Subject: [OTL]: [Maverick, Kai] [R] From Russia, With . . . 11/Many Date: Sun, 14 May 2000 20:29:36 -0700 From: Jaya Mitai (See previous posts for disclaimer. What, you think I actually KEPT them all?!) * * * * * * * Kai stared at Logan a long time, before walking over to the other window. "What about him? He isn't in a condition to be moved." "I know. Gonna hafta risk it." She raised an eyebrow. "We wouldn't have gone to all the trouble to treat him if we were gonna kill him." Logan turned away suddenly, surprising her. But giving her ample time to study him. This Logan was dressed much how she expected someone like him to be dressed. A flannel shirt, rolled up sleeves, revealing thick, well-muscled forearms. The jeans looked worn and comfortable, and loose enough to give him flexibility. His hair was doing weird things -- no surprise, considering its thickness -- and his boots were extremely well-made work boots that could take being run over by construction equipment. Everything looked comfortable, casual. Even the hunting knife tucked in the back of those jeans. Her gaze flitted to LeBeau. To the uniform he wore. And the nearly-hidden armor underneath it. Smelled of Evan. No trace of blood. And whether there would have been if he was tranqed was questionable, depending on where the dart hit and how long it took to get the clothes off and Evan tied up. It would have taken a _ long _ time. Nearest hotel was almost a half -- hour. His hair was pulled back in a neat pony-tail, red-brown and well-tended. He smelled strongly of aftershave, obviously French, and carried the slightest scents of a bar -- probably the decks of cards it was rumored he carried. Behind the sunglasses, his eyes were red and black, it looked like. Demon's eyes. If you killed him, you sonuvabitch . . . "We'll get him back to the X-Men when we've taken care of the missiles. And do I need to ask how you found us?" If they knew about her, Maverick, and Logan, it was almost a certainty they knew about the missiles, as well. And the base. Well, _shit._ What didn't they know? Logan turned to look at her. "He's coming with us, Kai. They both are." She laughed. "I don't think so." Remy turned, slowly. In her peripherals she saw something alight. Logan just shook his head. "He told the truth, darlin'. And North'll be a lot happier not here. Somethin' tells me he ain't too pleased with you at the moment." Kai swallowed the curse. "Then I'm going with you." It was Remy's turn to laugh. Kai turned to regard him. "You may have killed an agent, LeBeau. Armor or no, both of you will be dead by the time you hit the front door. Not counting the shots that miss, and hit . . . say . .. North, instead." Logan turned to look at Remy, who had an oddly challenging look on his face. The two stared at each other for a moment, then Remy shrugged, and the playing card in his hand stopped glowing. He turned back to the lock, and confidently punched in eight numbers. The lock clicked open. Remy grinned cockily. "Less'n two minutes. Gambit still got de touch." There was a snarl, and Remy spun. * * * * * * * Logan never attacked. The two 'twins' stared at each other, quietly. Kai slid easily into a detached mode, noting Remy was holding his breath as she ever so slowly approached them. The snarling had settled almost immediately into the same strange silence he'd displayed earlier. There was no sign of any hostility on either side. They simply . . . watched each other. It was Remy that eventually broke the silence, clearing his throat experimentally. Neither even blinked. Kai moved slowly between the real Logan and the observation window to Maverick's room. Last thing they needed now was Logan to go apeshit. Still, the minutes ticked by, with nothing from either of them. Remy glanced significantly at his watch. "Hate t'interrupt, but we gotta get goin' pretty soon," he observed in a very carefully neutral voice. His very manner was nonthreatening, fairly radiating it. Kai had to hand it to him, he was very, very good. And probably just as dangerous. Still neither Logan broke eye contact. Remy cocked his head to the side, a peculiar, almost birdlike motion, and strode up to them, passing a hand between them. Nothing. "Tel'pathic contact, den," he said, almost to himself. "Dat mean dis one de one that 'nitiaiting it." He put a hand on the sane Logan, who didn't react. Kai cocked an ear toward the hallway. Still no sound. Darius would kill her if she let them leave. Not only did they know where the base was, they knew the missiles were still here. Knowledge that could be potentially very, very dangerous. And it was likely that the X-Men knew, then, as well. So if she kept them here, a team of X-Men could show up tomorrow morning. Darius had a few mutants employed at the moment, but no one that could handle that kind of paramilitary team. Not without heavy casualties; another no-no, as the X-Men were able to handle world affairs that might be out human - or Three Eyes - capability to settle. The mutant Magneto and his space station came immediately to mind. Kai offered a mental apology to Darius. Best - hell, the only solution -- was to go with them and babysit till the missiles were safely away. She couldn't keep tabs on them all, and she knew it. Either way, it was a hell of a security risk. Kai turned suddenly as Remy moved again, leaning away with a grin. "Hey, Logan. C'mon, mon ami. We got t'go, eh?" "Yeah." Kai very nearly went for her gun again at the sound of that completely inflectionless voice. The real Logan didn't even move, stayed in his crouch. Both were still staring at each other. "Mon ami, y'do got Logan under y'spell, right?" "For a while." Remy caught Kai's look. "Relax. Li'l trick I know. One mutant power jus' as good as 'nother." "You're a telepath?" She imagined up the mental shields most active Three Eyes agents were taught by the resident telepathic medic. He shook his head, taking a step forward. The impostor followed. And Logan followed. Both silently. "I got a good case o'Cajun charm. Y'seem t'be immune, chere. Pity." Though there was obvious teasing in his voice, there was a warning, as well. She strengthened those shields, just in case. He strode almost imperiously into the other observation room, expertly removing the catheter and IV, wrapping North tightly in a sheet. "Get . . . off me . ." Remy looked surprised as he carried the injured Maverick out. "Oh, now y'wake up, eh? Don' confuse me wid no angel, mon ami. You get grabby, an' I leave y'right here." "Who . . .?" Kai stopped Remy by stepping in front of him, which he looked almost offended about, and looked into North's eyes. They were dilated and nonresponsive. Dilated . . ? They weren't suppose to give him . . . drugs . . .? Kai swore and stalked into the room, ripping the IV bag down and reading it. Saline and 2% morphine. No wonder he hadn't regained consciousness. She dropped the bag, yanking the chart out. Not a medical expert, she simply scanned the pages for signatures. And she found three. The medic's, twice, and -- And Darius's. She stared at it for several moments, every curve, every line. It was his, no doubt. Signed by his own hand, not that tightassed secretary of his. She unclenched her jaw quickly, letting her face slip into a mask. Cute, Darius. Real cute. "Dere a problem?" Remy asked mildly. She carefully replaced the clipboard. "No. We going?" Remy snorted. "Y'get us outta here alive, chere, an' we talk." She turned without missing a beat and strode out of the room. Her eyes flicked to North, now once again unconscious, and the two Logans. This was going to be far more difficult than she had anticipated. Couldn't go out the front, Darius would be called instantly, and they'd never outrun Three Eyes security teams. As if sensing her thoughts, Remy chuckled. "Don' worry about gettin' us past the guards outside. I got dat covered. Jus' outta de buildin'." She didn't like the sound of that. "You attack a single guard, LeBeau, and I'll kill you. Understand?" She led them into the hall, Logans in tow. He grinned lopsidedly. "'Course, chere. Didn' expect anyt'ing less." They made it to the elevator with no trouble. "We go out the front door. Wait here while I convince Danny to go elsewhere. Got it?" She punched the button, and the doors slid almost silently shut. He nodded. "Dat sound like a plan t'me. What if dere others in de lobby?" "That depends how quietly you came in and how many bodies you left lying around outside." "No bodies outside." His tone was much more convincing than Logan's had been, and she imagined up as many clear, impenetrable bubbles around her mind as possible. "Which hotel did you leave him in?" The elevator was slowing its ascent. "De brown stucco one, whichever dat be." She relaxed slightly. There was a motel like that, the old HoJo. The doors opened, and like he promised, Remy stayed in the corner as she tiredly walked out, rubbing the back of her neck idly. Danny was at his post, looking nervous. Stank of sweat. Kai stopped her obvious journey towards the front door to look at him curiously. "Dan? You okay?" He swallowed. "Yeah, yeah, fine. Uhm, Kai? You might want to stay around for a bit . . ." She tensed for his benefit, resisting the impulse to overdo it and glance around. "Oh?" He nodded. "Yeah. The Boss is coming down." Kai didn't realize she'd cursed out loud until he nodded. "It was just a phone call . . . I just wanted to tell my girl that there was an X-Man in the building . . ." Kai stared at him. Elevator car was almost there; she could hear the air being displaced in the shaft and the squeaking of the gears. She had to get them out of here, right fucking _now._ "What X-Man?" He was watching the other elevator. "Wolverine." Kai leaned on the counter, and after looking at her briefly, he returned his attention to the 'service' elevator. She used a palmstrike to the face, breaking his nose cleanly. He slumped forward, landing in a small spot of his own blood and tipping over a plastic cup of pens. "Remy, let's go." He appeared a second later, still trailed by the Logans. Her ears picked up the inside ding of the service elevator, feet moving within. Remy seemed to sense her hurry, running quickly but smoothly, cushioning Maverick, and the Logans moved swiftly as well, one loping, the other in a jog. She backpedaled behind them, hoping beyond hope that it was just a janitor, or a guard shift, or someone . . . someone not Darius. Her nose informed her cheerfully that she was screwed. Remy was already outside by the time Darius rounded the corner in a fast stride, and Kai caught a glimpse of his face as she raced out the door with them. Just a glimpse of his expression. And then the dark swallowed them. * * * * * * * True to his word, Remy did indeed have a plan for getting them away from the building safely. Her nose told her there were ten, though she only spotted maybe six. All very well-hidden -- And all armed. Kai wasted no time with threats. She simply kept running, apparently to catch up with Remy to question him, and when she was close enough, she grabbed him by the nice handle his ponytail offered and pressed the gun to the back of his neck. He slowed agreeably. "If a single one of them fires," she growled, "we'll never get all of you out of the pavement." She was careful to keep him between her and the men she could see. Women, too, out there somewhere. "Dey ain' aimin' t'kill," he said easily. "Jus' t'keep y'friends in de buildin'." "What're they shooting?" " . . . bullets . . . ?" One of them confirmed that statement, and Kai felt her knees give almost before she heard the shot. She held onto the ponytail, using it to keep her feet, and kept the gun pressed tightly into his neck. God_damn_it! What a fucking mess. Remy had his hands full. Unless he dropped Maverick, there was no way he could come to his own aid, but she'd been shot from the -- From the back. Shot in the back. _Again._ "Oh no you don't," she snarled, annoyed by the weakness in her voice. These were his people. He brought his own friends here. Not X-Men. Base was already compromised. With the nukes aboard. No point in babysitting - too late. If Evan was sleeping it off, or even alive, he'd be able to find his own way home. This little escapade was over practically before it began. Fuck. A particularly loud noise behind her made her jump, and the gun went off. Remy's head shot backwards, surprisingly, as the bullet struck the back of his neck, and then Kai felt a much gentler sting. Same sniper, slightly more vital location. Then again, she supposed she didn't really _need_ that lung . . . she had another perfectly good one on the right . . . She heard more gunfire as she finally hit the ground, and a startled whuffle close by. Logan. Oh shit. She'd gotten Remy, and he'd been handling the impostor, who in turn . . . _Shit!_ She forced her eyes open, tried to move her arm. It refused to budge, the gun weighed too much. More whuffling, and a startled oath, from the other Logan. Something touched her face. Fuck fuck _fuck!_ Logan would kill them all, a single bullet would be enough to enrage him -- Then she was picked up by strong, firm hands, and despite their care, the wounds in her back pulled, and she heard a strangled curse. Then, a strange buzzing. Musta . . . gotten me better . . . than I though . . . * * * * * * * Kai came awake gradually, on several different levels. At first, she was aware that she was semi-awake. There was pain, somewhere, but it was vague, not localized. There was someone staring at her. There was light. She wasn't alone. She could smell several men. And all four scents she recognized. Her eyes opened slowly. A white, cracked, smoke-stained ceiling greeted her. To her right, the eyes of a demon stared down at her. That was impossible. He continued to glare down at her. "T'anks f'shootin' me, p'tite. I 'ppreciate it." "Go to hell." Not like she'd done it on purpose. He shrugged. "Mebbe. See y'dere." He left her field of vision. Kai struggled to sit up, her back still sore. Hadn't been out long, then. North was awake but not particularly coherent on the bed next to her, and one Logan was sitting next to him, checking him over. The other was curled in the corner, snarling to himself. He didn't seem angry, just frustrated. And confused. "You goddamn _idiot_, LeBeau." He shushed her. "Let's just say, I know someone dat know y'boss. 'Pparently he's hired a few of m'friends over de years f'information. None o'y'people were hurt - just detained." There was a startlingly loud crackle, like a huge kernel of corn being popped. Kai blinked; where one there had been empty space was now a rather tall, long-legged woman with a hooked nose and a miniskirt that probably had less fabric on it then a pair of french-cut panties. Remy just grinned at her. "An' dis lovely lady den got m'people - an' us - outta dere. An' now . . . we be goin'. T'anks f'y'help, s'far as it went. An' I know y'know where I live. Come over sometime; I bet y'play a mean game o'pool." Kai stood reasonably steadily. "Look, you fucker -" "De base be cleared out," the woman interrupted with a wink. "I don' t'ink y'boss too pleased wid y'at de moment. Cheerio." And there was a loud *pop!* And they were simply gone. All of them. North on the bed. The Logan in the corner. Just . . . Gone. Numbly, she walked over to the desk, picked up the phone. Dialed a number. Waited. One ring. "Extension." "Toddler Toys has been compromised." A pause. "We are aware. I was asked to patch you through to the plane. Please wait." "No, I-" A pause, and a few clicks. "Yes." She winced at the tone of his voice. Tired, stressed . . . angry. Shit. "I lost them." A long pause. "Are you alright?" "I'll live." Darius spoke quietly to someone else for a moment, before returning his mouth to the receiver. "Why?" Kai bowed her head. Why, indeed? She's broken potentially dangerous people out of her own base. In the smack middle of what was still a nuclear threat. In the middle of a world preparing for the worst war imaginable. "Thought I could keep them quiet until we delivered. No time to discuss with you." Another pause. "Evan is dead. We found him during the last sweep." Her knuckles whitened as her fist tightened around the plastic receiver that cracked alarmingly. She didn't say a word. "I'm pressed for time right now. We'll call you." The phone went dead. Kai carefully, unsteadily, replaced the receiver into its cradle. And then she turned and headed out the door, shutting it quietly behind her. She headed out into the night, back to the base. Likely someone left a car or two. Besides, the walk will do me good. Calm me down. Get this knot outta my stomach. God_damn_ you. Goddamn who, Kai, the voice whispered nastily. Shut _up._ Five minutes later found the phone ringing in the lonely room, with only a few rumpled sheets and a slightly bent ID card with a smiling face for company. * * * * * * * The wind whipped off the ocean, for once not quite as bitterly chilly at it always seemed on nights like this one. Nights like this one. Soddin' hilarious way to look at it. Pete dropped the cigarette, watching the butt land in the wiry grasses at his feet and glow fitfully for a moment, before finally succumbing to the far greater power of cold around it and extinguishing. How bloody ironic. Pete watched the restless ocean, not so much rolling as it was choppy, anxious. Storm coming in, that. Storm already got there, actually. Storm and several of the others. Too many bleedin' X-Men for him to be comfortable listening to Moira bitch about him smoking in the house. Drove him out here for solitude. Bloody shame about Wolverine, that. Bloody great shame. But they acted as though the old man were already dead, and he wasn't. Moanin' and giving up on him, they were. Before Moira even got the chance to try anything. Great bloody hell. And here he was, smoking on one of the cliffs overlooking a vast body of water, brooding over it. On a trail no thicker than four feet, halfway up the cliffs he stood, smoking. Brooding. When he should be only a few centimeters from the bottom of a bottle of scotch. Instead, he was hiding from the Scots harridan, who was on a rampage trying to get Excalibur to make the X-Men that had arrived feel more at home and out of her hair. Which is why this was the _ only _ place he could go to get some piece and quiet. His sharp eyes watched the rocks below, noting the level of the tide and the amount of seaweed being washed ashore. Was going to be a hell of a night. Maybe Ororo could do something about it . . . He dropped the half-smoked cigarette, stomped it out, and melted into the shadows, returned to the cliff edge thirty yards to the right. Boat. Black, inflated. Looked like it wasn't inflated enough. Had been in the cold water a while, then. Whoever was aboard had cut the engine some time ago, letting the tide carry them in. Waiting for the dark. A single person, small in stature and figure. Probably female. He didn't hear a thing as she dragged the boat ashore, placing it on some rocks. Tied it off. Intending to stay a while, as well. He scanned the rest of the shore. Nothing. Just a lone figure, carefully grabbing gear. A length of rope. Scaling the cliffs, eh? He contented himself to wait as she quietly, carefully began her ascent. Best to let her work her way up to him, then. Easiest, quietest way to handle it. What did the bloody bird think she was doing? She paused, more than halfway up, and scanned the edge, as if sensing his stare. He didn't move, knowing that the suit made him almost invisible, with the moon above him glaring down. After a few tense seconds, she continued. Very graceful, and strong. She found footholds without trouble, climbed the cliffs as though she had done it a million times before. Assassin? Ever so quietly, he moved to the side, closer to where she was going to hit the ledge. He didn't so much as dislodge a pebble. Last thing in the world they needed, friggin' assassins dropping by. He found himself suddenly craving a cigarette. As though he hadn't just smoked a pack and a half. With a slight grunt she hefted herself over the rocky outcropping, coming to rest on her belly on the ledge as she leaned down to unhook the gear. He calmly stepped forward and placed a foot on the small of her back, hotknives flashing in his hand. "'Ello there, gel." And Pete got the surprise of his life. Not only was she not taken offguard, she had positioned herself just so, and with a swift twist of her body, Pete found himself suddenly starting at the bright, round moon -- His hand caught a large rock about ten feet down, and there he dangled, some forty above the rocky shore. By one arm. "Bloody flippin' woman," he growled, getting a better handhold and glancing up. Lucky if she didn't shoot him between the eyes -- Yet she was scurrying up the cliff without pause. And she had left the rope and gear where they were - right beside him. Cursing under his breath, he let go with his right hand and strained for the rope, swinging none-too-gently in the breeze being kicked up off the ocean. Once - he missed it by a mile. His left hand slipped on the wind-moistened lichen growing there, and he cursed again. His fingers brushed the rough fibers of the rope without getting a grip. Three times more it swung to him, three times more he missed. Fourth try was the charm, literally right before his left hand gave up the ghost. He latched onto it without testing it. He wasn't a great huge man, not compared to some of his teammates, but he was probably a good deal heavier than she. Still, the rope held. Good, quality stuff. He scrambled up the rock face, his left hand trembling badly and throbbing a bit from the earlier strain. Bird was in a great deal of trouble. He made it to the ledge, scanned it. There was an actual set of carved footholds around somewhere - Spaniards or something had found the island at one point, and made the almost impassable cliff face seem like nothing more than a child's monkey bars. He found them, still half-covered in moss and slime. Without pause he started after her. She made it over the top well before he, not casting a look over her shoulder to get his location, either. Left her equipment then, as well. Did she intend to make it easy for him? She certainly wasn't behaving like an assassin. Wasn't behaving like a hired merc, or a spy, either. Not the right garb for a ninja. What the fraggin' -- For a single, fleeting moment, he pondered the idea that it was Kitty practicing her skills. Then he discarded that with a curse. This woman was a little heavier built, and not quite as tall. Besides, there was something in her almost casual air at letting him fall that he knew would - he hoped - would not be in his Kitty. Then again, she was still a bit miffed concerning the entire Italian dinner fiasco -- He paused his climb nearly at the top, clinging to the rockface in the wind and waiting. The wind shot over him, cold and full of moisture, and to the land above. Would carry any sound he made to her, at any rate. Question was, was she still up there? He waiting only a moment more, then poked his head up. And she was. Her foot met his face with enough force to almost boot it into the ocean. As it was, his suit saved him, the cuff caught on one of the ancient handholds. He heard his suit tear at the shoulder, and that alone hurt more than any concussion. He tossed himself over the ledge, using his now-free hands to hurl hotknives at her, which she ducked under just in time. Bought him the space he needed to get to his feet and get the hell away from the cliff. Once there, he stood in a less than unfriendly position and sized her up. She was regarding him from the height of perhaps 5'1", her hair pulled back in a braid that hadn't yet unraveled and latched itself to her face despite the wind. She was dressed in a dark, dark grey - smart, considering the fogs they often got after such a storm, and warm clothing. Water-resistant clothing. Tightly woven. "All right, bird, wot's your business 'ere?" His tone was a bit more conversational than his position. He'd had to raise his voice quite a bit to be heard over the now quite brisk wind, and it wasn't hard to find the volume. She ripped his suit. She was going down. The woman only cocked her head to the side, watching him. Waiting for something. "I came to see Logan," she finally called. He laughed. "Why not use th' front door?" She stepped closer, straining to shout over the wind. "I can't do that." He frowned, also moving closer. "Wot?" She repeated herself more loudly. As she began, he simply tossed a single hotknife. And the woman, much to his surprise, didn't go down. She did toss a regular knife in his direction, simultaneous to his own throw, that despite compensating for the wind missed him by several centimeters. He simply rushed her, taking her down with sheer weight and slamming a hand to her forehead, forcing it back. Thus it was back of her head that first hit the ground, with a sharp *crack!* A bitter, slanting cold rain began. * * * * * * *