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Chapters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
 
 
 

The Longest Night - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Ascian
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 5

Marrow crept down the street in the direction she had seen Ling and Guo go. The rain was falling harder now, and the winds had picked up. She clutched the puppy to her chest, and tried to keep it from wiggling.

It had to be one of these buildings, she reasoned, staring at the storefronts and apartment complexes that lined the road.

"What do you think?" she asked the puppy. And froze.

No. She had NOT just talked to the animal in her arms. No WAY had she just done that.

No.

The puppy wagged its tail, and Marrow growled.

The sky split with lightning, followed by the menacing rumble of thunder. Marrow looked up at the sky, and a store sign illuminated by a weak street light caught her eye. The design seemed familiar, and she stepped closer, squinting. Where had she seen--

Guo's tattoo.

There were differences, to be sure, but the design was too close to be mere coincidence. Marrow stepped up to the store's door and looked in through the window. The interior was dark, and she saw cloth and sewing apparatus set on high shelves. She tested the door and found it locked. Holding the puppy under her left arm, Marrow reached back with her free elbow and slammed it through the glass. It shattered loudly, and Marrow reached in to turn the knob. As she did, a hand shot out of the darkened shop interior

and grabbed her wrist, pulling and twisting. Marrow's shoulder crashed through the rest of the window, shards of glass cutting into her skin, getting into her hair.

She ignored the pain, and set her heels against the outside of the door. With a loud grunt, she threw herself backward and dropped down into a squat. The hand around her wrist was followed by an arm, which in turn was followed by a head--a head with Guo's face attached to it--that appeared through the

now glass-less door front. Marrow wrenched her arm free, and grabbed Guo's hair before he could disappear back into the store.

"Bad, bad boy," Marrow hissed, gliding forward until she was eye to eye with the man. "You've got some people here--one of them is big and blue. The other isn't. Take me to them."

He hesitated, and Marrow pressed his already ravaged cheek against a shard of glass still standing in its frame. "Well?"

As he opened his mouth, Marrow heard an object whistle through the air. Guo jerked once, the whites of his eyes flashing in the shadows. A breath, a sigh, passed through his bloody lips and he slumped against the door. There was a knife in his back.

"Nice throw," Marrow commented.

Ling appeared out of the shadows, a small dagger in her right hand. Her long black hair had been swept back into a ponytail, and what little Marrow could see of her eyes reminded her of two dark chips of granite. Marrow gave the dead man's body a hard shove, freeing space for her arm. She reached in, unlocked the door, and entered the shop. The puppy whined, and Marrow set it down on the counter beside her. She touched a finger to her belt and the illusion disguising her physical appearance disappeared in an eye-blink. The two women assessed each other.

"You surprise me," Ling commented mildly.

"I could say the same thing about you, Upworlder." Marrow replied. "Kidnapping, betrayal--"

"Money," Ling interrupted. "*A lot* of money. Which is why I cannot let you have your friends."

Marrow shrugged. "Then I guess I'll just have to kill you."

Realizing that you're about to die, Cecilia decided, was not the transforming experience that everyone liked to say it was. Forget the new age junk about near-death--she had never felt that "white light of love"

streaming down on her, and she had been closer to death more times than she cared to count.

Or so she had thought.

Bullets, laser guns, drills, demons--name it, and it hadn't been able to get past her bio-shield. Ever. Those had been obvious threats, though--larger than life and deadly. But those hands around her neck, squeezing--they had been just as deadly as an ax aimed for her head, and yet nothing. Not even the faintest twinge of her shield.

She couldn't let the men get close to her.

Cecilia darted down the unfamiliar corridors, the sounds of pursuit growing louder for each step she took. An image of Hank filled her mind, and she pushed it away. The important thing now was to escape--escape and find help.

A guard holding a semi-automatic rounded the corner. He skidded to a stop when he saw her, his eyes widening. Cecilia kept running towards him; she did not slow even when he lifted his gun and began firing. She barreled through the barrage of bullets, her focus straight and narrow. When she was close enough to see real fear and confusion in the guard's face, she raised her right fist and slammed it into the man's cheek. He never had the chance to defend himself, and the force of her blow sent him sprawling. Cecilia

leapt over his body, evading his feeble attempt to grab her ankle. She grimaced and cradled her hand against her chest. His face had been *hard*.

She made another turn, and there--like the Holy Grail itself--were two double doors, their shape and design screaming Exit. Cecilia kicked them open, and cool wet air rushed over her face. Rain pounded the pavement just outside, and the sound of it deafened her. The street, as far as she could tell, was deserted, and the lure of Outside was like a siren's call.

But Hank.

She heard shouts, and whirled. Two guards, both heavily armed, were racing towards her from the end of the corridor. One of them paused, and hurled a knife at her. Eyes wide, she watched it spin through the air--only to bounce off her shield, six inches away from her face.

Cecilia leapt out into the rain. //I'm coming back for you, Hank. Oh God, don't be hurt when I get back here.//

And that was how Cecilia found herself racing down a narrow, unlit lane in the middle of the night, rain pouring down on her head, pursued by two dangerous men with murder on their minds. They might not be able to shoot her to death, but there were quite a few other things the creative mind could come up that would probably bring her that much closer to Being Dead. She could still feel the slow crush of fingers on her windpipe, and shuddered.

Winds howled down on her, and she ran under a swollen gutter. The shocking chill of the water as it hit her face and neck made her gasp and stumble, and she put a hand out to steady herself. The same thing happened only a minute later, and Cecilia tried to steer herself into the center of the lane. It was so hard to see, though.

She heard muffled shouts behind her, and extra strength flooded her legs.

//Don't let the men touch you--their hands--//

She grunted in pain as the bio-shield surrounding her bare knee connected with an old wooden crate someone had left leaning against a doorstep, the narrow lengths of wood breaking loudly as they ricocheted off her leg and hit the cobblestone street behind her. Clenching her teeth against the

imagined sensation of torn flesh, Cecilia slammed the palm of her hand against the plane of her thigh, and pushed herself to keep moving.

She passed the kitchen with its golden, streaming light and its night-owl family, picking up the broken beer bottle stem to use as a makeshift weapon. She continued to run, not thinking to call to them for help, and then--then she reached the dead end.

There were doors--she banged on them with her fists, kicking with her feet. Not one of them opened. The roof then, but the walls were slick, and she was too tired. She kept losing her grip, and on the third desperate

attempt, she fell just too hard. Sprawled on the ground, collected rain from the eaves pouring down on her head, her body finally gave out. Not even her arms would work.

"Shit," she muttered, just as the first beam of a flashlight appeared not more than ten feet away.

She clutched her piece of broken glass. If she was lucky, they would just try to beat her to death, and she could lay there and laugh at them. Oh yeah. Real lucky, Reyes.

They finally came into view, standing shoulder to shoulder. One of the guards laughed, and Cecilia could just imagine what he was thinking. Easy pickings.

The flashlight in her eyes was blinding; she hid the bottle stem against her chest as they approached. The rain pounding down around them, one of the men knelt beside her, a hand splayed out on the pavement for support.

"You have been much trouble," he told her. His eyes were narrow and hard, but he still managed to force out a smile. Cecilia felt her lips curl back.

"The night's not over," she muttered, and lashed out with her broken beer stem. She stabbed his outstretched hand, and felt the glass break through the flesh and hit bone.

The man howled, stumbling backwards into his companion. Over his cries, Cecilia suddenly heard the sound of clapping.

"Now dat," said a familiar voice. "Is my kind o' woman."

And Cecilia began to laugh.

It was almost embarrassing to watch the ease with which Gambit dispatched the men, and Cecilia resolved that when she got back home, she would make him teach her some of the things he had just done. There was a part of her, however, that suspected only Gambit was capable of performing some of those moves. It had to be a mutant gift, she decided, as he leapt up into the air, spinning and kicking, his bo staff whirling above his head like the fans of a helicopter. Neither of the guards managed to land a single blow, and within minutes they both lay in the street, unconscious.

Cecilia struggled to push herself off the ground. Gambit knelt beside her. "Easy dere," he murmured, not even out of breath. "Looks like y' been t'rough hell 'n back."

"I feel like it," she muttered. And then laughed again. It was Good being alive. She resisted the urge to hug Gambit, and contented herself with patting his hand. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you. Is Hank

safe?"

He didn't answer her, but then, he didn't need to. Cecilia saw it in his eyes.

She shook her head. "No."

"Chere," he reached out for her, but Cecilia shook off his hand. Her eyes stung, and she pushed herself to her feet, wincing.

"We have to go back and find him, Gambit."

"We will," he soothed. "We won' stop 'till we do."

"I shouldn't have left him." All of the stress and frustration of the long night flooded her system until it was too much--too much to bear without some physical outlet. And as much as she knew she would hate herself for it in the morning, Cecilia let herself cry.

Ling proved to be a surprisingly competent opponent, but Marrow had grown up in an alternate dimension, arid and harsh, where every day had been a fight just to survive. It had been a terrible life, full of blood and battle, never ceasing.

In the end, Ling had no chance at all.

"Where are they?" Marrow asked, the serrated edge of a bone pressed against Ling's throat.

"Down below," she answered hoarsely, her breath rattling in her throat. Sweat and blood covered her face, and a front tooth had been knocked out. Marrow was not entirely sure the woman would ever be able to use her right eye again. "They're being kept on the lowest level. Take the stairs."

Marrow nodded, and removed the bone-knife from her throat. She tried not to favor her left leg as she rose; her knee ached where Ling had managed to land a blow. From the countertop, there was a shifting of shadows and Marrow heard the puppy whine softly.

//Damn dog.//

Still, she couldn't just leave it in the same room with Ling. No telling what would happen. There were purses for sale; they hung on tiny hooks by the front door. Marrow grabbed one and hooked it over her head and shoulder. The puppy slid neatly into the purse's main compartment, and Marrow shoved its head down and zipped it in.

"Stay there," she muttered.

She turned back to Ling, eyeing the fallen woman for a long moment. Ling peered at her blearily through her one good eye. "I would have killed you," she said.

Marrow nodded. A month ago even, she would not have thought a thing about sticking a bone through Ling's throat. But things had changed. A little, at any rate.

"Let's put it this way," Marrow replied, a nasty smile spreading across her face. "You're loosing a lot of blood, you can only see out of one eye, and no plastic surgeon is *ever* going to be able to patch up your face. Not only that, when the Guild hears about your little side operation, there won't *be* a place you can hide. So from where I'm standing, Upworlder, *not* killing you still makes me the meanest bitch in this room."

Which, Marrow thought cheerfully, was probably *not* what Ling wanted to hear. Which was just too bad for her.

Marrow stepped over Ling's body, and headed towards the door at the back of the store. There was a part of her that suddenly wondered why she was going to so much trouble for people she would have once cheerfully skewered.

//Because they--and the rest of the X-Men--are all I've got//

The realization stunned her, and she blinked heavily before stealthily pushing open the door. Inside was a storeroom, filled with shelves and boxes of dry goods. She found the stairs on her left; they looked old, and

barely strong enough to hold her weight. They led down, and the stairwell melted into darkness. For an instant, she thought she heard shouts, but they faded quickly. Marrow patted the squirming bag at her side, and slowly began to make her way down.

She suddenly had trouble holding her focus, and her thoughts roamed. Did she really feel that way about the X-Men? Had they really gotten under her skin so much that she was beginning to think of them as--as.family? Sure, she felt safe there--she had a clean bed, food.

Laughter. Peter trying to teach her how to paint. Nightcrawler teasing her over a failed attempt at cooking, Gambit sharing the finer points of poker, taking her for rides on his motorcycle.

The memories flooded her mind, and Marrow leaned against the wall. Her eyes burned, and she felt something catch and claw up the inside of her throat. How had her life changed so much, and in such a short amount of time? And why her? Why?

Marrow heard the spatter of rapid gunfire drift up out of the darkness, and she straightened instantly. Her focus returned bright hot, and she slunk down the stairwell, her back pressed against the wall. She went down two complete flights before she saw anyone, and the first person who ran into her got a fist in the face, and another blow to the back of the head. He went down with a soft thump, and Marrow stepped over his body.

There were shouts, and she hurried down a long corridor to their source. The lights were on here, the walls and floor made of concrete and steel. From the sound of things, she was beginning to wonder if Hank and Cecilia hadn't managed to take care of things themselves, but when she rounded a corner in the hall, she nixed that idea.

Hank knelt on the floor, the palms of his hands pressing into the concrete. A woman stood above him, red-faced with anger. Her suit was torn, and her right arm hung limp at her side. In her left hand, however, she held a gun. It was pointed directly at Hank's head. She screamed at him in Chinese, and Hank shook his head in response. At least five men, all dressed in black fatigues, lined the hall. One of them looked up and saw Marrow standing there. His eyes widened exponentially, but before he could shout out a warning, Marrow lunged forward. She felt the bones in her arms change--loosen--and as she raced headlong towards the heavily armed group, she flung out her arms. Slivers of bone, needle sharp, shot from her wrists. Voices cried out in pain as the little projectiles embedded themselves in soft flesh.

The woman standing over Hank caught one in the shoulder and staggered. Her captive did not hesitate; reaching back with one long arm, Hank grabbed hold of her blouse and slammed her into a wall.

"How the Mighty have fallen." Marrow heard him murmur wearily, as the unconscious woman slumped to the ground.

Marrow finally wrested the gun from her struggling opponent, and smashed the butt of it into his temple. No one else attempted to fight her, the rest of the guards limping away as fast as their legs could carry them. They looked like a herd of porcupine or cacti, what with the bone slivers quivering from their bodies, and Marrow did not waste her breath trying to stop them. She knelt by Hank.

"Long night?" She asked, laying down the gun by her feet.

Hank stared at her. "You're joking, right?"

Marrow shrugged. "It had to happen, someday." She glanced around. "Where's Cecilia?"

Hank's face turned stricken, and he struggled to stand. He fell, and Marrow reached out a hand to steady him. "I don't know. Our erstwhile captor claimed that they--they killed her, that they were going to do the same to me. I wasn't sure whether or not to believe her."

"Um. I'd say she was lying."

Marrow made a quick gesture, and Hank turned; Cecilia stood at the very end of the corridor, Gambit at her shoulder. They were both soaking wet, their expressions ones of distinct, exhausted relief. Cecilia took a step forward, and stumbled into a short run that quickly left her on her knees beside Hank.

"I was afraid you would be gone," she told him. Water dripped from her hair, leaving a small puddle between their bodies.

"I am most thankful that I am not," he replied, and glanced at Wang Mei. "Though not for lack of trying."

Gambit appeared beside Hank, and lay a hand on the man's shoulder. "T'ink y' can walk?"

He nodded. "Indubitably, although I hope we don't encounter any more of Wang Mei's men. It's amazing how bullet holes devalue the price of fur."

Cecilia grimaced. "Wrong time, bad joke."

"Speaking of which," Hank said, glancing at the bag slung across Marrow's shoulder. "When did *you* become a collector of Hello Kitty paraphernalia?"

Marrow blinked, and looked down at the purse. To her dismay, it was a blinding shade of light pink, and on its side, like some obscene banner, was plastered the face of a dewy-eyed cat.

She tore her eyes from the bag, and stared at the others in horror.

"Well, at least I know what to get you for Christmas," Cecilia commented wryly.

Marrow scowled, her face darkening even further when she felt the bag shake. A muffled whine emerged, and Gambit's eyebrows lifted into his hairline.

"Sarah? Y' got somet'ing t'share?"

"Later," she growled, as a black nose poked its way through the zipper. The others were staring at her like she had sprouted two heads, and she rose to her feet. "You really *wanna* stay here and talk?"

*That* got them moving. With Gambit and Cecilia supporting Hank on each side, and Marrow scouting ahead, they quickly found their way out of the building. The rain had stopped, and the sky was beginning to lighten. Marrow could hear the sounds of traffic, and she switched on her image inducer. Gambit paused just outside the exit doors, and motioned for Marrow to take his place at Hank's side.

"I'm goin' back in," he told them. "Dere have t'be papers, somet'ing dat tells who's been involved an' where de o'der kidnapped people were taken."

Hank's face was solemn. "I suspected we were not the only ones. I also suspect that this Wang Mei was your reason for journeying to Taiwan."

"Din' know her name, Henri," Gambit shrugged. "Din' know much at all, o'derwise you an' Doc Reyes might not have been taken tonight. Considerin' everyt'ing against us, I'd say we had luck on our sides, mon ami."

"Angels in the night," Hank murmured, with a small smile. He hugged Cecilia to his side, and Marrow noted that she did not resist him.

"Gambit," she called, as he was turning to go back into the building. "Ling was here. With Guo."

He froze. "Y' took care o' dem?"

Marrow nodded. "Ling killed Guo, but she's alive, if just barely. I figured your Guild could do the rest."

Gambit smiled, and Marrow felt a warm flush spread through her at the approval in his eyes. "Good t'inking," he told her. He fished the keys from his pocket and tossed them to her. "Get Hank to de car, petite. Wait for me dere."

It was a long walk, especially in a city that was just beginning to awaken. The few people they saw, however, did little more than stare at the strange procession--two women walking on either side of a large, blue, and very furry man. When they did reach the car, Hank gratefully squeezed his way into the back seat. Cecilia clambered in after him, and Marrow took the front. No one talked, and Marrow scanned the street, watching for Gambit. Ten minutes later, she caught a glimpse of his unmistakable figure, and she

smiled. "He's coming," she told the others. There was no response.

Twisting in her seat, Marrow looked back at the two X-Men. They were both sound asleep. Cecilia's head rested on Hank's chest, and one of his thick arms hung loosely over her shoulders.

The puppy whined, and Marrow unzipped the purse. The little dog immediately poked its head out, and looked at her with an expression of such severe hurt that Marrow momentarily forgot herself.

She tucked it into the pit of her stomach, and awkwardly patted its head. The puppy wagged its tail and tried to gnaw on her wrist bones.

"Damn dog," she muttered, but she did not pull away.

Gambit stepped down from the curb, and entered the car. He looked unhappy, but when he saw the puppy in Marrow's lap, his lips twitched.

"Got a new friend?" He asked, putting down a thick sheathe of paper. He stroked the little puppy on the back of the head with one long finger.

Marrow grunted. "What'd you find?"

"Answers," he replied shortly. "But dere goin' t'be people dat don' wan' hear dem."

"Yeah, well. You know how to make people listen."

He smiled, and started the engine. "I seem t'know someone else wit' dat talent, too."

"Sweet talker."

Gambit laughed.

 

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