White Water Rapids
Chapter 1 Jamie rolled toward that spot where his other source of warmth should have been . . . and found that it wasn't there. Slowly, brown eyes blinked open. Bobby was gone. There was a dent in the pillow where he had been, but no body.
Jamie’s gaze flickered upward at the clock. Six thirty. MUCH too early for Bobby to be awake just because. Jamie frowned, closed his eyes, and tried unsuccessfully to swallow the morning-mouth taste. Maybe Bobby was training. He cracked an eye and lifted his wrist, checking the day on his watch. No, there was no scheduled Danger Room session this morning. Jamie rolled over and glanced in the half-bathroom. No Bobby there, either. But by the door Bobby's pajamas were slouching over a chair and the closet was thrown open, clothing askew. Something niggled in the back of Jamie’s mind. Something wrong with the whole thing. He frowned, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. Taped on the nightstand was a hurriedly scrawled note. His heart suddenly thundering, Jamie picked it up and read it. "Jamie, had mission. Ask Scott. Love you." It wasn't even signed. Clutching the scrap of paper, Jamie rolled out of bed and found some pajama bottoms, then stumbled down the stairs. There was a light on in the kitchen and he headed toward it, his dragging flannel pants making a shooshing noise on the tile. He stumbled into the room and looked around. Scott was slouched at the end of the table, staring vacantly into a cup of coffee. "Scott?" Jamie asked, his voice hoarse. Scott looked up. "Hi, Jamie. Want some coffee?" Scott held up his mug, then motioned toward the pot. Jamie blinked. Pots. There were several pots of coffee. Jamie looked back at Scott. "Where's Bobby?" he asked, holding up his now-wrinkled note. Scott sighed and went back to pondering his coffee. "The Gold Team got called out last night." He shrugged, looking rather helpless. "They were on rotation, and there was a disturbance with mutant activity at a research lab in Manhattan. That's never a good sign. So the Gold Team went out. They were on rotation." Jamie didn't point out that Scott had already said that. After all, he looked rather forlorn about it. Several moments passed, and Scott looked up again. "We split up the couples on the teams because we don't want people any more endangered then they already are. They're too emotionally attached and it doesn't work out well. Which means those of us left behind get to sit vigil." Jamie nodded. He got himself a cup of coffee and pulled out a chair, falling into it. Betsy walked in a moment later, headed straight for the tea, then sat down. Her hair draped down her back and over one shoulder like a glorious cape. Rogue walked in. Got coffee and flavored creamer. Sat. Laid her head on her arms and closed her eyes. "What time did they go out?" she asked at last. "About one," Scott answered. "Jean checked in with me about two. They'd found the lab. Looked like Marauder damage. I haven't heard from her since." There was silence for a long time. Steam rose slowly from various mugs, curling up toward the ceiling. Rogue blew on her coffee, then took a careful sip. Jamie sighed, set his head down on his folded arms, and said, "Well, this sucks." There were dry smiles from the girls, and Scott chuckled quietly. "We're on rotation," Scott said finally. "Rogue, Bets, try to get some rest. We may have to ship out shortly." Then he stood, taking his coffee, and left the kitchen. *** Hank cringed as the sound of a shattering vial reached his ears, followed closely by the sound of Jamie muttering under his breath. "Was it full?" he asked softly, not moving away from the microscope. He didn’t want to see the damage. "Empty," Jamie answered. "I'm really sorry, Hank." Hank smiled slightly and looked up. "It's not a problem, Jamie. We're all worried. Why don't you take the rest of the day off?" "I'm okay," Jamie answered on a sigh. Hank frowned and shook his head, stepping over to where Jamie was kneeling, picking up glass. He laid his hand gently on Jamie's shoulder, squeezing. "Jamie. Go relax. Bobby will be all right." Jamie hadn't looked up, though he was no longer sweeping up glass. "It's almost two in the afternoon. He should be back. He's been out for thirteen hours." "I know," Hank said. He'd been counting the hours as well, listening intently for any sound--telepathic or otherwise--that they'd returned. "Bobby will be fine. Scott will give them one more night. We always give them thirty-six hours after last contact, and then the Blue Team will go after them." Jamie nodded. Light glittered across his dark hair. "Okay." He looked up, brown eyes dark in his angular, pale face. "Will you take a break with me?" Hank glanced around the lab, at the work that still needed to be done. Then he smiled slightly and nodded once. “Of course, Jamie.” He patted the young man’s shoulder and stood, knees aching. “Have you ever been left behind before?” he asked as Jamie stood, dumping the glass in the garbage bin under the counter. Jamie smiled up at him, faking good humor. “No. Is it that obvious?” Hank chuckled, wrapping a massive arm around slender shoulder. “You have no idea.” *** The house was quiet. Scott had moved into one of the downstairs bedrooms while Jean was gone. No one was playing. The pool was empty. The den was vacant. Even voices, heard only infrequently, were hushed. Once, Scott bolted into the family room, looking nearly frantic. Then his face fell, and he shook his head. "Jean," he said after a moment, in a whisper. "I thought I felt Jean." He looked hopefully at Betsy, who had joined everyone else. "Have you--?" Violet eyes fluttered closed. There was just the hint of a flash, leaving the impression of a butterfly on the mind's eye, and then Betsy looked up at Scott and shook her head wordlessly. Scott seemed to wilt, and went back into his bedroom. The waiting continued. *** Jamie couldn't sleep. He slid out of bed and walked down the hall, pausing at the door to Bobby's room. After a long moment, he stepped inside and picked the pajamas up off the scuffed easy chair. Carefully, he folded them and put them away. He plucked a book off the windowsill and placed it back on the nightstand, then straightened the sheets, fingering the flannel, remembering how Bobby got cold in his sleep. Remembering that night when he'd been woken up by cold feet at his legs and cold hands on his chest. Bobby had been trying to warm up. The temperature in the room had dropped, and ice was forming. Jamie had woken Bobby from the nightmare, and then--after a long while--they'd gone back to sleep. He missed those cold feet waking him up. He missed them a lot. Even though he and Bobby didn't always sleep in the same bed--heck, most of the time they didn't--he missed them anyway. Jamie picked the pillow up, burying his face in it. It smelled of apples and something tangy; Bobby's scent. Jamie left the room, clutching it to his chest. He shuffled down the hall, blinking a few times when he saw the light from the stairwell. Quietly, he padded down the stairs and around the corner, stopping in the doorway of the den and watching the flashing of the television. Scott was on the couch, curled up under a blanket, the remote clutched in one hand. Jamie slouched in and sat down in the recliner, earning a small, tired smile from Scott. Sighing, Jamie pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face in Bobby's pillow. There were home videos playing. The end of Scott and Jean's wedding--Kitty commenting on everything. It went blank for a moment, then flickered onto a pool party. When he saw Hank throw Bobby into the pool, which quickly became ice, Jamie grinned reluctantly. "Bobby was sixteen when he came to the school," Scott said softly, glancing sidelong at Jamie before turning back to the television. "He was the only one of us who didn't try hitting on Jean." Jamie smiled, watching as the people enjoyed their pool party. He missed Bobby. "Come on." Scott stood and the television flickered off. "We should get some sleep. The Blue Team is shipping out this afternoon, barring any contact." Jamie rubbed his arms. "You think things are that bad?" he asked softly, standing. Scott was quiet. "I think," he said at last, "that the lack of telepathic contact worries me, and that we should go check. I'll split the team in half, so that some people can stay here in case of an emergency." He smiled weakly. "I'm sure they're fine." Jamie nodded. "Scott?" he asked, stopping the older man with a hand on his elbow. "Can I go tomorrow? I know you haven't seen me fight, and I've only practiced with the team a few times, but your team will be reduced by half--and if I'm there, there'll be a whole lot of extra people." Scott hesitated. "I know how to fight. I worked with X-Factor." Finally, Scott nodded. "But I want you to sleep now, and I want to see you in the Danger Room tomorrow morning at ten." Jamie nodded. "If you can't cut it, you don't go." Jamie nodded again, and watched Scott leave the room. *** He was exhausted, but when Scott told him to jump right, he did. And was very glad. The optic blast shot past his head, shattering a mechanical foe. Something came at him from one side, and he hesitated just long enough to identify it as Not A Teammate before swinging his leg up in an arc, letting his heavily booted foot connect with its head. It fell. Jamie reabsorbed a dupe that ran for him, then sent out another as he was attacked on his left. "Stop," Scott ordered, and the program went dead. "Good work, Jamie. Shower and then meet me in the War Room in half an hour." Jamie nodded and waited until Scott left before putting his hands on his knees and gasping for air. Half an hour. He could be ready by that time. Provided, of course, his heart didn’t explode. Jamie groaned and dropped to the floor. *** "We go in knowing little," Scott said, fingers dancing over the console. A hologram of the area they would be entering rose up above the polished mahogany table. "What we do know is that the Gold Team went to check out this warehouse." The hologram spun, centering on a large building. "It'd been attacked, possibly by Marauders. The Gold Team landed here," a flick of fingers brought in a jet, showed it landing, "and they entered the building here," little tiny Gold Team members assumed attack positions and entered the building. "After that we don't know what transpired. In fact, those positions may have changed once they got there. We're going in on search and find only--we're not there to bring justice. We're there to bring back possibly injured teammates. Assume everyone is unconscious and will need medical help. I've already called Dr. Reyes, and she's on her way over. She’ll be here by the time we get back. Jamie will be going with us as an emergency doctor." Scott stopped and looked around at the assembled X-Men. Everyone was in the room. "Are there any questions?" "Our own attack formation?" Rogue asked in her soft southern drawl. She tugged absently at the cuffs of her gloves as she leaned against a wall. "I'll cover that in the jet. Anyone else?" "Who's goin'?" Logan growled, his suit on, his mask pooled at the back of his neck. Typically, he leaned casually against the wall and gnawed on an unlit cigar. "Logan, you'll go. Rogue, you're going. Sam, you'll stay." It was obvious at once that Sam didn't like that at all. Scott paused and looked at him, waiting. "Why?" Sam asked after a moment. "I need someone to stay here and watch over the house. Rogue can fly, and if there's anyone trapped anywhere we can use her strength. Here, I'll need someone able to lead--you have that experience." Sam nodded once and relaxed back into his chair, the lines around his mouth unhappy, but no sign of argument left. "Betsy, I want you here on Cerebro. Hank will be here, also." Scott paused, a frown working its way between his brows. "Sam, I'm leaving you with a very small team. I don't think anyone will attack while we're gone, but use your people wisely. And if you think you need to, call reinforcements." Sam nodded once. "All right. Everyone else, get ready. Be at the Blackbird in ten." *** "Before anyone steps out of the plane I want Wolverine sniffing around," Scott said, adjusting his earpiece so it fit more comfortably around his visor. "Wolverine, be careful. Report back with what you find." Logan nodded once, his only answer. "Rogue, depending on what we find I'll have you fly in through the top windows. We're not charging in here, people. This is a ghost operation. Whether or not the building is still stable will determine how Jamie and I enter. Rogue, it'll be your job to find out if the thing's going to hold." "Got it, Cyc," Rogue answered. "Switching over to radio," Scott said as they neared the landing site--a mile and a half from the building itself. "Going to code-names only. If your headset is working, say your name. Cyclops." "Rogue," she answered softly. "Mine's busted, Cyc," Wolverine growled, tossing the headset away. "Extra ones in the back," Cyclops said, motioning with one hand toward the rear compartments. A moment later Wolverine's voice came over the headsets, "Wolverine." "Multiple Man," he said, tapping his once as it started to cut out. Cyclops caught the motion. "Get a new one." "I think it's okay," Multiple Man offered. Cyclops' expression didn't shift. "Get a new one." Wolverine walked back up and tossed one to Multiple Man, who caught it deftly and tried again. "Multiple Man," he said, nodding. "This one works." "Gotta shorten that, Cyc," Rogue murmured. Cyclops nodded. "For now, we're shortening it to, ah . . .” he frowned, thinking. “Mad. Shorter than Madrox, and you won’t be identified from that. In the future you'll have to find a different codename." Multiple Man nodded quickly. "Sure. That's cool." "Touching down in thirty," Cyclops said. "Everyone buckle up." There was a quick scuffle for seats and belts, and then the engines whined as they were forced to slow the jet and touch down lightly. There was a thump, then silence. "Let's go," Cyclops said, and the door hissed open. *** Mad crouched in a shadow. His thighs were burning, he'd been there so long. Every so often noises would come over the headset--someone checking in, someone else murmuring about a weak wall, or a board laying funny in a shadow, and to be careful. Once in a great while Cyclops would chime in with orders for someone to move somewhere. He hadn't known that 'ghost operation' really meant that they wouldn't be seen or heard. Honestly, he hadn't even known that the X-Men knew how to do that. Which, he supposed, meant they were successful at it. "Watch the upper floor on the East side. Weak," Rogue murmured over the set. "I'm not seeing any hints of a former attack, Cyc," Wolverine growled. "This was a set-up." "I know," Cyclops murmured. "For who, though? Are we still in danger, or did they get whoever they wanted?" Mad’s eyes darted as a booted foot stepped silently around the corner, right in front of his face. He stared, wordlessly, at the back of a leather-clad calf. As slowly as he was able he looked up, trying not to draw attention, thankful he was crouched so low and behind the fallen trashcan. The owner of the boot was someone he only vaguely recognized--someone from the files, not someone he had seen. The man hadn't realized he was there. Mad held his breath, afraid of making the slightest noise. "Check. Area one clear," the man said in a smoke-roughened voice. "Moving in." He remained motionless as the man turned, glancing back over his shoulder--glancing right over the crouched form. Then he faced forward again and started into the building. Mad breathed. "Cyclops," he said, the word hardly even a gust of wind over the mike. "Cyc," Wolverine’s voice said, suddenly hushed. "Mad’s calling. You hear 'im?" Mad waited, watching the stranger move into the gloom of the warehouse. "No," Cyclops said, his voice tinny over the radio. "Can you talk louder, Mad?" He barely kept from cursing, instead breathing, "No." The Marauder turned the corner, vanishing from his sight. "He says no," Wolverine growled. "All right. Just keep talking, tell Wolverine what's wrong. He can tell me." Mad would have nodded, but had the sinking feeling that if he so much as moved the Marauder would magically reappear and see him. He knew it was a ridiculous feeling, but it was there all the same. "Marauder. South end. Walked right past me, into the building. He was talking with someone over a radio. Said . . ." he closed his eyes, scrunching them as he tried furiously to remember. "Said this part was all clear, and he was moving in." Mad listened as Wolverine repeated the words, loud enough for Cyclops to hear them. He was suddenly thankful for Wolverine's hearing. "Can anyone trail him?" Cyclops asked. "I can," Mad murmured. Wolverine passed the message along, and Cyclops snapped, "No. I want you there in case anyone else comes along." Mad rolled his eyes. "I can be in two places at once," he said softly. Wolverine translated to Cyclops, who was quiet for a moment. "You have an extra headset?" he asked after a time. "Yeah." Wolverine repeated the word. "All right. Go." Mad nodded once, then tapped the ground and held his breath against the pop of a dupe forming, complete with working headset. He glanced at it as it tucked in behind him, then got up and continued forward. The dupe had been a part of him; it would know what to do. **
Back to the living room -
JBMcDragon
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