was going to relinquish a potential seat to save some young hoodlum from a mutant, especially when each of the silent bystanders privately cherished a world without the existence of either one.

Marrow settled back into place and tried to control the pain spreading within her skull as mutating bones twisted and popped like burning kindling within her feverish flesh. Losing control of her temper was just a part of her nature, but she wasn't going to lose control of her powers. Not here. Not now. These people would not have the satisfaction of laughing at her--pointing at her as she yanked bones from her frame like a freak show monstrosity. Marrow instead ignored her body's wishes and let fantasies coat the pain like narcotics; beautiful celestial images flashed around the fringes of her soul like acid daydreams. Her dreams of Heaven had become increasingly lucid of late--perhaps in opposition to the Hell her life had become. Radiant creatures twirled and danced in the darkness of her imagination; small sparks of light burst around their frames like pyrotechnics. Their bright forms glowed in covered halls. Marrow trembled as their bodies grew brighter; they blinded her eyes with expansive light. The light consumed her, until all color was gone and the caves exploded underneath glaring white heat.

"Bright One!" The throbbing in the back of her skull grew greater, congealing in her brain stem. Spikes of pain fired inside her cranium like gunshots.

Oh God, not here.  Not like this.

The sharp crack that coursed along her eardrums like a wild stampede told Marrow that God's answer to her prayer was no. The calcium dagger that Marrow had tried so hard to contain within her shot from the back of her skull, stabbing through skin, hair, flesh and tissue--finally splintering as it met with the warm, bloody cement below.

The rest of Marrow would have followed if it weren't for the two firm hands that caught her as she slipped into oblivion.

Warren Worthington snatched Marrow into his arms, yanking her back as the splintering bone fragments ricocheted into the air and stabbed at the humans on the platform with all of Marrow's uncontrollable fury. He winced as a bone shard sliced across his ankles. Blood pooled in his kidney colored oxfords. The wound would start to sting soon.

Mayhem crashed upon the platform like a meteor. The humans scrambled against each other in the darkness--some bleeding, some screaming--in a futile attempt to fight their way off of the subway platform. Like wild animals, they clawed their way to safety, crushing the limbs of others to make it through to the stairway.

Tears of frustration danced on the ledges of Warren's eyes as he watched several flailing hands signal for salvation in the drowning sea of people. He hovered in the air, letting the blood from Marrow's pulsing wound roll down his back as the realization that he was powerless to save them washed across his soul. It baptized him in shame and regret. His power was worthless.

He was worthless. 

Marrow's stirring stole Warren from his reverie. His face grim with determination, Worthington did the only thing he could do--he set out to call for help. Powerful wings, still glistening with the mucus that had coated them as they burst from his dorsal cavity, sliced through the night air. Warren swooped down from the platform to the pay phone below. He paused as he heard the sound of sirens in the distance. Understanding flashed in his eyes as he surveyed the scene.

They would put Marrow away for this.

Instantly, Angel tore into the heavens. Violet skies reflected in his wings made his feathers shine like pearls; he glimmered like a falling star in the oncoming darkness. The blood from Marrow's wound coated him as he softly cradled her head in his hand. He watched the dark liquid pool underneath his immaculately manicured nails and trail along his arm, turning his white skin to crimson. Angel pressed the girl to his chest as the sirens howled like Cerberus into the night air. Ice blue irises blazed against his pupils like halos.

He had to save her.

Marrow's eyes opened to orbs of the most beautiful blue she had ever seen. They flashed concern back at her. They wept. Laughing, she turned her drowsy gaze away from them, letting it fall instead across the horizon. It was as she had always dreamed. Darkness coated the earth; small lights flickered inside the rectangular caves that peppered the landscape. The people--the people were beautiful, and were draped in all sorts of colorful finery. Marrow marveled as they danced and waved below her like an ocean of skin.

She had made it.  She had made it into Heaven.

She cupped Angel's face and kissed him.

He shed tears against her lips.

"My savior."

Save her.

********

They moved.

Like warriors in a common cause, the two slipped silently down rain-slicked streets, looking for action and hoping for a thrill. The demon eyes found in the taillights of foreign cars burned red beams into their skin--casting a devilish glow across the city fixtures for a moment or two, only to leave the soldiers of the night in darkness yet again. Maggott stepped away from Remy for a moment, dancing alongside the refuse-strewn gutter to relieve his own boredom. He leapt on and off the curbside, lending the slightest of class to the graceless realm of New York City’s urban streets.

Remy dropped to the cement.

"Aw aw, maat. I think you’ve had enough for one night. How many fingers I’m holding up?"

"Five."

"Those are your fingers, maat."

"Ah, so dey are."

Maggott studied Remy for a few moments as the Cajun popped up from the sidewalk with a stylized roll and tottered across the street like a startled calf. Confident that his friend wouldn’t take another tumble--at least for the time being--Maggott returned to his dancing. A gleaming Benz filled with war-paint-smeared women on the prowl honked its horn in appreciation.

"Looks as though we have some admirers, Remy." Maggott pointed in the general direction of the traffic light. "Look, down by the robot."

Remy's ensuing grin rivaled concentrated moonlight. "Ha, de day dat Remy LeBeau doesn't have a female companion..." Gambit waved at the women--and two seconds later watched the vehicle roll off into the night. "...is obviously de day I'm standing in de gutter wit' you." The gloating moon provided a glaring spotlight for his failed performance.

Maggott rolled his eyes. "All right. Better head back to the mansion jus' now and tell Storm we couldn't find Logan."

"Mon Dieu! Don't you know anyt'ing 'bout women, chile? We'd better not go back t' de mansion. Stormy be de only one act worse den Rogue when I come home smelling like...a good time." Remy pulled the silk scarf from around his neck up to his nose and inhaled the aroma of wine and smoke. His self-satisfied giggle burst through the cloth. "'Sides, Stormy don't want Gambit back home. She trying t' protect him." 

"From Marrow?"

"Mmmm." Remy ignored Maggott as he caught a glimpse of the dull iron subway grate beneath his feet. Sorrow darkened his eyes like dye as his voice descended to a velvet whisper. "Knew dis place look familiar."

"You say something?"

Gambit mumbled the phrase once more. The soft words were swallowed whole by the savage sounds that dominated the street.

Maggott shook his head. "Can't hear what you're saying, maat."

Coarse white fingers grazed along the dulled metal of the subway grate. Ruby eyes peered past the adamantine grids to the urban valleys beneath. The damp tunnel walls below glittered like sequined cloth--as did Remy's brittle smile. Both used small flashes of brilliance to veil the darkness underneath.

Words hissed past Gambit's clenched teeth. They writhed through chilled air. They bit. "Second time I'd ever met Sabretooth. Only man I ever met smell worse den a damn sewer--jus' like one dose carcasses cops always fishing out de river." He bent down to press his forehead against the grate; the pressure of the metal marked his smooth tan skin. Gambit breathed in the smell--taking the foul scent into him to stir his painful memories. "Like death."

The metal stared to quaver. Gambit's fingers glowed. Heat waves danced before a contorted face. "Funny t'ing is, we stood right here. Right here. Nobody even paid us no mind. We must've been human looking 'nough ta pass for de night. Jus' another group lookin' for a party." The metal started to creak. "Laissez les bon temps rouler."

"What the hell you--?"

"Laissez les bon temps rouler!"

The sewer grate exploded into the night air. No one took notice.

"Shit!" Maggott opened his eyes to find Gambit leaping through a hole in what was left of the sewer grate. He winced as he heard the splash that followed. Dodging around the spikes of twisted iron that littered the street, Maggott dove in after Remy, his hands flailing in the air as he met with the raw sewage below--face first. Wiping globs of an unknown origin from his eyes, Maggott glared at Remy, who had already made his way to the end of the tunnel. With the exception of his Bo staff, which was coated in filth, Remy was bone dry.

"Damned Totsie!" Maggot dragged himself up through the sewage, plodding one foot in front of the other as he closed in upon Remy. "Man, get your drunk ass back here now! Remy!"

Gambit danced across the tunnels, his alcohol-induced euphoria driving him forward in a Bacchant fury. He gestured grandly to the walls encasing them. "And dis--dis was where we came in!" Gambit stopped to let Maggott catch up to him. He waltzed slowly in circles, holding an imaginary dance partner in his tender grasp. "I put my arms 'round Vertigo 'cause she couldn't stand de smell. Pressed her nose into my jacket. Said I smelled nice."

Maggott's wheezes provided the tempo. "Man, I don't need to hear all--"

"Belladonna used t' do the same t'ing. Vertigo dance jus' like her too. Whole tunnel was full wit' music. At first I thought it was from de club above, den I realized dat the Morlocks was having a celebration. Carnival." Remy turned to Maggott, whose skin had slipped to blue-black in the enveloping darkness. "You ever see somet'ing dat remind you of home? Give you dat feeling dat you belong?"

Maggott's long spindly fingers trailed across the patch of the letter X sewn into his ragged jeans. "Yes."

Remy nodded. "Good. Good. Everybody need dat. I have dat wit' de X-Men, but I felt it here too." He took another gulp of whiskey from his flask. Not wit' Vertigo, but..."

"Who?" Maggott watched Remy as the Cajun's eyes closed in upon the sealed end of the tunnel.

Gambit fished through his disheveled shirt, pulled out a penny, and threw it against the wall--whistling as it curved in the air like a diving hawk to bounce lightly against the wall's center. A hollow and tinny sound followed. Blurred roundhouse kicks flashed in the darkness, bursting through the sealed wall with fury and precision. Gambit climbed up the slight incline into the newly revealed room.

Maggott followed. "Feels good not to be standing in piss, maat."

"Try standing in blood."

"Come on, maat, let's just get out of--"

"NO!" Gambit's scream echoed throughout the tunnels. "Now, I started dis...and I'm going t' finish it too!" He took another sip from the flask and smiled bitterly. "Now I felt it when I looked at de Morlocks. Dat's where I belonged. Dey was thieves and hustlers jus' like me, right? Maybe a little grifting on de side?" He stabbed his Bo staff into the ground to seal his point. "Jus' like me."

Maggott turned away as Gambit's eyes began to fill with alcohol-tinged tears. He wasn't one to take a man's guilt and mix it with humiliation. He shuddered in surprise as Gambit's crazed laughter bubbled up behind him.

"God, dere was so much blood! I ain't never seen no blood flow like dat before." Gambit brought his hand up to his face--then lowered it slowly. "Even de walls was bleeding." He looked up. "You know why?"

Maggott shot a wary glance at his companion as Remy LeBeau shot his flask across the chamber. He moved in closer as Gambit sank to the ground, tearing at his own hair. Black hands curled over white. "Gambit--"

"Dat's right!" Remy slammed his Bo staff against the wall, grinning maniacally at his friend's response. "'Cause Gambit, Remy LeBeau, de Thieves Guild's darling son brought de Marauders down here t' dese tunnels! To Kill! Every! T'ing! In! Sight!"

"You pathetic...sniveling...little bastard."

Both men jumped in surprise as the flask careened once more along the floor. The rage seeped from Gambit's eyes. He whirled around. "Sarah?"

"No." Callisto's phlegm-filled voice oozed from the tunnel. "Not Sarah."

"I..."

"What you come here looking for, boy? Forgiveness?" The voice sprang like an echo in the darkness. No discernable form gave it shape.

Gambit's hands dropped helplessly at his sides. "I didn't...I didn't know dey was going t'--"

"Bullshit."

She paused to fumble around along the floor.

"Hummph. Forgiveness. You know how many humans I've killed, you little bitch? Forty. One for every damn year I lived. And the only thing they did wrong was tag a little too close to my bed at night, maybe roll their eyes at me when I went upworld to grab something to eat. Like tearing though fucking tissue paper. You think any of those upworlders ever forgive me for that?"

"No--"

"Damn straight. And I deal with that. Silently." She dragged her callused thumb against her newly found lighter; the flame unveiled her huddled image.

Maggott drew back in disgust. "Damn, woman! What the hell's wrong with you?"

She smirked. "Virus."

"Maggott, you go on up. I'll be dere in a few minutes." Gambit's eyes skimmed along the length of Callisto's form.

"Maat?"

"Go!"

Callisto laughed as the young mutant ran off.

Gambit stripped off his trenchcoat and shirt as he approached Callisto. He wrapped them around Callisto's legs.

"What the hell you doing?"

"Gone have t' make sure you're warm 'nough when we head back up, chere."

She leaned back against the wall. "X-Man to the core. Gonna rescue me whether I want it or not."

"Seems 'bout right."

"Yeah, what seems right to you always winds up wronging somebody else." She tore his trenchcoat from her legs. "I'm not going."

"E'rebody makes mistakes, chere, and you don't have much of a choice."

"I want to die in my own home." She pursed her lips to take another drag from the cigarette. The action ruptured the scabs along her mouth to let pus ooze down her chin. It mingled with her tears to form a milky substance to pool in the crevice of her lips.

He wrapped his clothes back around her, refusing to meet her gaze. "No."

"I can't walk."

He carried her.

Daggers of light had begun to blaze through the slits in the grates above. New York was coming to life overhead. The illumination bounced against the glass that littered the subterranean landscape, casting a simulated heaven of stars for the two sinners to walk upon. Angry techno wailed above them; the tortured music fell from the clubs down into the sewers below to hide amidst the concrete cracks and crevices. Underground music as truly underground.

"You hear de music, chere? You up for a spin?"

She snorted. "I'll be damned if I'm gonna dance with the likes of you."

He closed his arms around her and started to sway to the music. "Like I said, you don' have much of a choice."

She laughed.

"What's so funny, chere?"

"Morlocks always have a choice." She pressed her nose against the silk of his scarf. "You smell nice."

"T'anks, chere."

She laughed again. It was hollow this time. "You better thank me. I could've killed you."

"Chere?"

She fell against him. He closed his grip around her to keep death from carrying her away.

It was too late.

She was already gone.

Gambit gently laid her body on the floor. The knife that Callisto had plunged into her own heart snagged the pulse of a strobe light above and tore at Gambit's sensitive eyes. Dazzled by the glare, he stopped and stood for a moment in a mix of humid night and Morlock blood to steady himself. Then, as he had done one dismal night years before, he lit a thin filterless cigarette and climbed his way to the surface.   

He moved.

********

It had been two years since he had last been to that section of Harlem. It had been several decades since the time before that. He had been in love then too.

Her name was Eileen.

A beautiful girl she was--chocolate brown like the candy dreams of children. Logan stopped to linger in front of the stoop of a crumbling brownstone to wonder if his lost love had since morphed into one of the withered old women who now hovered above him. They peered at him with suspicion as he stood ramrod straight like a serenader underneath their grimy windows. Logan's eyes reflected the hazy light of streetlamps as he tipped his hat to one of the braver crones who drew back her curtain to let him see the hard lines of life in her face.

No one had ever sang her love songs.

He kept moving.

The street Logan walked down used to light up like Broadway after the sun sank down below miles of Gotham steel and concrete. Hell, it was Broadway in those days--a segregated White Way for those whose just weren't white enough for the original Street of Dreams. He had been infamous back then--pulling heists during the day that only time with Eileen could make his conscience forget at night. Touching his chin softly with a coarse hand, he remembered how the candlelight danced across their faces as she moved against him. These days, the only illumination falling across the sidewalk came from the glaring yellow light of all-night bodegas standing defiantly on the corners of Harlem's most dangerous streets. They were the only things tougher than the drug dealers themselves.

Hovering in his peripheral vision, a corner tavern caught Logan's attention. It looked abandoned--too late at night for young thugs to frequent it and too early in the morning for the drunks to set up their daily routine. He crossed the vacant street.

It had been three minutes since he'd last thought about Storm.

Two roaches scuttled past his steel-toed boots as he pushed open the tavern's heavy door.

"Closed." The musical word came from a woman hidden behind counter.

Logan could hear the trill of the bottles she was roughly pushing back into place underneath the bar. "I just wanted one shot."

Pale blonde hair and mahogany skin rose from behind the counter. The young woman slammed a small glass and a bottle of brandy down onto the table as she shot Logan a wry smirk. "One shot while I clean up."

"Thanks, darlin'." He let the brandy burn down his throat. "Pretty bold of you to be lettin' complete strangers in here at closin' time, little girl."

"What's your name?"

"Logan."

"Now you're not a stranger. 'Sides, I'm twice your size, honey, and probably twice as fierce."

"You got an' old voice ta be so young."

"I seen things."

"Me too."

They didn't talk anymore after that.

Logan watched her move around the bar. Her thick hips shifted underneath dull black spandex as she hoisted the chairs up onto the tables. Pale blonde hair bounced against her face. The odor that wafted from the tresses didn't match the rest of her. Logan frowned slightly. A wrap? Weave? Reyes had tried to explain it to him the last time last time he'd dropped her off at the hair salon, but he'd been too busy listening to the game on the radio to pay her much attention. He took another gulp of brandy, pulled a twenty out of his wallet and threw it onto the table.

"Leaving already, tough guy?" She called out to him from across the bar. Stands of white gold gleamed in the darkness.

"...'Ro?" The memories called out to him. Images flickered against his consciousness like the jerky action of silent movies across pale silk screens. He winced as chaotic sounds ruptured his reverie. "What the hell is that?"

She laughed and pointed to the stereo. "Jay Z."  Her breasts strained against the dress she wore as she leaned over to change the station. "Sorry. Forgot we had old people in the house tonight."

"Watch your mouth, little girl." His laughter mingled with hers as he nodded with appreciation at the new sounds. "Hmmph. Marvin."

"Oh no! Don't tell me you like Marvin Gaye now!" Her hips stared to sway in rhythm, playing sinful melodies across her dress. "Dance with me." Her arms reached out to him. The light from behind her gleamed against her skin as if lightning drained from her fingertips.

He shook fever dreams from his mind.

She ain't 'Ro.

"I don't dance."

She ain't Eileen.

"So what do you do to the music then?"

His eyes clouded over with tears and blurred her image. He moved slowly against the room, his feet dragging against the dull burgundy tile. He placed one foot in front of the other--his conscience slipping away with each languid beat of the tempo. She moved, her hips twisting and writhing to the music. She beckoned him. Her long fingernails strummed upwards against the air--dragging him closer.

*

Distant lover

many miles away

Heaven knows that I long for you

every night...every night

and sometimes I yearn through the day

His last shred of willpower falling by the wayside, Logan burst forward, closing his mouth upon hers. They shared the remnants of the brandy that had pooled in the valley of his tongue. She moaned openly against him as he played his coarse fingers against the smooth canvas of her bare thighs.

*

Distant lover...lover

You should think about me

Say a prayer for me

Please.  Please, babe, think about me sometime

Think about me here

Here in misery...misery

His hands curled upwards, spreading like a fan against the soft worn fabric that covered the small of her back. She threw her arms around his neck, pulling his mouth forcefully against hers. Claws unsheathed--the snikt going unnoticed--lost in the crescendo of the music. Slowly...carefully...he tore the fabric near her hips. Responding, her nails pulled against the initial slits, exposing wild rushes of midnight black between her thighs.

*

As I reminisce

through our joyful summer together

The promises we made...of a daily letter

Then all of a sudden...everything seemed to explode

Now I gaze out my window

Sugar, down a lonesome road

His lips danced across her face as he hooked his fingers underneath the frayed straps of her dress. Shredding the worn cloth, his fingers grazed against her warm breasts. The soft full orbs slipped from the dress that once concealed them like low notes from a descending register.

*

Distant lover

Sugar, how can you treat my heart so mean and cruel?

You know, sugar, that every moment that I spent with you

I treasured like it was a precious jewel

And like the skilled whore that she was, she didn't utter a sound when he chanted out Storm's name into the wilds of the darkness.

He pulled out quickly…embarrassed, ashamed. She knew better than to try to reach for him. The barmaid smiled through her brittle tears, as if his disgust for them both didn't concern her. How many times had she seen that look? How many men?

It hurt each time.

He tore away from her. "I'm sorry. I didn't--" Regret bubbled like bile in his throat to strangle his words.

"S'okay, baby." She shrugged and pulled a crisp hundred from his wallet. "Whatever's enough to get you through the night."

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