Still Waters, Deep Waters

IV

Mad? Wolverine wasn't mad. He was borderline feral. The whole damn city smelled like a New York City sewer, and there wasn't anywhere he could go to hide from the stench. He'd smelled backwater honky-tonks with a fresher scent than this place.

"Don't this place ever stop stinkin'? Crap!"

The bartender glared at him, but said nothing. Probably didn't think he should, considering that his customer just downed his seventh whisky and didn't show any signs of stopping.

Logan was furious. He should've had Ororo by the scruff of her neck by now, hogtied to his bike and hightailin' it back to Xavier Central.  Out of all of 'em, she was supposed to be the one with goddamn common sense. All this runnin' away shit was for kids. He'd been chasing after her for three days but found he couldn't bear the decaying city smell longer than a few hours at a time. Worse, his senses had started getting used to it, and everything had started tasting like donkey piss and bat guano.

"It gets bettah, homme," the bartender said, shrugging. "De street cleanah's will be out all day, an' dey'll clean up de mess. It'll smell like de bayou in no time."

"Great," Logan muttered. " From vomit reek to swamp pong. Whoopee."

The bartender's eyes narrowed and he came a little too close for Logan's liking. "Den why," he grumbled darkly, "is you heah, shrimp boat?"

Shrimp boat? Shrimp boat? He was taller than this bayou bastard!

A low, threatening noise rumbled deep in Logan's chest. "Don't piss me off, Okra. I ain't in the mood."

"Lemme guess," the bartender said, leaning back.  Okra wasn't backing down, but at least he wasn't pressing his luck. "You heah 'cause you eithah lookin' for somebody, or somebody owe you money an' you wanna collect."

"Maybe," Logan said. His grimace softened a little. "So? You know somethin' I don't?"

"Mebee," Okra repeated. "But if I do, it gonna cost ya."

"Huh," Logan muttered. His bottom lip pouted and his eyebrows shot to his scalp in a comically satisfied expression. "Well, doggone it, that seems mighty fair."

Okra grinned. "I t'ink so."

"You reckon?"

Logan made a move to reach into his back pocket for cash. The bartender came in close--too close again--and Logan's feral features returned. He grabbed the bartender by the shirt and slammed his head on the counter, while a loud shnikt echoed across the bar. The few people around them suddenly stood, sending their chairs flying back and across the floor. Logan could hear them running in droves, either out the back door or the front. He probably didn't have much time 'til the police showed up but he'd be long gone by then.

"Now you lissen, bub," Logan began, spitting his words from clenched teeth. The bartender tried struggling from beneath Logan's arm but his elbow effectively pinned him to the counter.  "You lissen good, got me?"

"You stupid, crazy, motherf--"

"See this, cornpone?" Logan slammed his knuckles on the counter and impaled the bar with three  adamantium spikes. "I ain't got time f'r games. You got answers? Well, I got questions. Start spillin' before I gut ya."

"Shit--! All right, all right! Jus'...don' hurt me! Please?"

"If it's good enough, maybe I won't." Shlackt. He let the bartender struggle from the bar, and ignored the man's contained fury. "Just tell me if you've seen somebody. A woman, about five foot six, dark skin--"

"Dat describes half de femmes in Louisiana!"

"I ain't finished!" Logan yelled back. "This one's special. She's got long white hair but she ain't that old. Mid- to late-20s."

The bartender's look changed, and he was sweating bad enough that Logan could smell the truth from his pores.

"Where is she," he growled.

"I dunno who--"

Wham! The bartender's head hit the bar with a sickening crack. "Answer me, asshole!"

"Okay, okay! She been 'round, yeah! But she pro'lly ovah her head by naw!"

Logan heard sirens in the distance. This was taking too damn long. He pressed harder on the man's neck. "That ain't good enough. Keep goin'."

"Owww--! Fine, at least he'll kill ya, so dat's one good--OWW!" Okra hissed as Logan's let his elbow sink further into his neck. "Shit! She was lookin' fo' de Debble King! She asked 'bout 'im, and I tol' her not to bother with 'im 'cause she'd only get in trouble. She too pretty to stay 'round 'im. He'll eat her alive."

Devil King? Figures. Sounded like something the bayou would cook up. "Where can I find this 'Devil' guy?"

"You don't," Okra said, swallowing. His breath started coming in ragged hiccups. "He find you. You ask 'nough places, it'll get his attention. Den you end up dead."

"Yeah? Well, I bet he won't find me that easy ta kill."

He lifted his elbow off the bartender, and the man rubbed his neck cautiously. "Depends on who t'rows de firs' punch."

"I'll manage. Thanks, Okra," Logan said. Although he'd already paid for the drinks, he threw twenty bucks on the counter and headed for the door. "I owe ya that much."

"You gonna pay mah chiropractor, too?"

"Don't push it," Logan said, slamming the door behind him.

 *   *   *

For Scott, the waiting thing had started to get old. Really old. In ten days they'd lost two teachers--well, one really. The other…who knows what the hell he did around the place, except keep the kids in line. He rubbed his shoulder absently. He was still angry with Xavier. It didn't make sense, and he didn't like puzzles. Yeah, he should trust the Professor, but this was too much. How could he...

"Hon'?"

"Hm?"

"What're you thinking about?"

Scott rolled over on his side and faced his fiancée. Although Jean was wide awake, she shouldn't have been. She should've been asleep since, until they found a replacement, they had doubled her workload. "Nothing interesting. You should sleep."

"I would, if a certain someone didn't broadcast his thoughts so loud."

He smirked. "Sorry. Guess it's kind of annoying, huh?"

"Not really," she sighed, rolling back into her pillow. "Helps me practice my shielding."

"Jerk," Scott laughed, hitting her with his pillow.

Jean laughed at him, then suddenly sobered. "You're still upset about Charles' decision."

Scott grabbed his pillow and lay it on his stomach while lightly running his fingers across the soft pillowcase. "In part. Ororo's always been private. That's her nature."

"You're a lot like her there," Jean said softly. She ran a slim finger down his cheek. "You understand her a little more."

Scott nodded and propped his elbow behind his head. "But sometimes she's too private. She doesn't go anywhere, doesn't do anything…but she's there for all of us. Helping us through our stupid little problems while playing Earth Mother. Even when the two of us talk privately, it's mostly about the kids, or about a new battle strategy." He sighed. "We've been friends for years, Jean, but I'm just now discovering that I really don't know her at all."

He faced Jean again, his jaw taut. "No one should feel that alone."

"It was her choice, Scott, and we respected that about her, gave her her privacy--"

"But it doesn't make how we treated her right," Scott raged. He propped his back against the headboard as the emotions bubbled inside of him. "She was reaching out to us, somehow, but I didn't see it. She must have been. She wouldn't have left us, otherwise."

"Scott," Jean said gently. She touched his arm. "It's not your fault."

"Isn't it?" He rubbed his temples. "Out of all of us here she probably confides in me the most, and I didn't see it coming."

"That's not true," Jean said, suddenly feeling indignant. "We've talked. We talk all the time."

"Oh, really? When's the last time the two of you had a conversation beyond shopping, or restaurants, or movies? When's the last time you two had a girly 'heart-to-heart'?

Jean opened her mouth to respond, but closed it slowly. "We've talked," she repeated, but her voice was a little less sure. "At least, I think we have."

Scott growled and sunk lower into the bed. "You'd have to pry the secrets out of her head to get the real truth, Jean. There's a huge part of her life missing. She talks about Africa and she talks about the school but she conveniently skips over her pre-teen and late teen years, saying they weren't that important. Why is that, I wonder?"

Jean smiled a little. "I think you're grabbing at straws. We've all had bad childhoods and hard transitions."

"Exactly. But we've all talked about ours, with Ororo being the exception. For some reason she thinks her teen years aren't worth sharing.  Is it because they were that boring, or because they were somehow worse?"

"What, worse than being locked up in a mental institution? Worse than being orphaned and abandoned in the foster care system?" Jean shrugged. "I dunno, Scott. Ororo just doesn't seem the type to be the 'bad girl.' She's too...I dunno, quiet, maybe."

"Yeah, but they always say it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for," Scott muttered. He punched his pillow and lay back on his side. "Do you remember when she first came to the Institute?"

Jean giggled. "Boy, did she have a temper on her. Any time anyone'd say anything to her she'd get that evil little look on her face…then the windows would shake from thunder, and she'd stamp out of the room. You were lucky if she didn't shove you back with a gust of wind. Little brat."

"Yeah," Scott said. He smiled slightly and sighed. "It's time to go looking for that little brat, Jean. I think she's in more trouble than the Professor's let on."

Jean patted his leg. "My guess is Charles sent Logan on after her--it's too convenient that he disappeared, just when we got back. That's enough to put my mind at ease."

"But is Logan enough? She knows him less that she knows us. She'd probably fry his ass rather than listen."

"Don't sell either one of them short. She might listen to reason.  She's a very reasonable person."

"Reasonable," Scott snorted. "Like running away is reasonable?"

"Point taken." Jean yawned and shut her eyes. "But she's a big girl and she can take of herself, Scott. I'm sure if she was in any real danger that the Professor would've said something about it, and he would've had us go around the world and back to find her."

"But who's taking care of her," Scott asked softly. He looked over at Jean, but she had already fallen back asleep.

Scott sighed deeply and sunk back into his pillow. He didn't like mysteries. This one even less. 'Ro, you've been secretive for far too long, he thought. Whether you like it or not, I'm going to  find out the truth about you before you end up hanging yourself.

*   *   *

The bayou was unseasonably warm, but still chilly by Louisiana standards. A gentle, humid heat hung in the air, punctuated by a slight chill when the breezes blew. Ororo knew the temperature was around sixty five degrees Fahrenheit, and she was never wrong when it came to gauging temperature. Sometimes the children would ask her what temperature it was going to be, and she'd let them know before the weatherman. Sometimes, she thought with a small smile, they would even place bets to see how close Ms. Munroe's predictions were to the weatherman's. She chided them for such things, but was secretly pleased. They loved her enough to play with her that way.

I'll probably never see them again, she thought sadly.

Remy's heavy boots tromped across the creaky deck, but she didn't turn around. His hands suddenly rubbed her shoulders and she gratefully sighed into his touch.

"Ahh, you know right where it hurts," she whispered.

"'Course, chere." He grinned and sat next to her, letting his feet dangle in the water below. "Dat's how I get away wit' my charm."

She nudged him playfully with her shoulder. "You always were a bit of a knave."

"More den you know, chere," he said. She frowned a little at his words, but he was grinning and she decided not to take his words too seriously. "De knave o' hearts. Should be my callin' card, next t'de king."

"Remy." She had already made her decision, but was glad that he'd given her a day to think about what he asked. "I want to know what's going on. Tell me."

He stared at her for a beat, then let his gaze wander over the mossy lake. "It's a long story, chere. Ugly, too."

"I don't care. You took care of me, protected me more times than I could count. Saved me from a life of prostitution,  from drugs…I told you then that if there was any way I could repay you, I would. I meant it."

Remy let his breath out in a huff and grabbed a cigarette from his back pocket. "Chere, it ain't just 'bout payin' back ol' debts. Dis one…well, dis one's payin' me back, wit' beaucoup interest. It's too risky."

"You wouldn't have called me down here if it was too risky."

"Yeah, mebee so," he said, lighting his cigarette. He waved out the match and threw it into the lake. "But you de only one I could t'ink of who had de strength fo' dis. Firepower-wise, I mean. Dere's a group of us, but, well, we ain't equipped fo' all of it. Mos'ly muscle an' hand-t'-hand stuff. We needed someone who could take on some o' de aerial assaults."

Ororo raised her eyebrow, betraying some of her shock. "Aerial assaults? It sounds like you're breaking into a military compound."

Remy started smiling. "Somet'in like dat."

"Oh, for Goddess sakes," Ororo muttered. She shook her head disgustedly. "All you wanted me here for was to pull off another heist. That's not mortal danger, Remy LeBeau. You had me worried for nothing."

"Well..." he flicked his cigarette into the water and examined his fingers. A shy look overcame him, and Ororo's heart suddenly hurt. "Yes an' no. Dere's nother reason. It's also about dis fellah who help' me out a while back, jus' around de time de police took ya to dat fancy school up nort'."

Her face flickered at the memory. "I always wondered why you never came to my rescue."

"Yeah. Dere's a reason for dat too, chere. I...made a deal wit' a devil bigger den me." He sighed and looked lost, forlorn. Ororo touched his cheek and he grabbed her fingers; she was surprised to feel them trembling. It frightened her.

He sighed, continuing. "About a mont' or so after you left, my powers started goin' haywire. Crazy shit, y'know? T'ings started blowin' up when I just thought about 'em. Got so I couldn't walk down de street without it bein' a major catastrophe. Finally I found an ol' juju man who promised he could who could help me. Fo' a price."

"A juju man?" Ororo's lips quirked. "I'm surprised at you, Remy."

"Hey, chere. Don't knock it. You know dat stuff's real down here."

"He was probably just another mutant, like us."

"Ohhh, chere, if only he'd been 'jus' another mutant.'" He leaned back on the deck and folded his hands on his stomach. Ororo lay on his chest, and he moved his hands to stroke her hair. "Dis fella, he went by de name o' Essex. Said he had a way of makin' it so I could control my powers again."

"Did it work?"

"You could say dat," Remy muttered. "Yeah, it worked. But he's been workin' me ever since. I've been his slave, goin' where he wants me to, killin' who he wants me to...worse shit den we ever did, chere."

Worse? She thought. She couldn't imagine worse. "Remy...we've killed people."

"Yeah. But dey deserved it. Dis ain't like dat. Not like--" His voice caught. He ran a trembling hand over his sunglasses, lost in his own private hell. "I have t'get outta dis one, chere. It's killin' me slow. I ain't got much of a conscience as it is. I keep doin' dis kinda work, and I ain't never gonna be right in de head."

She felt for his hand and squeezed it tight. "Remy, you can trust me. I'll help you, no matter what. We'll find a solution. I promise."

He nodded. "I figure, dis be de las' job I do for Essex. I told him I needed you, for de airpower. Sounded right, 'cause we didn't have anyone good 'nough fo' dat bit o' de plan. He let me call you here. He t'inks you part o' de team now, Stormy. You gotta play dat role t' de hilt, hehn? Dis man can't even guess dat you're gonna help get me out. He'll kill ya as soon as look at ya."

"I can be careful, Remy. I've been trained for covert work."

His lips spread into a small grin. "Really? What the hell kinda classes do dey teach up nort'?"

"You'd be surprised, Remy."

"Huh. I don't doubt it." His smile disappeared. "Chere, dis is your last out. I know I said if I told you, that'd be it, but I'm givin' you 'nother chance. Dis is serious shit, here. No playground games. One of us might get killed."

"I understand the risks." She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it. "In for a penny, in for a pound, Remy."

He smiled sadly. "Tu es foulle, you know dat, chere?"

"I had a good teacher."

"You absolutely sure 'bout dis?"

"Oh, Goddess," she said, exasperated. "Yes, yes! Leave it alone, already."

"Ahh, dere's my li'l Stormy's temper."

Ororo rolled her eyes. "If I've told you once, I've told you hundreds of times--"

"'Don't call me Stormy,'" Remy repeated with her.

They laughed, and she enjoyed the pure freedom of laughter again. She enjoyed seeing Remy smile and was glad that he no longer looked so afraid...so sad. She brought him hope again and it made her heart light. Still, a part of her wished she had said something to Jean and Scott. If Essex was powerful as Remy said--powerful enough to make even her best friend afraid--then he couldn't be underestimated. They could have used some extra help. But then she'd have to explain it all, and by now, the X-men couldn't possibly understand her actions. Maybe they didn't even want to. No, she would have to do this on her own. And maybe, just maybe, she and Remy could come out of this without anyone being the wiser.

*     *     *

 He watched them from a mile away, his eyes narrowing. When their fleeting words echoed across the lake and hit his sensitive ears, a dark rumble from the pit of hell churned deep in his chest. This wasn't good news. Not at all. And something had to be done about it before the traitor got out of hand.

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