DISCLAIMER: I don't own
the X-Men or any of their multiple incarnations. Please don't sue me or
steal my story!
NOTE:
In Italian, Beatrice is pronounced Bee-a-TREECH-eh. Since the great
Dante wrote his Inferno in Italian, I would guess Belasco would say the
name with the Italian pronounciation.
NOTE II: The opening
speech (from "There..." to "What about Kurt Wagner?" ) is quoted
directly from Universe X Volume 2. The descriptions in between those
quotes and everything that follows is mine (except the characters
themselves, of course. Those are Marvel's).
Chapter Four
Scott
Summers tossed and turned, then finally sat up. His mind was too full
to sleep. Moving carefully so as not to disturb his sleeping wife,
Scott exchanged his flexible 'sleep visor' for his ruby-quartz glasses,
slid his feet into his bedroom slippers, and padded silently out the
bedroom door. If anyone had asked, he would have said he was just going
down to the rec room to see what was playing on TV. However, deep down
the responsible leader in him knew there was no way he'd be able to
sleep until Ororo had returned home, safe and sound.
Scott
grabbed up the remote control and turned on the TV, then he stretched
out on the long, comfortable sofa and sighed. The first twelve channels
he flipped through were mainly infomercials and news broadcasts in
Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese. After a few more flicks, the image of
a ragged man with long hair and a scraggly beard being rescued by a
small, wooden sailing ship caught and held his attention.
Scott frowned. Something about this movie seemed familiar. He could
almost remember—no, he could
remember watching it with Kurt ages ago, long before the disastrous
face-off against the Gray Gargoyle. The crazy elf had been going on and
on, comparing this movie to some earlier version from the 1930s or
something. Scott hadn't paid much attention at the time, but he knew he
could remember the title. It was right on the tip of his tongue...
"You're watching the 1975 TV classic, The Count of Monte Cristo
starring Richard Chamberlain and Tony Curtis. Coming up next, don't
miss Stewart Granger and Mel Ferrer in the movie that boasts one of the
longest sword duels in swashbuckling history: the 1952 film adaptation
of Rafael Sabatini's Scaramouche. Then at three, lighten up
with Danny Kaye in The Court Jester. It's an all night movie
marathon, right here on..."
Scott snapped his fingers as he listened to the announcer's voice, a
smile spreading across his face. Of course! The Count of Monte
Cristo--one
of those corny old sword-fighting flicks Kurt had always been so keen
on. His smile broadened as he recalled how positively exuberant the elf
used to get whenever one of those musty old things came on TV. And
tonight there was a marathon! If Kurt had been there with him right
then, he would have been in heaven!
Scott blinked at that
thought, then swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat, his
heart sinking as he ran his hand slowly through his hair.
He
should have gone with Ororo. He had given in to her far too easily,
allowing his own guilt over Kurt's condition to make her argument for
her. And now, she was out there without any back-up or support,
determined to face Kurt alone.
Scott snorted, his gaze hardening
behind his visor. That creature she was so determined to confront was
not their Kurt, not by any stretch of the imagination. He was
disturbed, angry—sadistic! For all intents and purposes, he was the
demon he appeared to be. He was a violent, hate- filled monster, and
most of that burning hatred was directed at the X-Men.
Scott
sighed through his teeth, staring at the commercials without really
seeing them. If anything happened to Ororo, it would be entirely his
fault. He had let her walk straight into a snake pit, and he had done
it despite knowing that this snake was all the more poisonous for the
very fact that the good, open-hearted man he had once been still held
such a sway over their hearts. Kurt Wagner been the soul of the team
for so long; he had been such a dear friend to them all. If they
allowed themselves to hope he could return to them, if they let him get
too close, Belasco could and would use their own guilt and pain to
destroy them—and he would extract a cruel pleasure from every moment of
it.
The movie had returned, but Scott couldn't stand to watch it
any longer. He turned off the TV, then slammed the remote down onto the
coffee table as he shot up from the sofa and started pacing. He was
seething with frustration and worry. If Ororo didn't return in three
minutes, he was heading out to find her, no matter the risk. Belasco
had already stolen Kurt from them. He wasn't about to let him take
Ororo as well.
Scott's dark thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of the
front door opening. Ororo!
Without thinking, the leader of the X-Men dashed down the hallway to
the foyer, nearly tripping on the edge of the patterned rug in his
hurry.
Ororo was there, leaning limply against the back of the
door, her mocha features cloaked by the darkness of the room. The moon,
which had been shining brightly while Scott was in the rec room, was
now obscured by clouds, and a light, drizzly rain had started outside.
"Ororo?"
Scott asked, his voice soft and cautious as he slowly approached her,
treading carefully through the dark room. "How did it go?"
Ororo
looked up, her wide eyes glittering in the dim light of the streetlamp
by the driveway, her damp hair appearing almost gray. Then, before
Scott could react, the normally stoic Ororo was in his arms, clinging
to him desperately as she sobbed brokenly against his chest.
"He's there, Scott," she whispered hoarsely into his shoulder. "It's
Kurt. I saw him. He spoke to me."
Scott
frowned, stroking her back as she continued to cry. "Ororo, what's
wrong with your voice?" he asked as gently as he could. "What happened
out there?"
Ororo just shook her head, her wet clothes, hair,
and tears leaving a damp spot on Scott's nightshirt. Scott's frown
deepened, and he broke her embrace to seek out the light switch.
"No, Scott!" Ororo croaked as she realized what he was doing. "Don't!
It's all right. I—"
But
it was too late. Bright light flooded the foyer, causing them both to
squint and blink as their eyes adjusted. Ororo just stood there, stoic
and aloof as she met Scott's gaze without anger or shame. Scott gasped,
then glared as he caught sight of the bruises on Ororo's slender neck.
"Did
he do this to you," he demanded, advancing on her in a fury. Ororo
didn't answer, her expression calm and unwavering. The red,
multi-faceted lenses of Scott's glasses began to glow as his eyes
flashed in anger.
"Don't you dare defend him, Ororo. If Belasco hurt you, you have
to tell me."
"Yes,"
Ororo acknowledged after a long, tense pause, her hoarse voice barely
above a whisper. "Belasco did try to hurt me. But Kurt let me go. I
think...I think he was trying to protect me."
Scott furrowed his brow over his shades. "What do you mean?"
Ororo
just shook her head, raising one hand to her bruised throat. Scott
scowled, then sighed, reaching out to put a brotherly hand on her
shoulder.
"Come on," he said. "Let's get you down to the medbay. We can talk
about this once you're better."
Ororo nodded, allowing Scott to lead her to the stairs.
Outside, the chill, drizzling rain continued to fall.