----
TITLE: PRS 8: With the Devil
AUTHOR: WGSarah (wondergoddessarah@yahoo.com)
RATING: PG-13 for language and violence and suchlike.
NOTES: Hosted at the Bright White Light
(http://www.snarkyblue.com/light/series/index.html), and um, whoever
else was archiving it. All others ask permission first. Please send
feedback to the above addresses if you so desire. All characters
contain in this story are owned by other corporations, Marvel and 20th
Century Fox, primarily, not us. We just borrowed them for a little
mischief. No profit was gained from the creation of this story. Much
love to my fabulous betas.

----

The door to the conference room opened with a quiet rasp as the
meeting's participants flooded out, talking quietly among themselves.

"You can't let her go on treating you like that." Tabitha laid a hand
on Sam's arm, tugging him aside once they'd exited into the hallway.

Sam Guthrie looked down at his feet, studiously avoiding her gaze. "It
ain't nothing, Tab." He stepped back to allow people to pass by them,
nodding at Kurt as he left.

Tabitha Guthrie snorted and shook her head. "And I just imagined that
whole scene in there where Terry all but spit in your face. Yeah, that
never happened."

Sam turned and started away from her. "Let it go, Tab," he said
quietly, his voice thin and scratchy.

"No, I won't. I'm getting tired of it, Sam." Tabitha jogged a couple
steps to catch up with him. "She kicks the shit out of you and you lie
there and take it."

"I said I don't want to talk about it, Tabitha. Not now."

She grabbed his arm when he was halfway up the stairs and pulled. "When
then, huh? You keep dodging me whenever I bring it up. I can't stand
the way she treats you, treats me, treats everyone. But it's killing
you, can't you see that? I've watched her do it for years. Why do you
put up with it?"

"God damn it, Tabitha!" Sam swung around, towering over her. "You say I
keep avoidin' you. Maybe there's a reason! Maybe I don't want to stand
in the middle of the hallway tellin' everybody about our problems, or
our problems as you see them. You just can't wait to tell everyone what
a whipped bitch I am!"

Tabitha's face drained of its color. "Okay. Okay, if that's how you see
it then," she said.

"I. Tab, honey, I didn't mean-" Sam's voice died in his throat. His
eyes burned into her skin as he stood there for a long moment, his
throat working. Finally he turned away and hurried up the rest of the
staircase, leaving her standing on them alone, halfway up.
Sam rushed down the upstairs hallway to their room. He stopped in front
of their door, fumbling at the lock with his key.

"Sam," Tabitha's unsteady voice from behind stopped him mid-search. He
dropped his hands to his sides, keys dangling lossely from his fingers.
"I love you, Sam. You know I do. But I'm not going to watch that bitch
do her damnedest to kill what's left of you. So either we talk about
this now, or I'm gone."

"There's nothing to talk about," he muttered. "Nothin' we haven't said
before."

"Do you really think that?"

His pause was almost imperceptable. "Yes."

>From the corner of his eye, he saw Tabitha slump against the wall and
slide down to the floor, hooking her hand around the back of her neck.

"I don't know, Sam," she said, her voice low and exhausted. "I don't
know what to say or what to do anymore. I've tried and. I don't know if
this is worth this anymore." She climbed back up to her feet. "Fuck it.
Let her stomp all over you, I don't care anymore. If that's what makes
you happy, Sam--"

"It doesn't make me happy, okay?" He blasted at her, suddenly. "It does
not make me fucking happy! If you think I *like* this, then--"

"No!" she yelled at him,"I don't care! I don't fucking care!" Tabitha
held up her hands as she started to back down the hallway, tears
sliding down her cheeks. "I don't fucking care!"

Sam watched in silence as she turned and ran away from him.

----

Monet stood quietly to the side of the corridor when the meeting let
out, and watched Sam and Tabitha go feuding down the hallway, their
voices carrying to everyone within a hundred foot radius.

Guthries. In typical fashion, they didn't care who heard about their
problems, whether they wanted to or not. Paige had been the same way.
Monet wasn't certain is that was a symptom of wearing their hearts on
their sleeves, or of having been raised with so many siblings that you
had to shout to be heard.

She lingered for a few minutes more before heading down the hallway and
ducking into a nearby bathroom. Examining herself in the mirror, Monet
pushed a hand back through her long dark hair and tugging a strand in
front of her eyes, looking for silvering strands. There were moments
when the appearance of maturity was an advantage. Meetings, for
example. For a long time, it had helped people ignore her... unique
situation and accept to her opinions as being valid. But, Nicole
reflected, it was getting to the point where that was no longer a real
issue. Dropping her hand, she backed away from the mirror and closed
her eyes. A bit of concentration and when she opened them a moment
later instead of seeing one well-kept 40 year old woman reflected back
at her, she smiled at the two identical 20 year olds.

Claudette smiled at their mirrored images and grabbed her hand. "Herr
Wagner is still veryvery handsome, isn't he?" She asked Nicole, her
eyes lighting eagerly.

"Herr Wagner is also almost 40," Nicole replied dryly, rolling her eyes
at her twin's obvious crush.

"So? That makes him perfect for Monet! Better even, he's younger than
her," she retorted, dropping Nicole's hand and stepping closer to the
mirror, preening in the glass.

"'Dette. Be realistic. Besides, I don't want to share my men with
anyone, even you."

"No?" Claudette tossed her a surprised look. "What about--?"

"No." Nicole grabbed her sister's hand and started to pull her out the
bathroom door before she could complete her sentence.

"Sure." Claudette stumbled along behind her sister muttering under her
breath. "'Your men.' Like you have so many."

"I heard that." Rushing headlong back out into the hallway, the girls
narrowly avoided colliding with Rogue. Rogue didn't give any sign of
having noticed the two girls as she continued moving down the dim
passageway. Nicole regained her balance and watched the older woman go.
"'Dette? Want to go visit the nursery?"

The pair trailed behind Rogue, whispering quietly to each other.
Reaching the nursery, Rogue pulled open the door to glide inside the
darkened room. The nursery was relatively empty, Emma and Logan having
been sent to stay with Everett's parents when it became evident that
Jubilee and Everett would not be returning at any point in the
immediate future. Claudette dropped Nicole's hand and rushed over to
the plate glass window. Nicole smiled gently. Claudette really loved
children, and they had yet to meet little Remy. There was always some
reason or another the were given--

"Nicole?"

She looked over at her sister, who was gazing at her with a distinctly
unnerved expression.

"Nicole... something is strange here."

"What do you mean?" Inside the room, Rogue was bent over the crib, her
fingers brushing softly over her son's cheek. Nicole could hear her
voice drifting through the open door as she murmured to the boy.
Shaking her head, she crossed over to her sister. "What's going on?"

Claudette wrung her hands and then pointed weakly at Rogue. "I was
listening to them, I didn't mean to, I know I'm not supposed to, but I
just wanted to hear and. And. Here." Claudette grabbed Nicole's wrist.

Nicole wondered what it looked like when the two of them merged. They'd
tried to do it in front of a mirror often when they were children, but
she could never keep her eyes open long enough to really *see*.

listen!

//...don't know what they're thinking. I've told them before but they
don't understand...//

what is she talking about?

//...think now that they've found Bobby, they'll find all of you right
quick. 'Cept you've always been right here, Remy? Ain'tcha been?//
Rogue picked up the boy and cuddled him to her chest. //Right here with
us all along. I love you, Remy. I'm so sorry, it was all my fault. But
I love you. An' I'll always take care of you. Always.//

Monet watched the other woman as her thoughts filtered through her
mind, aghast.

she's insane. she's stark raving insane. oh my god.

Monet watched the pair for a few minutes longer before slinking away.

----

Kitty rolled the cheap glass mug between her palms. The cold of its
contents seeped into her palms, chilling the blood that was raced
though them. Settling back in the splintering wooden booth, she traced
her fingers over the scarred tabletop, lingering over the gouges and
hastily carved words. At the end of the table was a small pile of
battered matchbooks, and Kitty slipped one of them into her pocket.

A shadowed figure slid into the seat across from her, his clothes
rustling quietly. "You're late," she growled at him irritably. "I don't
rate Daneson anymore?"

Robles' pale face grimaced with amusement. "Careful, Ms. Pryde. You're
not exactly Mr. Daneson's favorite person right at this moment. He's
not pleased that you've abandoned your post."

"Ah." Kitty sipped her drink, keeping her eyes trained on the man on
the other side of the table. "And what was I supposed to do?" she
asked. "They knew. There wasn't any sense in staying there anymore.
They don't trust me and frankly, why should they?" She leaned in
towards Robles. "I'm better off where they won't have someone breathing
down my neck all the time."

"You can't do us any good away from them," he replied evenly.

"I don't have to be at the mansion to do a lot of things. I designed
the computer system there. I can get in and out of it without setting
off the alarms."

"That's no great skill."

Kitty shrugged. "You try it. See how far you get."

Robles waved the statement away. "That's not our major concern right
now. We have a project for you."

"No." Kitty looked out across the bar. A neon sign for a beer that
hadn't been made in at least ten years fizzled and hummed against the
far wall, occasionally throwing a spray of sparks over the patrons
under it. "I'm done. I'm out. I kept my end of the bargain."

"Come on now, Ms. Pryde. Don't pretend to be naive, we both know you're
not." Robles chuckled. "Done. No, I don't think so." He leaned forward,
the yellow light casting sinister shadows across his face. "No Kitty,
you're never done. Better face up to that now," he growled. "And just
to remind you where your priorities ought to be, I have a little
present for you."

He leaned back in his seat and reached into his coat, pulling out a
long slender box. Kitty watched in stony silence as he set it on the
table and pushed it toward her. A smug grin spread across his face as
she slowly pulled it close and lifted the lid. Lying inside, nestled in
a bed of pristine white tissue was a single silver blade, gleaming
dully in the light. Kitty reached in and ran a finger along its
surface, gently probing its broken end.

"Did you really expect that we would just give him up like that? His
healing powers... they're extraordinary. You were fooling yourself."
Robles slid out of the booth. "We'll be in touch."

----

Angelo shifted on his crutches and grabbed a hold of the handle on the
fridge. He could get his hand on it, but attempting to pull it open
usually knocked him off balance.

He eyed the fridge suspiciously. He really wanted a beer. "Damn."

"You still avoiding us?"

Angelo looked over his shoulder and saw Jubilee leaning against the
kitchen door. "Dunno. You trying to make sure I don't escape?" he
asked, arching an eyebrow.

She grinned and pushed herself forward into the room. "Maybe. Don't
want you bolting back to your little hidey-hole. We haven't seen much
of you so far. How're you feelin'?"

He shrugged. "Okay. Like my leg's been busted in three places and I've
had a roof dropped on my head, which," he noted, spreading his hands
wide, "isn't all that far from the truth." He swung around on his
crutched and wobbled over to a chair. "But now that you're here,
everything's fine. Get me a beer."
"Get you a beer?" She repeated amusedly. "Get yourself a beer."

"Hey, hey, I'm injured. Where's your sense of compassion, chica?" He
shot her an aggrieved look.

She cackled. "You can't open the fridge, can you?" she glanced at his
crutches, not even bothering to stifle her laughter. "You'd probably
knock yourself on your ass." She went over to the fridge and laid a
hand on the handle. "Why don't you do the thing? You know, the thing?"
she asked, thrusting her upturned wrist forward and making a "thwip"
sound.

He shrugged. "Because despite appearances, I'm pretty cut up." he told
her. "It hurts to stretch my skin too much."

"Ahhh." Jubilee nodded her head wisely and handed over the bottle of
beer, popping off the cap before handing it over.

Angelo took a long pull. "So what have you been up to?"

She shrugged, dragging a chair out into the center of the room and
reversing it before she sat down. "Aside from once again following
Paige around like the good little soldiers we are, not much. Ev's got
this thing where he thinks if we hit a couple of places we'll--"

Angelo waved her sentence away. "No, no, I mean, other than that. How
are my ahijados? My godkids?"

Jubilee grinned widely, "They're doing good. Raising hell at the Ev's
parent's house. His Dad's retired and not so used to getting up early
anymore. I guess they woke him with a pots 'n pans concert the other
morning."

Angelo chuckled at the mental image. "Good, good. Has Emma started
school yet?"

"Next year, probably. They make preschoolers go all day now, can you
believe it?"

"Actually, my parish has a preschool that's all day, it's part of our
elementary school program. They’re pretty common with the whole working
parents thing," Angelo pointed out.

"I suppose," Jubilee sighed, "I'm just not sure I'm ready to send Emma
away all day every day yet."

"I still can't believe you named her Emma." he said with a shake of his
head.

"And what's wrong with Emma?" She squawked indignantly.

"After all the things you put poor Ms. Frost through? Where should I
start? One," he began to tick off his fingers.

Jubilee leaned forward and captured his hand in hers, stopping him
before he could really get rolling. "Okay, okay, point. But y'know,
she's not really that bad."

Angelo raised an eyebrow.

She laughed. "Dude, she's not. Sure, she's still pissed at you..."

"And let's not get into that." he interrupted hastily.

"We almost named Logan Robert, you now." She was quiet a moment before
getting up from the chair and pacing across the kitchen.

"You're going to Muir," Angelo told her abruptly.

"Oh, fuck. You've been talking to Paige." Jubilee hopped up onto the
edge of the kitchen counter and glared at him.

He had the grace to look a bit abashed. "A little. She thinks you
should go. So do Hank and Rahne, from all accounts."

Jubilee dropped her head. "He tried to kill me," she finally muttered,
her voice so low that Angelo barely caught her words.

"He did. But if you look at it, we've all tried to kill each other at
some point. Look at Paige, you've forgiven her, right?"

Jubilee glared at him.

"Or not."

"Or not." She agreed.

"You sure that's what's really bothering you?"

Jubilee sucked in her lower lip and looked away. "Yeah, I, just drop
it, Ange."

"All right. Just. Think about going, okay?" Angelo took a last drink
from his bottle and set it on the table. "It looks like you'll have
time over the next couple of days anyways, with the thing out in
Buffalo cancelled. "

"What?" Jubilee's voice was sharp and surprised.

Angelo winced. Shit. "You hadn't heard yet?"

----

"What do you mean we're not going?"

Paige Guthrie entered the computer room clutching a sheaf of papers,
followed closely by a furious Jubilation Thomas. "Just what I said.
You're not going to the holding center in Buffalo tonight. I'm not
sending anyone out there with the little recon we've done on the
place."

"So send a recon team then! You can't just let it go like that."

"Jubilee..." Paige pinched the bridge of her nose. "Can we talk about
this later? I've got a conference call in a couple of minutes and-" she
waved her hand at the vidphone on the wall that Rahne was programming,
"-it's not a good time."

"Good day, ladies." Hank's voice crackled through the speakers. The
vidphone connection was weak, having been routed through too many
exchanges for security's sake.

"Listen, I'll talk to you about this later," Paige hissed under her
breath, before stepping in front of the screen. "Henry," she greeted
him before slumping down in her chair. "How are things in the middle of
nowhere?"

"Always exciting," he replied with a slight grin. "Moira has been
fending off calls all day from various friends and former teammates and
refusing to let them even consider coming to see Bobby. She's been
threatening to locate her father's old blunderbuss and use it on the
first costume she sees, if need be. Not that that's stopped Scott, Jean
or Warren. They were here again this morning."

"Gone already?" Paige asked.

"Not for long, I'm sure. Warren's team is over in London, currently, so
he's not too far away in any case."

Jubilee silently slipped backwards out of range of the vidphone's
camera and sat down in a battered computer chair.

"Speaking of, how is our patient this afternoon?" Rahne stood over a
keyboard, a pen hanging loosely from the corner of her mouth.

"He's about the same as he was when I talked to you last night. Do you
have that file I sent?"

"Printing it now." Rahne pulled the pen out of her mouth and stuck it
on behind her ear. "No improvement, then?"

"Marginal. He's not healing as quickly as we would like."

"He was pretty beat up in there," Paige interjected, rolling her papers
into a tube. "That's gonna take time."

Rahne shot her an odd look before returning her attention to the
screen. "His t-cell levels are still low, I see," she said, pulling a
sheet of paper from the printer and running her gaze over it.

"His levels need to be brought up considerably, he agreed, "but they do
seem to be maintaining some stability, for which we ought to be
thankful. Physically he does look much better than when we brought him
here, but..." Hank hesitated. "I think I may have done some
unintentional damage to his recovery process myself.

"Oh?" Rahne looked up at the screen. "What happened, Hank?"

"I told Bobby about Jubilee yesterday."

Rahne cursed. "He didn’t take it well?"

"To say the least. He became quite agitated and I was forced to sedate
him."

"Fuuuuck."

Paige's head whipped around. Jubilee's face was drained of blood.
"Jubilee-" She reached out her hand.

Jubilee shook her head and bolted from the room.

----

Kitty watched Robles's back as he retreated. She fingered the blade,
feeling it slice dully into her skin. A thin line of blood welled up
along the length of her finger, slowly spreading through the whorls of
her fingerprint.
Standing, she gripped the claw in one hand, ignoring the flash of pain
as its edge burrowed deeply into her flesh. She strode toward Robles,
phasing through the tables and people in her path. A woman shrieked as
Kitty passed through her, causing to Robles whirl around at the sound.
His eyes widened as he saw her bearing down on him and he turned to run
through the crowd to the exit, but too many bodies blocked his path.
Kitty phased through him, leaving the blade protruding from his back.

Robles made a wet gasping noise as it solidified, his hand fluttering
to his chest, trying to touch the spot where the blade had entered. He
pushed ineffectively at a man who was trying to force him onto a stool,
telling him to be calm and that help was on the way.

Kitty stood off to the side, ignoring the pandemonium around her and
watched Robles fumble with the small plastic teleport key in his coat
pocket. "Robles."

He raised his eyes to her, black with pain and loathing.

"I'm done. You can tell Daneson he can go and find himself another
bitch." She gave him an acidic smile and walked through a wall onto the
pavement, ignoring the cry that went up as she exited. A moment later,
she heard another roar from inside the bar, presumably as Robles
teleported out. Ducking her head, she hurried down the street in the
opposite direction from the oncoming sirens.

----

"What about Betsy?"

"She won't come back to the mansion. It'll be a miracle if she does.
Worthington might, however, seeing as the Summers' are still in
residence."

"What if they stay on Muir?"

"They’re not going to stay on Muir. That bloody harridan will toss them
off as soon as they’ve assured themselves that Drake will survive his
ordeal. That is they aren't all poisoned by that swill she calls coffee
and die first. "

Theresa chuckled as she pored over various team rosters. "We can only
hope."

"Is that sarcasm I hear?" Pete Wisdom leaned back in his chair and shot
her an amused glance.

"A little." She shoved the stack of paper across the table."I can't be
the only one who's more than a little pissed about the "Return of the
Summers.' Christ, they're here barely a week and suddenly they're the
only people worth listening to? Again?"

"They'll be gone again soon enough." Pete shrugged and grabbed another
sheet of paper. "What about that little distorter they have over
there...Cassie?"

"No, Cassie's the telekinetic, Jack's the distorter, and neither of
them is over the age of 19. Even if I thought they'd be useful, we'll
never get them away from Emma." She let out and exasperated sigh."What
are we doing here, Pete? I mean it. What the hell are we doing here?
Pryde's disappeared, half the team's gone off to work for Meta, another
third are flittering around in Scotland...what's the point?"

"Theresa-"

"No, no, I know. I'm just so fucking frustrated." She reached across
the table and pulled her stack of papers back to her. "What about
Meggan?"

Pete laid a hand over the page she was reading, causing her to glance
up at him.

"Look, I'm not fucking happy they're back either," he admitted. "The
both of them are more of liability than anything else, but I can't
figure out how to get rid of them without driving off the rest of that
lot that we're trying to lead." He moved his hand back over to his own
set of rosters. "Now about Meggan, she's got this thing where she can't
leave England."

Theresa gave him a skeptical look. "...a thing?"

"Should be in her file somewhere. What about Dazzler?"

"Christ, is she back again?"

"Looks like Storm has her, currently."

"She can keep her. I'd rather get Julio back, if I can."

"We can try. We could ask your father."

"Da? Fuck no..."

----

Everett climbed out the window and onto the fire escape. Jubilee sat in
the edge of the landing, dangling her legs over the side.

"Hey. What's going on? What's the matter?" he asked, sitting down next
to her.

"Fuck." She scrubbed the tears off her cheeks furiously. "Fuck.
Nothing. I'm fine."

"Doesn't look like nothing. What's it it? Bobby? Angelo said he tried
to talk to you about him earlier. If he was riding you about visiting
him, I'll kick his ass. You know that, right?"

Jubilee grinned weakly. "Yeah. I know."

"All right then." Everett nudged her. "Is what's this all about?"

"Sorta. It's a little bit of everthing, but... mostly about Bobby," she
admitted grudgingly. "Hank said that Bobby didn't want to see me."

"Yeah? When'd you hear that?"

"Earlier. 'S afternoon. I kinda got stuck in a meeting."

"Huh."

"Yeah." Jubilee fiddled with the edge of her shirt. "And I don't know
if I want to see him, either. I mean, it's like, it's like he's not
Bobby anymore. It's like he's a different person. He's been gone so
long and they tortured him, Ev. When I found him, you should have
seen... he's not the Bobby I used to know anymore. Part of it is like I
told Ange earlier, he tried to kill me. That's not something you can
just let go of, y'know?"

"But then," she sniffled miserably, "God, Ev. I don't know how to face
him. He still thinks I'm dead and... it's complicated."

Everett studied her hands for moment as they twisted the fabric.
"Okay."

"Yeah?" she tilted her head up to look at him. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. No one's going to make do what you don't want to."

Jubilee let out a breath and relaxed against his side. "Ev?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think they're all like Bobby?"

"I don't know, Jubes." He brushed his lips over the top of her head.
"Bobby hasn't been right in his head for a while now. I don't think we
can expect any of them to be much better."

She shivered. "I have t' go see him, don't I?"

"Yeah. You do."

"Fuck."

-----

Kitty slipped through the door of room 34B at the Starlite Motel and
looked around. The room appeared to be unoccupied, and at this hour of
the night that was unlikely to change. She'd spent the day sliding in
and out of empty buildings in the former industrial corridor of the
city, trying to stay out of sight while she tried to regroup.

Pulling the curtains a little to let in some of the light from off the
street, Kitty sank down on the bed. She hadn't expected Robles to meet
her instead of Daneson. Daneson had been supposed to show up and she'd
been planning to tear his heart out. Literally. She slipped her hand
into her pocket and pulled out the book of matches. Tracing a finger
over the small black bird on the cover, she tossed it on the bedside
table.

Daneson wasn't going to let her anywhere near him after today, so her
original plan was shot. She was going have to lay low for a couple of
days and try to get her hands on a sigcoder and a computer. Her access
account to his system was probably long gone, but the backdoor she'd
installed might still be there. And once she got into the system...

Well, tomorrow was soon enough to worry about the particulars. A little
rest would do her good.

Kitty closed her eyes and fell asleep, only to dream of broken silver blades.

=====
WGSarah - wondergoddesssarah@yahoo.com / http://www.snarkyblue.com/
SnarkyBlue: The Bright White Light, Crimson Phrases & More
"She dreams in digital, She's guilty by design.." -Fiction, Orgy