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FIC: A Stolen Season 9/?

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  • rimmette@earthlink.net
    A Stolen Season 9/? Archived at http://www.geocities.com/khakigrrl/ For disclaimers, etc., see part one. This part s kinda long. Sorry. ***** POV:
    Message 1 of 1 , Jul 23, 2001
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      A Stolen Season 9/?

      Archived at http://www.geocities.com/khakigrrl/

      For disclaimers, etc., see part one.

      This part's kinda long. Sorry.


      <i>POV: Rogue</i>

      We drift.

      The days lengthen, reach their peak, and then shorten again. The
      weather warms then starts to cool. Summer passes into fall.

      We travel, endlessly searching, trying to find our way back to some
      semblance of the lives we lost. We are existing, but not living. We
      are in the world, but not of the world. Things change around us, but
      we stay the same. We're stuck.

      We can't go back to New York. They're still looking for Logan even
      months after the first article. It's like someone's watching us.
      Whenever we try to go back, Logan's face appears on every paper, the
      television news starts reporting sightings, and we have to run
      again. To Pennsylvania or Connecticut, never to Canada. Leaving the
      states would be too much like giving up.

      Our six-month wedding anniversary came and went without either of us
      noticing. In fact, I just realized the other day that we've been
      married eight months. Looking at us, you wouldn't think we were
      newlyweds. What we've been though these past few months has aged
      both of us.

      Other couples might have grown apart after having our experiences.
      Logan and I have only grown closer together. He's all I have in the
      world, and I won't lose him, too.

      Lying here in his arms, touching but not, always separated by sheets
      or clothing, we're still as close as two people can be. I love; I am
      loved, and for one moment, I feel safe.

      Then, Logan groans in his sleep and rolls over on his side away from
      my grasp. I scoot closer to him and wrap a covered arm around his
      chest, only to have him pull further away. In the darkness, I start
      to hear the high-pitched scritching of nails on skin. Scratching.
      Logan's scratching.

      With his healing abilities, he never has allergies, never itches,
      except for once. Once, over three months ago, when this all
      started. It began with itching; it ended with death.

      I roll over to my side of the motel bed and flick on the light.
      Turning back around, I can see Logan scratching frantically at his
      stomach in his sleep, and I am terrified for him.

      "Logan... Logan, wake up."

      "Mmm, Marie?"

      "Logan, you're scratching. Why are you scratching? Is it the
      same..." I can't say it. It can't happen again. Not to Logan.

      "Marie. It itches."

      He's scratching vigorously with both hands now. No... I have to get
      him away from here. Now.

      I grab him and start urging him to get out of bed and towards the
      door. It doesn't matter that he's only half-dressed. It doesn't
      matter that I'm leaving our bags behind. He can't stay here. If I
      can get him far enough away, maybe... maybe it won't happen.

      He stumbles a few times, but somehow, I pull him out into the Jeep,
      and we speed away. It's around one in the morning and the streets
      aren't nearly as crowded as they usually are. We're on the freeway,
      miles away from the motel in minutes, but it's not helping.

      Logan's released his claws, and now I have to drive with one hand on
      the wheel and the other on his stomach to keep him from ripping into
      his own flesh.

      "Logan, stop it!" I yell over the wind whipping past us as we race
      down the highway.

      "It's moving," he mutters, barely audible.

      "What?" No. It's just like before. "Where is it moving, Logan?"

      "Up... my chest."

      Towards his neck. I... I have to stop the car now. If it happens
      again, and I can't move then we'll crash. But what if I stop us
      right before we would've gotten away? My foot's jumping back and
      forth between the gas and the brake and time's running against me,
      but I can't choose.

      Logan makes the decision for me, cupping a bare hand against my
      cheek. I can feel him, his emotions, thoughts, and strength flowing
      into me, and I slam on the brakes in surprise. Logan's hand flies
      away from mine as we stop, and then a familiar numbness fills my
      body, and I crumple against my seatbelt.

      I can't move, and slumped over like this, I can't see Logan. All I
      can see is my own legs and the floorboard of the Jeep. Why did he
      touch me? Even as the question enters my mind, I have my answer. He
      thought they'd kill us this time, and he didn't want me to die. That


      No answer.

      "Logan... please!"

      I can't see him, touch him, but I need to know. Please... please
      don't be dead. Don't leave me.


      The tears flood my cheeks, and I'm choking out sobs 'til I can hardly
      breathe, but I don't care. He's not answering me. He's dead, and
      the only reason I'm not is that he touched me. It wasn't more than
      fifteen seconds, but it must've been enough.

      These months alone but together, this summer of searching. It wasn't
      what I thought. We were so focused on finding the part of our family
      that survived, that we didn't realize what was going on. The attack
      on the school wasn't the end. It was the beginning. We weren't
      supposed to have these three months of summer together, this stolen
      season. Now, destiny has caught up with us, and our lives are over.


      <i>POV: Logan</i>

      A deep, mechanical rumbling wakes me up. I'm lyin' on some sort of
      metal floor, and my head keeps bumping against it when it drops or
      rises below me. I must be in some sort of truck or van.

      What happened? More importantly, where's Marie?

      I open my eyes, and I can see several bodies lying at odd angles in
      the back of what I can now tell is a covered, army truck. I can't
      see Marie, though. I try to get up, but my body won't move. I can't
      even feel anything below my neck. It's just like before, only this
      time, I've been captured. I'm in the back of a truck, just like Cyke
      was. I guess this is one way to find out what happened to him.

      What about Marie? I touched her. Did she get away?

      "Mm-ree?" I'm still so weak from the touch that I can't make my
      voice louder than a mumble. Still, somehow, she hears me.


      Dammit, she's here, and although I'm glad to know she's still alive,
      I wish she was safe somewhere else.

      I can hear her crying now as she repeats over and over, "You're
      alive. You're alive."

      "Marie... How long?"

      She tries to control her sniffling as she answers, "A half-hour... an
      hour. I don't know. Logan, I thought you were... Everyone else in
      here with us is..."

      She's cryin' again. I gotta get us outta here. I won't let them
      hurt Marie anymore. Only question is... how? Wait, I touched her.
      What about...

      "Marie, baby, are you healin'?"

      Swallowing her tears, she answers, "Um... Uh huh. I... my hands are

      "That's good, darling. Let me know when you can move again, ok?"

      "Ok... Logan, what about you?"

      Nope, not a feeling, not even a tingle, but I'm not gonna tell her
      that. She won't leave me behind if she doesn't think I'll follow
      right after her. "Yeah, darlin'. It's coming back."


      Several hours later, we're still in the back of the truck, and
      Marie's holding my head in her lap. She's all healed up now, but she
      won't leave me. Not until I can get up and jump out onto the road
      with her.

      I don't know why my healing factor isn't working. I didn't touch her
      that long; it's gotta be working now, but just when I think my arms
      are tingling, the feeling fades and I'm numb again. It must've
      happened ten times by now, and it's really beginning to piss me off.
      If I could just get up, I could get Marie outta here before...

      The truck's slowing down. We must've reached wherever we're going,
      and there's no more time.

      "Marie. Go now."



      "I won't leave you, Logan."

      "You can't stay."

      The truck's stopped now and I can hear voices approaching us. She
      only has seconds to get out, but she won't. Instead, she lies back
      and allows her muscles to go limp just before the back of the truck
      is opened.

      I can see them out of the corner of my eye. Two guys pull a body
      out, and another man scans it with some sort of computer and
      says, "Dead." Then they grab the next body.

      "Dead... Dead... Dead..."

      Then, I feel hands grab my legs, and I'm pulled away from Marie.
      Where they touch me, my skin tingles and the sensation's not going
      away. Whatever was stopping my mutation must be gone or worn out,
      and I'm finally healin'. O' course, now Marie and I've been captured.

      "This one's alive," the guy says, pressin' buttons on his little
      machine. "Healer."

      They move me to another room and soon Marie joins me there. For a
      few minutes, we're alone lying on separate stretchers in the white,
      sterile room, and I've gotta tell her now.

      "Marie, get ready," I whisper under my breath.

      "I won't leave you."

      "I'm healin'. We'll go together. Just wait for my signal."

      I hear the door click open, they bring another mutant in, and we
      can't talk anymore.

      With every passing minute, I can sense more. Soon, I can feel the
      bed underneath my entire body. Now, all I have to do is move. I'm
      just stretching my fingers when a new group of people come in.
      They're a group of men and women in tailored suits.

      One of them, a woman, is pokin' at a hand-held computer, but the
      others are completely focused on Marie, me, and the other nine
      mutants in this room.

      Another group comes in, and they're doctors. I can smell it on 'em.
      They split up, fanning out so at least one or two of 'em is at every
      bed. I can't stop my growl when they come towards me, but when they
      head for Marie...

      "Hey! You stay away from her!"

      The doctors don't step away, but I've got the suited people's
      attention. One of them approaches me, asking the doctors, "Which one
      is he?"

      "A healer, Dr. Thacker. The original one that escaped during the
      first trial."

      "Ah," he says with a twisted grin. Then, turning towards Marie, he
      says, "Then this woman must be the question mark."

      "Yes, sir." Sir. He must be the guy in charge.

      "Well, let's find out what she does."

      He walks over towards Marie, and I yell after him, "You touch her,
      I'll kill you."

      He just smiles back at me. Then, when he reaches Marie's bedside, he
      says, "Strip her and start your tests."

      "No, don't touch me. Please."

      I can't stand that. Marie's begging them to stop, and I know they
      won't. Gotta get up. Gotta stop them. Move, Logan!

      "Ahhhh!" One of the doctors screams and falls. He touched her, and
      her skin got 'im. I have to get to her. Just gotta make myself move.

      Marie's out of the bed, backing into the corner and peeling her
      gloves away so she can defend herself. As for the humans, that one
      woman with the little computer is typing frantically now, but
      everyone else is completely focused on Marie. Now's my chance. I
      push against the bed, forcing myself to sit up, even though my body
      and gravity are fighting me.

      Three soldiers run through the door, guns out and ready, and the head
      guy orders, "Shoot her!"

      I scream, "NO!!!" and release my claws at the same time the guns

      The room falls into silence at my outburst, and everyone turns
      towards me, but I don't pay attention. I can't take my eyes off
      Marie. Blood blossoms on her shirt where the bullets entered, and
      she falls to her knees with a choking gasp.

      The tinkling of metal falling to the floor echoes in the silent room,
      and when I look down, I see the two-halves of my wedding ring laying
      on the tile, cut by my claws.


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