The Longest Night - REVIEW THIS STORY

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

Chapter 2

It began with an invitation from Hank to attend a medical conference. Before that, however, her morning started out in a fairly routine fashion--meaning that someone came into the infirmary at eight a.m. sharp. Holding rollerblades. Bleeding, and in a typically grouchy, ungrateful mood.

"Ouch! Watch it!" Jubilee griped, clutching the edge of the examining table. She glared at the woman bent over her leg.

"If you would hold still for just one minute, it wouldn't hurt so badly," Cecilia replied, gritting her teeth.

"Some bedside manner you've got." Jubilee shot back. She hissed, as Cecilia cleaned out the cut a little harder than what was necessary. The sounds of the infirmary room's door opening reached them from beyond the curtain, and Cecilia caught a glimpse of blue through a small tear in the separating material.

"Lucy, I'm hooome!" Hank called.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she muttered, not bothering to look around the curtain. She heard him puttering around his desk, glasses tinkling and papers shuffling in a decidedly homey manner.

"All fixed up and ready to go," Cecilia finally announced, straightening. Jubilee sniffed, looking at her bandaged knee. She flexed her leg.

"Thanks, Doc." She jumped off the table, and Cecilia opened her mouth to warn her to be more careful. She closed it with a snap, deciding that the teen was not going to listen to her no matter what she said. Jubilee pulled back the curtain as she left, allowing Cecilia an unobstructed view of Hank. He was already seated at his computer, glasses shoved up his nose. He glanced at her, a smile playing on his lips.

"And how are you this morning?"

"Just peachy. And you?"

"Simply superb, although I'm afraid that Bobby and I have depleted the house of its supply of Pepto Bismo."

"I did warn you," Cecilia said, sitting down on the edge of his desk. "I don't care how much of a tradition Harry's is for you guys. That place violates every health code in the district and those fish chips were

distinctly green."

"Puts hair on a man's chest, m'dear doctor," he blithely confessed over her snort of laughter. "So, what are your plans for the day?"

"I'm heading into Salem Center." Cecilia answered, studiously examining her fingernails. "I'm thinking of starting my own practice, and there's some office space that I want to take a look at."

Hank blinked. "You wish to leave us?"

Cecilia smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "It's not like you really need me. Besides, I'll still be in the neighborhood in case you're desperate for an extra pair of hands."

"And what an extraordinary pair of hands they are, my dear," Hank murmured. Cecilia felt herself blush, an increasingly frequent occurrence that was beginning to irritate her. Hank pushed onward as if he did not notice. "If your own practice is what you wish, then I suppose there is nothing I can say to convince you otherwise. We will miss your presence, though. You are refreshingly down to earth."

He reached into his desk and pulled out an envelope which he proceeded to then wave in front of her face. "Before you leave us, however, I have a surprise for you."

"You shouldn't have."

Hank grinned, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I received an invitation to a very prestigious medical conference taking place next week in Taipei, and, as one of the speakers of honor, I am allowed to bring a guest."

"A guest," she echoed blankly. "As in me?"

She had not thought it possible for his grin to grow any wider, but it did. Which was all the answer she really needed.

"Well.when are we leaving, then?"

His smile faltered, and he leaned forward over the edge of his seat. "You aren't going to argue with me about this? Ask me if I have any ulterior motives? Present me with excuses about why you should not go?"

"You almost sound disappointed."

"It just seems unlike you."

"I'm not that much of a pain in the ass, McCoy," Cecilia snorted, her startled surprise at the invitation fading as she warmed to this new topic. "And I don't think it is so inconceivable an idea that I might actually look forward to attending a medical conference--especially one that takes place on a tropical island."

"Er, it's winter there."

"Whatever. If it has palm trees and it doesn't snow, it's good enough for me."

"Wonderful! I must warn you, though--yesterday I received an email from one of the conference leaders. They require my presence earlier than I expected, and I have to fly out on Monday."

"Sounds a little like overkill to me," Cecilia commented.

"I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow," Hank quoted. "I feel my fate in what I cannot fear--"

"--I learn by going where I have to go." Cecilia finished for him, noting with pleasure his startled glance. "Ok, fine. But I can't leave on Monday. I can't even leave until Thursday."

"Not a problem, since that was my original departure date. The conference begins bright and early on Saturday morning, in which three days of intense discussion are to follow, all topped off by a lovely formal gala on Monday evening. Which I do hope you will attend."

"Yeah," she muttered absently. "I assume you've already got my plane ticket?"

"You read my mind." Hank hesitated. "There is, er, one other thing."

Cecilia narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"You're probably going to have some traveling companions--just for the flight. I assure you, after that, the three of you can part ways, never to see each other again while you're on the island--unless you happen to run

into each other, which I must say is very unlikely, even given Taiwan's relatively small size--"

"Hank." Cecilia took a deep breath, trying to still the urge to reach out and strangle the babbling doctor. "Just tell me who you've got me sitting next to on the plane."

His smile was not very reassuring. "Two hints," he said. "One of them is Cajun. The other is very, very bony. With psychotic tendencies, although I hear that's clearing up some."

"I'm going to kill you, McCoy."

"Cecilia, please..put down the stapler."

"Not a chance. This time--"

"--Cecilia--"

"--your ass is mine."

"Well, if you insist--urk!"

If there was anything that Cecilia Reyes hated more with a gut-wrenching passion, it was slugs. The big fat ones, oozing slime. Looking like moving, crap-sized, sausage-round.things.of puke. The first slugs she had

ever seen were kept in a glass container in the zoo. They were from South America (which seemed to be the favorite country of origin for all the creepy species of showcased wildlife also deemed native to United States,

cockroaches being just one prime example), which of course meant that they were Big. And Nastier than your regular-run-of-the-mill nasty slugs.

There were not, thankfully, any slugs on Northwest flight 069 to Taipei, which meant that Cecilia only had to deal with the second of her great, passionate hatreds: flying.

It helped that she was sitting in First Class, that before take-off she had been served several very tasty glasses of Champagne, and that her actual seat was more comfortable than her dorm room bed in college.

It did not help that for the next thirteen hours she was stuck in the same cabin as Marrow and Gambit, who were, much to her dismay, both seated in the row directly beside her own.

Logically, she knew that should not bother her. It shouldn't, she told herself sternly, even bother you that they are flying with you to Taiwan. But it did bother her, just like an itch on the instep of a foot that's been shoved into a too-tight tennis shoe. Their presence nagged at her.

Deep down, she liked Gambit. Marrow, too, if she dug down a little deeper. They were real characters--utterly unique people with absolutely no fear of how the world viewed them--and she admired that. She wished that she had that same strength.

But they also annoyed the hell out of her.

Cecilia glanced over at the two X-Men. Marrow, her appearance disguised by an image inducer (which she had been very reluctant to use, claiming that if "upworlder scum" couldn't take her new and improved look, they could just lay down and rot), was staring out of her window, focused breathlessly on the moving landscape below. For a moment, the harsh lines of the girl's usually rigid body appeared to soften before Cecilia's eyes, and then Marrow seemed to realize that someone was watching her, and she whipped around. When she saw it was just Cecilia, she gave the doctor a nasty smile, along with the finger.

Oh, yeah. A real, freakin' lady, that one.

Gambit did not appear to notice his companion's display--or if he did, he simply ignored her. The girl was all sugar when she talked to him anyway, so Cecilia could not blame him for acting oblivious to some of her antics.

Being on Marrow's good side probably counted as one of the first of the three miracles leading to Sainthood, the second being that she actually had a good side. The third miracle, Cecilia was sure, had to be that Gambit,

after all this time, was still on that good side at all, and had not been killed in his sleep by a carefully misplaced bone.

Said Cajun currently lay stretched out, his foot rest up and his seat back down, his body somehow sprawled in what could only be described as a lazy, tousled, you-know-you-want-me-NOW position. His eyes were open, and he was staring at the cabin ceiling with an inscrutable expression on his face.

//He's all mystery. And damned if he doesn't like it that way. //

The real mystery though, she decided finally, was why the two of them were going to Taiwan. Why now, especially. Hank had confessed ignorance (even after being smacked around, which in all honesty, she kind of secretly

enjoyed), while Gambit claimed that they were going to the little island because it was winter there--always the best time to travel to Asia because the weather was cooler than in the summer.

Faced with such a stunning wealth of information, Cecilia concluded that it was none of her business. Which, of course, did absolutely nothing to curb her curiosity.

A flight attendant, her make-up and hair perfect in a plastic sort of way, appeared by Cecilia's row as if by magic, and produced a white square cloth with a flourish. She stared at the Doctor expectantly, and it took her a

moment to realize what the block of material was for. She fumbled for her tray table, trying to maintain her dignity as the damn thing remained lodged in the tight storage crevice. The flight attendant stirred restlessly, and

finally Cecilia managed to yank the tray out. A white tablecloth immediately descended, and the uniformed woman whisked herself off to take care of the other travelers.

She reappeared a moment later beside Gambit and Marrow.

"Please take out your tray tables," she said, and simply stood there, waiting. Gambit slowly unfurled himself, in absolutely no hurry whatsoever, while Marrow just looked suspicious, as well as a little confused. The

flight attendant seemed to recognize the girl's lack of jump-to for what it was, and reached over to pull out the tray for her. Instead of thanking her, the cover girl of the Morlock Underworld, currently bearing an uncanny

resemblance to Brittany Spears, sneered.

"You all think you're so smart," she hissed, teeth bared.

The flight attendant, far from looking offended or disturbed by Marrow's show of aggression, merely looked her in the eye, and smiled tightly. "I'm smart enough to spot trouble makers, sweetheart. Give me any more lip, and I'll have you kicked off this plane faster than you can shake those false boobs of yours."

White tablecloth down. Turn, and whisk off. One point for the flight attendant, zero for Marrow.

The mutant girl stared after her, absolutely speechless. Gambit just laughed.

Oh yeah, Reyes, she told herself. This is going to be a *very* interesting flight.

Six hours later, the cabin perfectly dark except for the light from a television monitor being used in the back of the cabin, Gambit stirred restlessly and opened his eyes. Over the sound of air being pumped through the plane and the roar of the engines, Gambit could just barely hear the soft snores of the girl curled up in the seat beside him. She had burrowed under her blanket, and despite the fact that the appearance she presented

was not her own, Gambit could still see how the lines of her face softened in sleep, how some of the rigid tension that seemed so much a part of her, melted away. It was nice to see her like this, he thought, this girl he

felt so responsible for.

He owed her such a huge debt. She still had no idea about his part in the Morlock Massacre (no one was entirely sure she was stable enough for that little bit of truth to come out), although there were times when she looked

at him, and he wondered. He wondered if there was a part of her that remembered him, along with the terrible violence of that night.

Either way, she seemed to trust him, and he treasured that trust. There was nothing he could do to bring back the Morlocks he had helped to slaughter--that one fact remained inviolable--but there was Sarah, and she

had been there. She was still alive, and if he helped her. .if he helped her, protected her.

What then? What, he asked himself, was he looking for?

And why in the hell was he dragging her to Taiwan? Especially when the business he had there was Guild-related? No good bringing a petite fille, even one as dangerous as her, into trouble that Jean-Luc himself had asked

Remy to check out. Information theft, he had said. Important men disappearing into thin air from public places. That was all they knew, but it was enough to put the Guild in Asia on alert. Someone was working their

turf, and they had no clue who it was.

//Should have left her behind,// he thought once again, glancing down at her. //She and Peter were just beginning to hit it off, too.// Gambit sighed, and glanced over at Cecilia. She appeared to be in a deep sleep as

well, eyes shut and her breathing slow and even.

She had talked with him a little over dinner, growing less distant and cool over the several hours they had spent on the plane. Cecilia had even tried to say a few words to Sarah, although trying to start up a conversation with her if she did not already feel comfortable around you could be about as easy as digesting rocks--only a little less painful.

He liked Cecilia, though; he liked her professionalism and cool head. And for some reason, he liked her bad temper. Which he was beginning to enjoy baiting at every possible occasion.

Y' got weird taste, he told himself.

Glancing one last time at Marrow to make sure she looked warm enough, he closed his eyes and tried to get some much-needed sleep.

"Sweet Jesus, thank you," Cecilia breathed, stepping outside the main terminal of the Chiang-Kai Shek International Airport. The cool, slightly humid breath of night air that touched her face filled her with a sense of

tremendous relief, as did the pavement under her feet. She was on solid ground.

Hallelujah, amen.

There were palm trees across the road, although it was hard to see them clearly even with lamps spread in regular intervals along the length of the street. The blaring sounds of car horns erupted sporadically, and all

around her men and women, predominantly Asian in appearance, milled towards the edge of the thoroughfare, everyone busy with the task of looking for transportation, friends, or family.

She glanced around for Gambit and Marrow, finally spotting them besides a large potted tree, which looked like it was being used more as an ashtray than decoration. Marrow sat hunched over on the wide cement brim of the container, her tiny suitcase tucked between her feet. She looked tense, and even a little miserable. Gambit lounged beside her, his legs extended and crossed at the ankles.

He smiled as she approached, and Cecilia lifted up her two bags with her own tiny grin of triumph. "Got 'em," she said. "And no trouble through customs, either."

"Took you long enough," Marrow growled sullenly. "Gambit almost went back in to make sure you weren't playing kissy-kissy with the men in uniform."

Cecilia scowled at the girl. Gambit and Marrow's own luggage had shot out before hers, and Cecilia had insisted that they go on through customs ahead of her. She had thought that she would catch up in a few minutes, and under NO circumstances did she want them breathing down her neck while the fucking-forgive-my-French conveyor belt took its damn sweet time to hand over her lousy, stinking, they-better-not-have-lost-them bags.

Of course, that had been more thirty minutes ago. A long time to be sitting around, even by her standards.

"Thanks for waiting," she told the two X-Men, forcing herself to remember some of her manners.

"No problem, chere," Gambit replied. "We're waitin' for our ride, anyway. Y' want a lift to de city?"

Cecilia opened her mouth to say no, and thought better of it. Sure, she could take a cab, but unless she was lucky enough to get a driver that spoke English, she had a feeling she might be in for another couple hours of

stress.

"Who's meeting you?" She put down her bags, and sat down on top of them with a grateful sigh.

Gambit waved a dismissive hand. "Jus' a friend."

"A friend," she repeated wryly. "You sure do get around."

"An' y' sure are gettin' nosy," Gambit replied with an easy grin. He revealed a cigarette, which he quickly lit with the tip of his finger. He took a long swallow, and then slowly, methodically exhaled.

"Hmmm, dat's nice," he purred, practically waving the cigarette in front of Cecilia's face.

"Gimme that," she finally growled, swiping it out of his hand and rubbing the butt into the soil of the tree planter. "You're going to give yourself lung cancer if you keep that up. It's not a game." She noticed Marrow

watching their verbal sparring with badly concealed interest.

"You don't want to be a bad influence, do you?" Cecilia asked Gambit, her eyes flickering back down to his charge.

Gambit's smile thinned only slightly, but it was enough. She had made her point. Marrow, however, jumped to her friend's defense.

"Don't tell Gambit how he should act around me," she warned, eyes narrowing. "He doesn't need any goody-goody advice from you."

Cecilia sighed. "I'm getting a little fed up with your attitude, Sarah," she replied, shaking off her exhaustion and climbing to her feet "You've got your head so far up your ass, you don't know when people are trying to help

you."

"I know who my friends are," Marrow retorted. "And you're not one of them."

"Enough." Gambit stepped directly between the two combatants. His eyes flickered over both women, the weight of his gaze finally settling on Cecilia. "We're all tired," he said. "An' not t'inking straight." He then

turned to Marrow, and placed his hands on the girl's shoulders. She slowly, hesitantly, backed down. "Doc Reyes is jus' tryin' t'help, petite," he said gently. "Not'ing t'get angry 'bout."

The expression on Marrow's face was completely inscrutable, but after a long moment she nodded.

"Good, petite." Gambit patted her arm, and bent down to pick up both of their bags in one hand, and Cecilia's things in the other. "I t'ink I see m'friend," he explained, inclining his head towards a tall Asian man dressed

in navy slacks and a long coat. He leaned against the front door of a gleaming black Mercedes, watching them all with cool interest.

Cecilia took a deep breath. //Relax, Reyes. Life is too short to waste worrying about the fights you get into.//

Though as she followed the two X-Men to meet the man waiting for them, she still felt the sting of Marrow's last words.

The drive from the airport into Taipei was uneventful, despite the fact that Cecilia and Marrow were forced to sit together in the back seat of the car. Gambit occasionally turned around to look at them, as though checking to

make sure they were not silently engaging in some physical contest of wills--like thumb-wrestling, Cecilia imagined. He needn't have worried, though. The two women contented themselves with staring out the windows of the speeding Mercedes, quietly watching the approaching lights of the unfamiliar Asian city.

Cecilia chanced a glance into the rearview mirror, glimpsing a partial reflection of Gambit's friend. Li Zhang, as he had introduced himself, kept his eyes focused entirely on the road during her surreptitious examination,

although Cecilia had a feeling he knew that he was being watched. She supposed that he was a nice enough person--all politeness and humor, with a dash of handsome charm thrown in for good measure.

But he was not Gambit's friend, of that Cecilia was certain. She had seen the way Gambit acted around the X-Men--the people he often referred to as his friends--and while his cavalier attitude could be irritating sometimes,

he was never less than open and relaxed when surrounded by those he considered himself close to.

Towards Li Zhang, however, his attitude was that of a businessman dealing with a colleague--cordial, even familiar and comfortable on a surface level, but not relaxed. Not relaxed at all. It made her wonder just who their

driver was.

//I don't know anything about the people I live with// she realized, staring at the back of Gambit's head. Gambit twisted in his seat, and she realized that she had just sighed out loud. He met her gaze before she could look away, his eyes penetrating and thoughtful. Inexplicably feeling as though she had been caught with her fingers in the cookie jar, she opened her mouth to say something--anything--which would provide a distraction. Before she could though, Gambit smiled gently.

"Life," he said, taking her off-guard. "It's all a mystery sometimes, neh?"

She stared at him, stirring to life only when she heard Marrow rustle in the seat beside her. "Yes," she replied quietly, matching his thoughtful gaze with one of her own. "Yes, it is."

His answering smile was quick and fierce.

Fifteen minutes later, the black Mercedes rolled up to the golden, sparkling Far Eastern Plaza Hotel. Several bellhops decked out in crisp white uniforms immediately began to stroll over to open the car's doors, but the

occupants of the vehicle beat them to the punch. Cecilia wearily pushed herself out of the Mercedes, watching as Li Zhang and Gambit moved to the rear of the car to retrieve her bags. To her surprise, Marrow got out of

the car as well.

The girl, still utilizing her image-inducer, stared into the main lobby of the Far Eastern, her eyes swallowing the warm woods and glistening marble of the interior, where even at this late hour, beautifully dressed individuals

sat nestled in cozy chairs beside ornate flower arrangements. Marrow took a few steps towards the revolving glass doors, and then stopped dead in her tracks, as though paralyzed. To Cecilia, the expression on the Morlock's

face was faintly tragic, and she wondered just how much of the girl's life had been spent staring through windows.

"You know," Cecilia said, as though making casual conversation. "Gambit will probably get his friend to help check me in, since I can't speak a word of Chinese. Why don't we go inside and wait for them?"

Marrow just stared at her. "Me?" she finally asked. "Go in there with all the Pretties?"

Cecilia shrugged. "Why not?" she replied, in her best no-nonsense tone. "You're one of them now."

Which was true, she conceded, not waiting for a response as she walked away from the girl and headed towards the hotel. Even without the image-inducer, Marrow's appearance had changed to a degree where now, despite the horns sprouting from her forehead, she looked more exotic than.well, scary. From Cecilia's point of view, Marrow's problem was that she was still recovering from a lifetime of zero self-esteem, which was all related to her physical attractiveness and sense of self-worth.

//Great, Reyes. Now you're a shrink.//

She saw Gambit out of the corner of her eye; he and his friend were closer to her than she had realized, and she wondered if he'd heard what she had said to Marrow. Not that it mattered much--she looked over her shoulder

just in time to see the girl lift her chin and march after her.

Gambit smiled. Li Zhang appeared beside him, and noted the expression on the Cajun's face. "Something you want to share?" he asked, his own lips gently curved.

Gambit shook his head, and picked up Cecilia's bags. "Jus' good t'ings."

Li Zhang regarded him silently. "Just remember," he finally said. "You're here for business. They," he waved his hand towards the departing women. "Are not acceptable distractions. Keep that in mind."

Gambit's eyes narrowed. "Is dat a threat?"

"Simply a reminder." Li Zhang turned away and strolled through the swinging doors of the hotel, heading straight towards Cecilia and Marrow, both waiting in the lobby. He smiled at them, and Gambit's stomach lurched. A bitter taste flooded his mouth.

The night had suddenly taken a turn for the worse.

It was one-thirty in the morning when Cecilia wearily slid her key card into the door, and entered her room. Darkness greeted her, and she fumbled for the light switch. She finally found it, and a soft glow filled what she

discovered to be a short corridor paneled with rich, dark wood. The air smelled faintly of fruit and flowers, and the carpet felt thick and soft beneath her shoes. As she entered, the door swinging shut behind her with a

soft click, she felt faintly like a trespasser.

She took note of the marble tiled bathroom on her right, with its wall-sized window overlooking downtown Taipei, and gave herself a stern recommendation to close the blinds before she took a shower. A peeping Tom's paradise, if you asked her. She left the bathroom behind, and finally the corridor spilled out into a roomy living area, with the one thing she had been dreaming about for the last hour displayed like a work of art against the opposing wall.

Cecilia flung down her bags, and with a running leap (a display of immaturity she was thankful no one else could see), threw herself onto the bed. She sank into the soft mattress, cool creamy sheets rubbing against her cheeks. The covers had already been pulled down for her, and a delicate stemmed purple orchid lay on the pillow. She fingered the soft petals, and sighed. Eyes already sliding shut, she rolled over onto her side.

And promptly saw the blinking orange light on her phone.

No no no no no, she told herself. No, Ms. Reyes. You are not going to listen to that message.

--blink--

Absolutely not.

--blink--

Whoever it is can just sit on their fanny and wait for you to get back to them.

--blink--

Damndamndamn.

Snarling, Cecilia grabbed the phone, eyes scanning the labeled instructions for how to get her message. She punched in the code, and thumped back down on the bed, cradling the receiver against her neck. There was a brief wait, and then--

"Greetings and felicitations, Cecilia. If my earlier perusal of the incoming flight schedule is correct, you should be arriving in your room any time now. I trust you had a good trip. Do please call me when you get in--it is late, I know--but humor me. I haven't had anyone familiar to talk to in the last three days, and I'm hungry for a friendly face. I'm in room 3610. Hank."

For a brief moment, she debated whether or not to call him back. She was tired, dirty, and now that she thought about it, really hungry. There was, however, a rather plaintive note to Hank's voice that she had never heard

before, and it was enough to make her roll over on her stomach and dial him up.

But when she did, he did not answer his phone.

//Ok. He's in the bathroom.//

She waited for two minutes, and dialed again. Still, no answer.

There was a part of her that was beginning to think that yes, now would be a good time to start getting angry. She was, unfortunately, just too tired to muster up that particular emotion in the amounts needed to cause damage.

Instead, she tried calling him again. And again. And a couple more times after that just for good measure.

That's it, she decided, after the tenth ring. She hung up the phone, and burrowed her head into a pillow. He can just talk to me in the morning, since he can't seem to stay put long enough to take my call. Mr.

I'm-hungry-for-a-friendly-face, my ass.

But then, he had said that he wanted to talk to her, hadn't he? He had said to call him even though it was late, which sort of implied that he was going to be in. And Hank, despite the short time she had known him, was not the type of man to say one thing, and then do something completely different without at least some sort of explanation.

// Just go to sleep, Reyes. Stop worrying. //

She tried, she really did. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the soft, cozy warmth of the bed. Slowly, her muscles began to unwind, and she could feel herself drifting.

And then Hank's face appeared, with nothing less than an expression of bewildered hurt. Oh, he had waited for her call (after having been in the shower for an inordinately long amount of time, singing at the top of his

lungs), but had been too afraid to ring her up lest he wake her. After all, that's what friends were for, showing common courtesy and all that.

Cecilia flopped over onto her back, and stared at the ceiling. She reached for the phone, and tried calling him again. Still no answer. She checked her watch. It was one-fifty in the morning.

"Damn," she muttered, and rolled off the bed.

Room 3610 was just two floors above her own, and Cecilia hummed tunelessly to herself during the short ride in the elevator. The doors opened into a glistening, golden toned lobby similar to the one on her own floor, and she walked towards the hallway on her left, the echo of her boots on the marble floor reverberating loudly until she hit the carpeted walkway.

3608, 3609.3610. Cecilia stopped in front of Hank's room, and knocked on his door. As she waited, she idly glanced downward. And froze.

There was blood on the carpet. Not much by any standards, but after years in one of New York's busiest emergency rooms, she knew what blood looked like, no matter how small the amount--and this was fresh.

She banged again on Hank's door, this time with both fists.

"Come on," she muttered, resorting to kicking the door with the toe of her boot. The tiny drops of blood, spattered only in front of Hank's door, stared balefully at her.

And then, shockingly, the door opened. Cecilia, in the middle of lifting her right foot for a well placed kick, could only stare in silent surprise at the complete stranger who appeared in front of her--a tall, Chinese man

dressed in black, who was most definitely *not* Hank McCoy.

"Who the hell are you?" She snapped. Which was, when she thought about it later, probably the wrong thing to say.

The man gave her no time to cry out--his hand snaked out, and with a strength and speed that left her too surprised to do more than yelp, he yanked her into the darkened interior of Hank's room and clamped a hand over

her mouth. The door closed behind them with a soft click, and with it, Cecilia was left in complete darkness.

She thrashed wildly in his arms, furious at herself for being so slow, for allowing him the moment he needed to grab her. She lashed out with her feet and with her one free fist, which she felt clip the side of her captor's

head before being pinned against the wall with a bone-jarring thud.

"Shunoabith!" Cecilia screamed, her voice muffled by the hand clamped over her mouth. She tried to bite his fingers and was rewarded with a hard fist to her temple. Her bio-shield flared just before his knuckles connected

with her head, and she felt a burst of triumph race through her--just before the strength behind his blow nearly knocked her off her feet.

He had let go of her hand to strike at her, and she twisted in his arms and slammed her palm upwards in the direction where she thought his face was. For one second, her bio-shield lit the small space between them, and she

watched in terror and awe as it projected from her body and slammed into the nose of the man struggling to hold her down.

//My God,// she thought, even as the man let out a cry and released her. //I did it again.//

Cecilia quickly slid trembling fingers against the wood paneling and found the light switch. The lights immediately flickered on, and she was greeted with the sight of her attacker, crouched on the carpet with blood gushing from a hole in the middle of his face. Cecilia's gaze flickered over the rest of the room just beyond the short corridor, taking in the broken furniture and the sheets ripped off the bed. Keeping one wary eye on the bleeding man, she poked her head into the bathroom. There was no sign of Hank, anywhere.

"Where is he?" She asked, trying to keep her voice level, and failing miserably. Her assailant lifted his head, and just stared at her, his breathing rough and ragged. Blood bubbled through the remaining bones of his nose. Looking at him made her skin crawl.

"Where is Hank McCoy?" She asked again, stepping towards the man. This time he flinched, and looked away.

Cecilia grit her teeth, reached down, and grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back until she imagined she could hear the bones of his neck creak. "I'm only going to ask you this one more time," she whispered, raising her fist. "Where is the man who was staying in this room? Where is Hank McCoy?"

She never got her answer. She saw the shift in his eyes a heartbeat before his attack, but it was not enough time. Despite the sharp angle of his head, his strike to her gut was painfully accurate, and Cecilia bounced backwards, her body striking the wall. Her fingers were still tangled in her assailant's hair, and she pulled him with her. He rolled as he hit the ground, and Cecilia was forced to let go of him, his twisting motions threatening to dislocate her shoulder. He scrambled to his feet, and before she could stop him he threw open the door and ran into the corridor.

Cecilia pulled herself to her feet and took off after him. At the end of the hall the door to the emergency exit was just beginning to swing shut, and she could hear the hammer of boot soles on stairs, racing downwards.

"You owe me big time, McCoy," she muttered, pushing her way into the dimly lit stairwell. She took the stairs three at a time, suddenly grateful that she had grown up on the fourteenth floor of an apartment building with no

elevator. She caught a glimpse of her assailant through the drop between the railings, and pushed herself to move faster, risking bones as she leapt down the flights of stairs. Their footfalls reverberated like thunder in

the stairwell, and finally, on the fifteenth floor, she caught up with him.

She didn't stop to think--she leapt off the top of the stairs in a diving tackle that caught him in the back of the legs. They both went down in a tangle of limbs, scrabbling against each other for leverage, for something

to scratch or pull. The man's shirt tore at the shoulder with a loud ripping sound, and Cecilia caught a glimpse of a tattoo, intricately detailed, the design unfamiliar but vaguely shaped like a heart.

The distraction cost her, and her assailant slithered out of her grasp.This time, however, he did not run. Before she could stop him, he lifted her bodily by the leg and arm, and slammed her face down into the concrete

landing.

"Got you now," he breathed.

One arm pinned behind her back, Cecilia was unceremoniously dragged down the stairs. Once, she tried to cry out for help, and the only thing she got for her troubles was a bruised windpipe. The sudden realization that her

bio-shield did not protect her from a simple case of strangulation scared her more than she wanted to admit, and try as she might, she could not figure out how to make her shield work offensively like it had in her

previous struggle.

The stairs opened up into the basement, which was nearly empty except for a long black van pulled up beside the door. There was a man in the driver's seat, and he looked very unhappy when he saw Cecilia.

"Ta shi shei?"* He barked, leaning out of the window.

Her captor shook his head. "Wo buchidao, keshi wo juede ta shi McCoy de pengyou."*

The van, amazingly enough, rocked back and forth at that indecipherable (to Cecilia, anyway) pronouncement, and the side door rolled back to reveal two more men dressed in black fatigues. Just behind them, strapped to the floor of the van, was Hank. A gag had been stuffed into his mouth, but his eyes spoke volumes, as did his struggling body, which was indeed causing the vehicle to bounce and roll.

"Hank!" Cecilia shouted. An instant later, she felt strong, thick fingers dig into her windpipe. Spots appeared in her vision, and she clawed at the hand around her throat. She was dimly aware of a muffled shout, and then

the hand loosened and she was unceremoniously thrown into the van. She landed on something soft, and as she struggled to pull air into her lungs, she felt fur against her cheek. Someone pulled her arms back sharply,

painfully, and bound them together at the wrists.

She caught a glimpse of her captor, who was still standing outside the van. His nose hung crooked on his face, and blood oozed from the crack she had caused. He noticed her watching him and smiled, which, Cecilia decided, was one of the most un-reassuring things she had ever seen in her life. He did not climb into the van before slamming shut the sliding door, and she realized with some relief that he was not leaving with them.

//He's going to clean up after himself. Wipe away any evidence that he and his friends were ever in the building. //

With the door shut, the interior of the van was completely dark. The rest of the men talked quietly in Chinese, but Cecilia could barely hear them over the engine as it roared to life. What she *could* hear was the sound

of Hank's beating heart, and the shuddered rasp of his breath, and her own. Distinctly aware of the close presence of their captors, Cecilia slowly inched her body off of Hank, and pressed herself against his side. Through

her clothes, she could feel the thick straps holding him down. His muscles quivered.

They were driving upwards, making sharp turns as they climbed out of the parking garage. Finally they stopped, and one of the men put a gun to Hank's temple. The pause was brief, and Cecilia could hear traffic and

people. The van began to move once more, and the gun was removed. She let out the breath she had been holding, and watched the man sidle up towards the front of the vehicle to talk with his companions.

Cecilia pressed her lips against Hank's ear.

"Y'okay?" she breathed. It was hard for her to talk. Her throat ached.

Hank blinked once, which she took as a yes. He turned his head just enough to see her face, and for a long moment they just stared at each other. Even in the darkness of the van, she could make out the large cut above his eye, the blood stained fur screaming that No, he was NOT okay. She felt an irrational urge to touch him, and she finally gave into it, deciding that after everything she had just been through, she deserved some comfort,

dammit. Since her hands were unavailable, she contented herself by pressing her cheek against his own. After a long moment, she felt something brush her knee. She looked down to find Hank's fingers, which were not bound,

lightly touching her.

They remained like that until the van finally stopped. As the engine died, the man who had earlier pointed a gun at Hank yanked Cecilia to her feet, eliciting a muffled shout of outrage from the blue-furred scientist. None

of their kidnappers spoke, however. Their faces were completely without expression, and they made no move to let themselves out of the vehicle. To Cecilia, it seemed that they were waiting for something, and a moment later

she heard voices and the sharp rattle of metal. The noises got louder, a confusing mixture of quick-fire speech and moving machinery.

The van door slid open. Bright light flooded the interior, momentarily blinding Cecilia. She blinked, trying to focus. Standing just outside the vehicle were two people. One of them, a short man with salt and pepper black hair, fiddled with an elaborate cart whose surface was loaded with medical instruments.

His companion was a middle-aged Chinese woman, and she immediately locked eyes with Cecilia. Her gaze sharp, she thoughtfully fingered a long strand of glossy black hair that had fallen over the shoulder of her skin-tight red suit.

"Doctor Cecilia Reyes," murmured the woman. Cecilia blinked at the sound of her name, and she felt Hank go very still.

"Do we know each other?" Cecilia asked, her voice still hoarse from the abuse to her throat. The viselike grip around her upper arm tightened warningly, but she ignored the man restraining her and kept her eyes trained

on the woman standing, so calmly, before her.

The woman smiled condescendingly. "You do not know me, Doctor Reyes, although I know of you." The smile widened. "This is a most unexpected surprise."

It was too much. Filled with anger, forgetting to be afraid, Cecilia lunged forward.

Hands immediately clamped down around her throat, thick fingers pressing mercilessly, squeezing the air from her body. "CECEWEEA!" Hank roared around his gag. He bucked upwards, straining against his restraints. The van shook, but the grip around her neck did not lessen for an instant. Just as she was about to black out, she heard a low, throaty laugh. An instant later, she found herself flying out of the van, propelled by a hard shove to her back. Cecilia landed on her side, wheezing for air.

"Prepare her for an exam," she heard the woman say, a distinct tone of amusement in her voice. "I think I'll sell the two of them as pair."

Translations:

"Ta shi shei?" = Who is she?

"Wo buchidao, keshi wo juede ta shi McCoy de pengyou." = I don't know, but I

think that she is McCoy's friend.