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Bellwether
By : Nemain
Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > General
Views: 4549 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men Evolution, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story. -
Chapter List
- 1-Bellwether
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 14-14
- 15-15
- 16-16
- 17-17
- 18-18
- 19-19
- 20-20
- 21-21
- 22-22
- 23-23
- 24-24
- 25-25
- 26-26
- 27-27
- 28-28
- 29-29
- 30-30
- 31-31
- 32-32
- 33-33
- 34-35
- 35-36
- 36-36
- 37-37
- 38-38
- 39-39
- 40-40
- 41-41
- 42-42
- 43-44
- 44-45
- 45-46
- 46-47
- 47-48
- 48-49
- 49-50
- 50-51
- 51-52
- 52-53
- 53-54
- 54-Epilogue
- 55-Epilogue
Bellwether Chapter Four
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… Seriously, the
weekends keep getting closer and closer together… InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink, Dracena and
Greywolf are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. J ProPhile: Tonight I’ll
send it off. Morgan: *stalk stalk stalk *
Readers/Reviewers: *sigh* Never get your hopes up about AFFN. It’s a pain sometimes. Anywhoo… thank you VERY
much for reading and reviewing as you can! The ducks appreciate it—keeps the
killer kitties ™ at bay…Mystique
was, in a word, cold. So cold that she
suspected a large part of her blue tint would remain should she shift into a
more conventional-appearing form. Stamping
her feet on the rocky outcropping of the facility’s edges, a straight drop down
into the frigid North Sea to her right, an
expanse of dark stone to all other sides.
Magneto, safe and warm in an old manor house near Edinburgh had sent her on recon. Again.
Mystique dwelt on this annoyance while walking the edges of the island, the
icy wind whipping through her allegedly state of the art, impermeable
garments. Experimental…that’s the key word with these things, she thought
bitterly, bending against the rough weather.
She was safe from notice—the alarms had gone off inside an hour ago and
she knew they would be too busy dealing with her little diversion to pay any
notice to a lone, dark figure wandering the outcropping. She was dark as night, dressed in black from
head to toe against a dark backdrop and a choppy, deadly sea. The human eye misses what it does not expect,
usually, she mused, reaching her original starting point. With a sigh that was sucked from her lips by
the wind, she dropped to her knees and peered over the edge of the rock. Her boat, a small craft that was meant to
withstand the rigors of the North Sea, bobbed
almost invisibly below, the occasional flash of safety orange her only
indication that it still remained tied to the iron ring in the rock face. She had a bare hour until the tide shifted;
she needed to hurry. The steps set into
the cliff were not that old, despite outward appearances. Weather and water had worn them to slick,
treacherous risers, some so worn that they were like moving on wet glass. Mystique picked her way down, the cold
numbing her fingers even though the layers of material. She could hear nothing but the wind and water
and wondered, for just a moment, if she had gone deaf from it. The craft rocked wildly as she stepped in,
sitting quickly and trying to keep from capsizing. The opposite short would take an hour to
reach, at least, in the current conditions. She knew she was working against the
tide and weather but she could not wait.
She had been able to find what Magneto had sent her for, a way into the
facility that did not require brute force or gross fire power. It had to be done early, before the sun rose
to the zenith, before the island was bathed in the watery light that passed for
full daylight at that latitude. Fingers
curled into claws of numbness and pain, Mystique shivered bitterly. Next time, he’s picking a facility in Tahiti…Theresa
pressed her face into the thin pillow on her bed, listening to Juggernaut
moving about the room. He was huge, she
thought miserably. Bigger than she
remembered. The alarms, though shut off,
still rang in her ears, tingeing Juggernaut’s movements with an almost
unbearable ringing. She did not know
what had set off the warnings but she had hoped, in an almost childish way,
that it had been her father. Theresa
cringed at the idea that she had been so hopeful, especially since he had not
shown any interest in her existence until the past year, but she could not help
it. She was, she admitted to herself,
scared. Juggernaut sighed loudly and she
finally looked up, fixing him with a blank stare that she had perfected after
years on the move with Black Tom. “Yes?”“Dinner,”
he nodded to the metal tray on the bolted down table in the middle of the
room. “Just soft stuff… can’t have
forks,” he shrugged. He looked almost
sheepish, but not quite. “Brought soap,
too.” He indicated the small sink on the
far side of the room and the bright yellow cake of soap sitting on it’s
edge. She had been taking sink-baths for
two days and actually looked forward to using the soap, irritating as it might
be.Theresa
nodded curtly and did not reply otherwise, giving Juggernaut the same blank
stare until he grunted under his breath and lumbered, an oddly graceful
movement on him, out of the room, the sliding metal door hissing into place and
locking in his wake. “Bugger this for a
lark,” she muttered, sliding to her feet, the metal cot creaking as her weight
left it. She had no idea why she had
been taken to her current location or even, truly, where she was. She had heard enough Scottish accents in her
waking hours though to suspect she was somewhere in the vicinity of the country
if not just surrounded by the home guard.
I know our countries have had our
differences, she thought miserably, but
this is just plain silly. Dinner
proved to be some yeasty rolls and some sort of stew, a dull spoon laying
beside the heavy ceramic bowl. She had tried
breaking a plate of the same material the evening before and all it had done
was annoy Juggernaut and dent the table. Ignoring the cooling food on the tray,
she padded, barefoot, to the sink and it’s newly arrived soap. It smelled like lemon, she noted, her least
favorite smell for toiletries. I’ll smell like Lemsip…[1] She sighed anew and stood, silent as the
grave, before the sink. A mirror
reflected the tired, pale face of a girl, not the devil-may-care woman she
liked to think she seemed. Take stock,
she told herself. Black Tom always said
to take stock of a situation before making a move. She ticked off the mental list of things she
knew: she had been kidnapped. She was
not in Bayville—or at least, she thought, she didn’t seem to be. She was in a secure facility, somewhere that
could manage complicated locks and doors and likely security. And Juggernaut was there. Juggernaut, whom she had known since she was
a small child. He would not hurt her,
she thought. Or would he? She had not seen
him in a long time, not since before Black Tom had been taken. With a growl, she picked up the bar of soap
and threw it at the mirror, irritated beyond reason when it bounced off
harmlessly, the mirror not even smudged for her efforts. “Fuck,” she announced. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck
fuck!”[1] www.lemsip.com
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