She made a mental note never to piss off an Archangel with a really big sword again.
The blade flashed in a blinding silver arc as it descended.
Shani winced. The sword slammed into the pavement in front of her, sending chips of cement into the air, cracks snacking toward her with a loud crash.
'Yay,' she thought, 'I win.'
"Not quite. You'll be alive, but you'll be marked for your betrayal."
Why did that not sound like a good thing? Shani stared up at Michael through a narrowing tunnel of vision. The darkness rose to claim its errant child at Michael's command.
John and Michael glared at each other silently, alone in the half-light of
an indecisive night.
"Shani?" John nudged the unidentifiable bundle in his arms. Michael had
disappeared; Shani had reappeared, it was as simple as that. A shapeless
black cloak covered her; John had opened it and closed it just as quickly.
Michael had done more than 'mark' her...he'd damn near bludgeoned her.
She'd been pushed to the limits of bodily pain.
Again.
She was not going to be a happy camper when she woke up.
John shifted her weight in his arms, glancing rather dubiously at the waiting bike. The hood of the cloak fell back, revealing an oval face that was clear and unmarked by so much as a bruise. He pulled the cloth over her head and got on the bike before he had a chance to think twice.
Riding motorcycles wasn't a requirement of canonization. Three miracles were a must, bike riding was optional.
It took some doing, but he finally cradled Shani against his chest to keep his hands free. Well, Shani put hers on the handlebars, and her feet went on the...
Yeah, this was easier than he thought. Yeah. Now, just turn it on and get the thing to move forward somehow...
#Ignition.#
"What?" John glanced down at Shani. The hood slid back, revealing a pale slice of her face, the dark hair brushing her temples. Her eyes were closed.
#The ignition, moron. Turn the key in it.#
"Okay..." Now how did Shani get it to move?
#The throttle.#
"And that would be-?"
#Under your right hand.#
"You know, we've got to stop meeting like this." He commented after they were well on their way. The wind stung his face and lashed at his hair, but he ignored it. He could feel wetness spreading across his chest. "That isn't your blood, by any chance, is it?"
#Bladder control has always been a problem.# Enraged sarcasm ripped across his mind, all the weaker in the face of her injuries. #Who's Sin's father, John? Why-?# The question was cut short, the skin of Shani's back felt as though it were rippling in long, fiery waves.
It was enough. "You're gullible, Shani. He fed you some story about being Dracula and you believed it. Hardly his most creative lie."
They rode on in silence, John focused on his destination and Shani gritting her teeth against the pain.
Finally, the Xavier mansion loomed in the distance, a haven from the madness that had sprung up in their midst.
John spun the wheels in a spray of gravel as he sped up the driveway to the mansion. They would be most likely to take her in and best equipped to care for her. He glanced down at her ashen face, only slightly reassured by the minute rise and fall of her chest.
He liked the little twit. She was by turns arrogant and gullible, childish and bitchy, but she possessed the strength and power to carry on after everything had been taken from her. She'd given him a chance at normalcy, a peek at mortals and how they lived. A lot had changed since he'd been sainted.
He didn't want her to die. The world needed someone like Shani O'Rhian.
Hefting her into his arms and off the bike, he carried her to the door.
Taking in a huge, gasping breath, Shani jerked against him, stalling him from knocking. "I can. . ." she wheezed. "You. . .go."
John shifted and glanced away. She knew without having to be told that he couldn't stay with her now. He couldn't protect her from anything now; the only thing worth protecting her from was not part of this world, but somewhere beyond.
"I'm not leaving you on somebody's doorstep," he muttered, but she was already sliding from his grasp, balancing on the tips of her toes. She kept the hood pulled up over her face so he wouldn't see how much it hurt.
Aching pains vibrated in Shani's body. Sparks raced up her nerve endings as she leaned on the door. "Go."
Her tone left no room for argument. She watched as John walked down the drive, squeezing the door knob in a white-knuckled grip. For a moment, they stared at each other across the distance, seeing instead the gulf that separated them in power...and in responsibility.
John swallowed, aware that he was about to break the rules. "Belial. Sin's father is Belial."
And then he was gone.
Shani wilted against the door. A thin stream of blood trickled down her leg. Oh, God. She had to get inside, out of the chill air that made frost of her breath. She could feel it seeping into her skin, numbing the pain that was her only proof that she was alive.
She staggered around the side of the building, sagging against the bricks, falling to her knees and leaving pale streaks of blood in the grass. She tip-toed along, hearing her mother's voice in her head, reading a favorite fairy tale, ". . .And the little Princess walked, feeling as though she trod upon needles. But she cared not, for the mermaid had legs...."
The glass of the patio doors was icy to the touch. The scant warmth of her hands on the glass left mist. The world spun away from her then, and Shani tumbled to the ground, blinking at the grass rolling out from under her, across the grounds. She lurched onto the concrete, straining to reach above her for the door handle, to drag herself inside.
She fainted then, at the most inopportune time. So she lay there, a slim white figure covered in suffocating black velvet. A ribbon of red liquid flowed along the concrete, oozing from the folds of her clothing.
Some days, there were worse things than dying in a pool of your own blood.
"Thank you for choosing British Airways," the flight attendant chirped as
he stalked off the plane. He'd spent the flight from Hell sandwiched
between a woman with a squalling child on her knee and a senior citizen who
talked endlessly about his prostate.
At JFK International Airport, lunacy was the norm. People swarmed in and out of gateways, screaming bloody murder about damage to their luggage or the price of tickets, dragging children along behind.
God, he hadn't been here five minutes, and he hated it already. He was hauling his ass back to Japan as soon as he found Shani and explained the situation.
But first he had to find her. And he had only one idea. There was only one person he knew in all nine million inhabitants of New York, and there was a strong possibility that this person had the connections to make it all happen.
Logan knew everybody. He, if anybody, could find Shani.
Ryu ran for the nearest exit and hailed a cab, shoving his duffel bag
inside. "I need to go to a hotel. Any hotel."
Logan jerked and sat up in bed, twitching mysteriously. What the hell?
And then he understood. Blood. The scent was everywhere...permeating even the furthest reaches of the mansion.
Then, inexplicably, a chill swept over him. Jean! The thought lodged in his brain and refused to let go. What if it was Jean, bleeding?
Loping down the hall, he collided with Remy, reeking of cheap perfume and coming back from some sleazy liaison, probably. Remy tilted drunkenly and caught his balance, pushing Logan back. "Hey, Wolvie, Where y'at?" he slurred, blinking rapidly.
"Move it, kid. Somebody's in trouble." Logan stepped around Remy and kept going, almost too fast to hear Remy's next words.
"Yeh, Shani, she's prob'ly a mess. Dat bike's a monster, and the duffel bag's got hardly not'in' in it."
"What?" Logan paused at the end of the hall.
"Shani. There's a bike and a duffel bag ou'side. Since we not expectin' anybody, I figgered it was her, hein?"
"Oh, Christ. Shani." And then Logan began to run.
After a moment, swaying with drunkenness and indecision, Remy followed.
"Hey, Log'n. C'n we jus' shove 'er in de Med Lab 'til morning? I got a
splittin' headache."
"No, Gumbo, we cain't. And your head's your own damn fault. And pipe down, will ya?" Logan grunted and heaved Shani's dead weight further over his shoulder. Her hair swung limply, swatting Gambit in the face.
"What're we doing, den? Why not wake up Beast an' make him take care of 'er?"
"We're goin' ta my room so I can give her a bath and wash off all the blood, so's I can see what's what. Maybe I got something in the medicine cabinet ta fix her up."
"Heh. You gonna see exactly what's what, if ya give her a bath." He grinned.
"Ain't nothin' I haven't seen before. Besides, you're the one who slept with 'er." He paused to trundle Shani into the bathroom, laying her across the counter. Swathed in black velvet, her face was a portrait of pale perfection. She was deep into oblivion, her face betraying nothing of what detestation lay beneath the cloth. "You shouldn't be sayin' nothin' about it."
For a moment, Remy's grin fled, and his head dropped. "Yeah. I jus' wish I could remember."
Logan smirked and peeled back the cloak slowly.
Both men caught their breath, unprepared in spite of themselves. From the neck down, Shani was a solid mass of sticky blood and lacerations, purple bruises and pale markings.
By the time they filled the tub and lowered her into the tepid water, she was showing signs of consciousness. The water turned a clear, rusty pink as the blood came away.
Beneath the blood, her wounds weren't quite as bad as he'd first thought. Logan held her head and sponged her body, running a less-than-clinical eye over her body. "Damn, Gambit. You slept with this woman and you don't remember it? Must be God's idea of a joke."
"Well, I ain' laughin'," Gambit answered, a rueful twist to his lips. He rattled the bottles in the medicine cabinet, squinting at the bleary Japanese letters. "You got anyt'ing in here we c'n use on her, mon ami?"
"Yeah, I think so. Here, take her out ta the bed and dry her off so I can find what I need." He lifted Shani with a splash of water and handed her, still naked, to Gambit.
Snagging a towel on the way out, Gambit laid her on the bed and did as he was bidden, buffing her skin with the terrycloth until it was dry, and then wrapping her in it. Logan was still fiddling with the medicine vials, so Gambit sat by her head, combing through her damp hair with his fingers, his thoughts roaming to other, less charitable pursuits. Well, damn it, she was a beautiful woman, and he was a man. Perfectly natural.
"Aw, ain't that cute. Cajun's playin' lady's maid."
"Oh, bite it off, Logan." He shot back defensively. Logan winked knowingly and rudely shoved Gambit out of the way to make room for himself at Shani's side.
Her eyelashes fluttered, her head rolled to one side, struggling away from the oblivion that held her. Logan twisted the cap off a large jar of yellowy salve and dipped his fingers in, offering the jar to Gambit. "We've got to cover her whole body with this."
"Her whole body?" Gambit gulped. She was a beautiful woman, and he was a man with precarious control over himself at the moment. Who knew how many ways he could potentially embarrass himself.
Wolverine shot a long-suffering glare at him. "If you're gonna be such a pussy about it, I'll do the delicate stuff. Just shaddup and help, huh?" His attention shifted to Shani, searching her face for signs of life. "Honey, I know you can hear me. If this works, it's gonna burn like hell. But I got a drug for the pain, so don't worry." Flipping the stopper off a bottle, he tipped her head up and made to pour its entire contents down her throat. Shani choked, the dark fluid running from one corner of her mouth, but swallowed dutifully before subsiding into limpness.
"Is that stuff goin' t'hurt her any?"
"Nah. It's a big dose, but I don't want her to feel anything that comes next. She'll feel pretty stoned when she wakes up, is all. Now let's get this over with."
Shani felt both of them press their hands on opposite sides of her neck, going for the most neutral zone possible. Whatever was on their hands made her skin tingle, turning cool like menthol...precious seconds before it seeped in and scorched her insides. She gasped and jerked away, feeling the drugs drawing a cloud of vagueness over her senses.
Soon, she was floating blissfully in a fluffy white cloud, numb from the roots of her hair down. Wolverine and Gambit were inadvertently paused, staring at each other across the bed. She had been covered in all the innocent places; the neck, arms, and legs. Logan noted that the skin of her back was rough, but then she'd fallen on concrete. Hard. Now, all that was left was her chest and torso. "Well," Logan huffed, "Let's get on with it."
Logan's hands slid efficiently over the bruises and marks marring her breasts, ignoring the tightening of her nipples, an involuntary response to his fingers. A small noise issued from her throat, she twitched and rolled her head to one side when his hands raked down the sides of her ribs.
"What's she doing?" Gambit's voice was rough, tinged with whiskey and concern.
Logan's lips turned up at the corners. "Laughin'. She's ticklish."
Thirty minutes later, Logan had her ribs braced with a long swatch of
bandages and clothed in a lightweight shirt, buttoned all the way down. She
wore nothing else. Logan thought it best to let the medicine do its work
with as few barriers as possible.
Logan and Gambit eyed each other across the bed. "You gonna move her?"
"Nah. Not until morning'. It's best to let her sleep now, Gumbo."
"Where you gonna sleep?"
"In my bed."
Gambit raised an eyebrow and grinned.
"'Less ya wanna be eatin' those teeth, I suggest ya keep your opinions ta yourself."
"Hey, Gambit not sayin' not'in', Wolvie." He glanced at the clock and yawned, stretching his arms above his head. "I gotta go fin' some place t'sleep this off."
He turned to go, shocked when he felt a pull on the belt loops of his jeans. "Stay." The faint, wind-chime voice filled the air.
Gambit looked over his shoulder, half-afraid of what he would see. It was only Shani, who had rolled onto her side and flung out a hand to grab his jeans. Her eyes weren't even open. "Shani, I-"
"Stay. Don't leave me...alone." The demons will get me, her dulled mind finished for her. All she could tell was that she was somewhere warm and soft, lying bandaged and clean, with two warm familiar bodies nearby. She gripped the stiff denim in her left hand, pulling it to drag herself to a kneeling position on the bed. Her knees throbbed, her back ached and burned, but she ignored it. Taking Remy by the shoulder, she turned him to face her, burying her face in his chest. "Please." Then, an insane urge to laugh bubbled to the surface, and she did. Sliding down, losing her grip from fatigue, she also blew a raspberry on Gambit's stomach and laughed even harder at that.
Gambit shot a wide-eyed look of horror at Wolverine, who grunted. "Drugs. She's a little out of it." He took another look at Shani, her arms wrapped around the Cajun, and his reluctant grip on her shoulders. They looked about a zipper short of going at it. Shani slid even further to the bed in her delirium, poking her nose into his thigh. He cleared his throat and rolled his eyes, muttering, "I gotta get out of her before this turns into an episode of Jerry Springer."
He took all of three steps before Shani turned her head and paralyzed him with a look. Her eyes open wide, beautiful rainbow colors bordered by a ring of crystal tears. "Please."
Blinking rapidly, Logan scratched his chin and ran a hand through his hair,
thinking. Finally, he sighed and walked over to kick the door shut,
grumbling, "Aw, hell. I'm gettin' soft in my old age."
At three A.M., Shani regained full consciousness for the first time. She
yawned and stretched out her body, pulling back sharply when she felt
objects on both sides of her. They both radiated heat and she reach out
aching hands to touch the thing on her left, rolling onto her stomach to
see if she could get a better look at it in the darkness.
It was cloth covered, cotton. She slid her hand down the hard surface, feeling the world slide around on her consciousness. Her head felt as though it had been lined with fluff, her eyes unfocused and fixed wide. Further down, she encountered stiff denim. A piece of metal scraped the back of her hand and she reached out for it. Fuzzily, like a child putting together a puzzle, she worked the little metal piece, finding that it moved downward easily. She smiled, pleased with her accomplishment.
A sharp poke to the groin woke Gambit out of a liquor-fogged sleep. And he looked down to see a vague shape fiddling with his zipper. Combined with the weight pressed against his left side, he felt the softness of a female breast and hip and realized Shani must be awake. Still, in his drunken state, he reacted violently, grabbing the culprit and rolling her beneath him. Shani looked blearily into his reflective eyes and felt herself go all to jelly inside, although she didn't understand why.
"Gawd." A sandpaper voice said from the other side of the bed, "This is gonna turn into a Jerry Springer episode."
The only thing Shani had to add was, "Hee hee hee."
Gently, Remy untangled them and deposited her back between the two X-men. "Is she going to laugh like that all the time?"
"Nah. Just until the drug wears off."
Thirty seconds of silence filled the room...and then Shani rolled back against Gambit's side, throwing her arm across him. "Gambit?" she whispered along his jaw line, aware that Wolverine was getting crotchety in his sleep-deprived state.
"Hmm?"
Her thoughts slid out from under her, so she switched to easier conversation, psychic-speak. It was easier than forcing her tired muscles to form the words. #I'm afraid.#
#Afraid of what?# He answered after a long moment of floundering with his own mental voice.
#Sin's father. He. . .kill me.#
#But you're the Phalian, chere. You got a lot to offer.#
#Yes. He said he wanted. . .son.#
#Kick his ass.#
The drugs surged into Shani's bloodstream in a final, decisive wave. Her mind slid away from her, replaced by an urge to titter.
Gambit drifted to sleep, stalled only by the girlish "Hee hee hee" that
filled the air.
Shani awoke to the loud, grating snore of someone whose arms were wrapped
around her. His front pressed her back, molding to the contours of her
body. This unknown's face was also pressed into the curve of her shoulder,
making his snoring all the more loud. The man--and it was definitely a man;
the shape of his body pressing hers told her that--also appeared to have
three legs. The outline of two legs lay against the backs of hers. The
third had insinuated itself between her legs, and from the opposite
direction. She had her own arms curled around a hard pillow.
The funniest thing happened when she raised a fist to beat some softness into the pillow--it lurched and emitted a strange, pained sound. Shani raised teary, half-open eyes to find that her pillow had sprouted hair sometime during the night. It sported a scruffy shock of brown hair and a five o'clock shadow, no less!
It was when the pillow opened his demon's red eyes that Shani remembered herself enough to issue the most shrill, godforsaken scream it had been either X-man's misfortune to hear at such close range.
Gambit leapt up, pulling Shani with him. Tangled in the sheets as they were, they slid from the bed and slammed onto the cold linoleum floor. Shani, in her panic, grabbed for the bedclothes to keep from falling and succeeded in yanking them out from under Logan, sending him rolling off the other side of the bed.
Bobby and Scott, walking from the kitchen to Iceman's room, burst in on one of the most comprising situations either had been a witness to. Shani was weaving and bobbing her head, trying to extricate herself from Gambit's embrace, crawling up over the bed. Their angle was just so they could see the shape of Shani's barely covered backside through the thin shirt she wore and the way the loosely buttoned garment gaped at the neck, revealing that she wore nothing underneath.
Gambit was lying on the floor with a stupefied grin on his face, and, perhaps least surprising of all, his fly was unzipped. It took a moment, and when Scott finally understood, he stiffened. Shani's slow, unsteady climb onto the bed gave him the perfect view...right up her shirt.
Wolverine groaned and sat up, glaring at Shani, who tossed off a silly grin and waved at him. Logan sighed, muttered something that sounded like "Jerry Springer" and rolled to his feet.
The sudden movement frightened the still-addled Shani, and she leaned backwards. This sent her tumbling backwards off the bed again with a small cry.
Gambit caught her and several seconds passed before Bobby slammed an elbow into Scott's ribs. "What the hell is going on?!" This came from their fearless and morally upstanding leader.
Shani giggled and answered with the first thing that came to her mind. "Ménage à trois."
Obviously not what he wanted to hear. Gambit laughed and helped her to her feet, but Shani was already way ahead of the game. She felt giddy, happy, and a little crazy at the same time. She wasn't anybody's lover or mother or savior at the moment, she was just Shani. And when you put it like that, everything made sense.
With an infectious grin, she sprang for Scott with everything in her. Surprise kept him scrambling back to avoid her kiss until he came up against the wall beyond the door. She pressed her lips against his in an exuberant, wet kiss that shocked him into his first gray hairs.
And then, having scared the hell out of him, she went merrily skipping down the hall, only vaguely aware of what she had just done.
Gambit casually zipped his fly and stuck his head out the door, staring amusedly after her. "Women." He grinned.
"Huh," Logan huffed.
Scott just stared at Shani's retreating form with a glazed look to his
eyes.