Pulse, Part Seventeen

by Tangerine

 She lost them.

 She wasn't sure when she lost her grip or where it was she dropped them, just that she knew they were close and out of the shadows.  They had only been a momentary thought, however, before she became aware of the reality she had set herself into.

 Betsy found herself in the Morlock Tunnels.

 And she was being hunted like an animal.

 The shadows warned her of the hunters, humming so loudly in her head that the minute she got her footing she began to run, limp, stumble, anything that would take her far away from the threat against her life.  They spoke of a madman who had poisoned their darkness trying to find her, who had done the impossible and hurt the Dawn.  It was her he had sought.

 Apocalypse was using the Dawn to find her.  Betsy was beyond angry at the thought that he would use something she hated to trap her, and she was rabid that the Dawn, the subject of her hate, fought only to protect her, to fight for her, to warn her of the fact she was trapped in the tunnels with Apocalypse and his Horsemen.

 And she *was* trapped because the damage the Dawn suffered prevented her from teleporting.  Whatever he had done, Apocalypse had waited until she had used her shadows powers again and had caused her lose her grip on her teammates.  It was all planned, and as usual, she walked straight into her doom.

 She was alone and alone meant weak.

 "Stop crying," she commanded herself as she flew blindly down a murky, wet corridor.  It all looked the same, and she knew that she could run for years and never find the way out to the real world, but she couldn't run any longer.  Her body was failing her.  She had to stop and catch her breath.  "I cannot let it end like this.  She cannot be born here."

 Betsy whimpered, putting the back of her hand to her mouth to muffle the sounds.  Panting and wheezing, she leaned against the cold brick wall and looked around her.  It was so dark yet the shadows could not take her away.

 *Silence!*

 Betsy's breath caught in her throat at the command.  It had come from the shadows, the voice cold and alien.  She pushed herself into the corner, her fingers pressed flat against the wall as she heard the footsteps approach.  It could not end like this.

 The shadows, seeking only to protect her, swept up her body and covered her in a veil of black.  The world darkened, but she could see through the cover as if it was transparent glass.  War, the Horseman, had stopped metres from where she stood.

 He looked around, scanning the hallway before moving on, not noticing the excessive dark in the corner where the pathway changed from north to east.  Betsy did not breathe until he was gone, and she not move until another ten minutes had passed.

 The shadows pulled back from her body, releasing her from their protection, and she gasped a sob, falling to the ground and holding her knees tightly to her swollen stomach.  Why had it all gone so wrong?

 And the only answer she received was the pounding of her pulse in her ears, reminding her of the life that she had to protect at all costs.

****

 "Mon dieu," Remy muttered, blessing himself with the sign of the cross in an attempt to save his soul.  A bitter thought crossed his mind but he dismissed it quickly, knowing that not even Elisabeth Braddock was cruel enough to purposely drop him on the bloody corpses of the Marauders.  "Clone or not, nobody deserves to die like this."

 Remy stood up carefully to avoid disturbing the bodies and shook out his coat, putting it on to counteract the severe cold of the Morlock Tunnels.  Pulling a card from his inner pocket, he tested his powers then used the card to light the room beyond the dim glow of a lone bulb.

 "So Elisabeth, where are you?"  He asked quietly, noting how utterly empty the room seemed.  He was undeniably alone, which meant that somehow they had all been separated and that was not a good thing to realise.  Betsy was in trouble, severe trouble if she would split them up in these circumstances, and she could be anywhere.

 Remy began to walk, choosing one direction and vowing the search the entire underground maze until he found all the wayward X-Men.  He shuffled along slowly, careful of the debris and hazards the old pathways kept as traps for people who didn't know the tunnels.

 'And you do know the tunnels, LeBeau,' he thought dryly, reaching into his pocket to withdraw a cigarette.  He lit it quickly and puffed unconsciously, taking comfort in his addiction.  'I don't like this one bit.'

 'That's 'cause you're scared, not just for Elisabeth but for yourself.  If you were at all ever going to die, this would be the day.  Apocalypse is going to kill you, LeBeau.'  Remy paused then shook his head, trying to cast the dark thoughts from his mind.  'This is all going to work out just fine.  There's a baby to be born.  Villains don't hurt babies.'

 But Apocalypse would.  Remy knew this as well as he knew himself, and it chilled him to the bone.  It was amazing how quickly everything went to hell when the other X-Men disappeared, their absence close to a year now and with no end in sight, and left the team comprised of Gambit, Iceman, Angel and Psylocke.  It was just asking for trouble.

 Warren was eight months gone, dead as dead could be and Remy was glad for it, not that he was deceased but that he had not reappeared.  Remy had feared the man was immortal, like Sinister, like Apocalypse, and he didn't wish that life on anyone, not on Warren, not on ... himself.

 'Yeah, that's it, LeBeau, start thinking about that now.  If Apocalypse don't kill you now, he's gonna kill you in a thousand years.  You don't want to think about that, not now, so stop it, boy!'

 Remy shook his head again, wondering why he was thinking these things.

 But he knew why.  This was where Sinister had done things to him, tests, long, painful tests to determine why Remy's genes were so different from the usual mutant genes.  A little tweak here, a little alteration there, and Sinister had activated his more latent abilities: empathy, agility ... immortality.

 Just because Sinister said Gambit would live forever, or until someone decided to kill him in a very final and decisive way, didn't mean it was exactly the truth.  Evil madmen had been known to lie now and again.  Remy was sure Sinister made it all up.

 'You know it's the truth, LeBeau, and that it doesn't mean a damn thing here.'

 Apocalypse meant death, death was finality, death was forever, but death was hard to come by, hard to accomplish with an immortal because life was so strong with him, so stubborn to leave and give up.  Remy knew this meant a lot of pain, a lot of torture and suffering.

 'Remy, you're thirty-five and don't look a day above twenty.  You should have told that to Rogue, Remy, you should have let her know.  So many regrets, so many things I should have done.  Rogue, I might die today, and I don't think you'd care.'

 And Remy bent his head, pushed his cheek against his pulse and feared to Witness death.

****

 Shatterstar was not breathing by the time Bobby was aware enough to realise why he looked so pale, and Bobby immediately set to resuscitating him, trying to remember his swimming lessons from sixteen years ago.

 Life rushed back into Gaveedra with a gasp as the mutant lurched under Bobby, the eyes shooting open in pained confusion.  He did not speak, and when he tried, no words escaped his parched, dry lips, but he leaned over, pushing Bobby back, and vomited, a sound fleeing his throat that sounded very much like a sob.

 "Do not touch me," Shatterstar gagged, crouched over and casting his arm blindly backwards, trying to keep Bobby far away from him.  It was only then that Bobby noticed the redness and the burns on those strong, muscled arms.

 Shatterstar put his hands to his face then reeled back in agony, his face covered in the same sores that adorned his arms.  It had never been this bad before, this devastatingly painful, and he was afraid it meant he was going to die.

 "Why are you ...?"

 Shatterstar retched again, shaking his head.  He should never have agreed to it, to use his damned powers, least of all not when a power nullifier was in effect.  It meant that he had to operate at the highest power level.

 "You're burned," Bobby muttered, trying to approach him again, and Shatterstar did not move.  He sat, leaning forward and kneeling, clutching his stomach, whimpering.  This wasn't the warrior.  This was the man.  "I can help."

 "No one can help me," Shatterstar whispered.  "It hurts."

 "I bet it would," Bobby said quietly, noting the room they were in and how it seemed to be lacking doors.  He dismissed that concern as the least of his problems and immediately turned his attention back to Shatterstar.  "Is it ... all over your body?"

 "I think it is only my face and arms," he said quietly, his tall frame curled into a ball of limbs, shaking, "and my hair is singed, but where the costume covered it is all right.  I think.  I feel very sick, Bobby, I do not think that I can move."

 "I don't think we're going anywhere.  I don't see any way out," Bobby replied, looking around again and deciding the room was indeed without any means of escape.  "We can stay here until you feel well enough to move."

 Shatterstar looked sullenly at Bobby, his face hidden behind the veil of hair, but Bobby saw the blisters and the burns.  He was still beautiful, Bobby realised, it wouldn't matter if he had nine eyes and horns.  His feelings were real.

 "Come on," Bobby said quietly, taking Shatterstar by the shoulders and forcing the body to straighten.  Shatterstar let Bobby guide him, let the arms wrap around him, and he was grateful for the low temperature of Bobby's body.  "I can use the ice to soothe the burns.  It'll help, I think, if you let me."

 "If you want," Shatterstar replied, the nausea back at full force from the movement, and he closed his eyes as his skin began to cool.  He lay across Bobby's legs, cradled in the Iceman's arms, his head against Bobby's slender chest, and Gaveedra listened to soft beat of Bobby's heart, losing himself in the gentle crooning of his pulse.

****

 "This is a game," Domino muttered, ducking as she entered the low entrance to the sewers.  She was acutely aware of where she was and why she was there, but it was Emma who had put it all together.  "Apocalypse has them trapped down there, separated, so he can hunt them.  Look at the shadows."

 Emma carefully avoided a puddle of sludge and looked where the light was absent.  "They look almost alive."  She moved to put her hand against the sheet of black, but it moved, shied away, like it knew fear.  "I can hear a murmur in the back of my head.  I think it's the Dawn."

 "Apocalypse has done something to this hell," Domino replied, stopping where the corridor split into six different paths and relied on luck to the lead her down the right one.  "But where the shadows are, Psylocke is close."

 Jonothon listened to the women quietly, taking in their words and attempting to make sense of them.  He had been briefed on the situation, and he understood the mission, but he found himself disbelieving.  It all seemed like a dream, unreal and fake, but he saw the shadows move from Emma's touch, and he heard the same bustle of activity in his head.

 He followed silently, listening to them bicker and argue over the situation, both possessing radically different views on how to proceed.  He was here simply because they needed power, raw and inexhaustible power.  He had agreed because, though he would never admit it to another living soul, he had a silly dream about being an X-Man.  It embarrassed him, made him think of how to the others laughed at Paige for wanting such a thing as if it meant everything in the world, but he felt sort of proud walking with Emma and Domino.

 Jono ran his hand through his hair, the unruly and often tangled mop of loose curls falling immediately back over his eyes.  Emma and Domino had stopped talking, he noticed, and were watching everything with suspicious, edgy looks.  He glanced around the barren passageway.

 *What're we looking at?*

 *There is someone coming in this direction,* Emma replied, using her telepathy, and Domino nodded, gesturing to an overhead hole in the wall which she thought to be a small but safe hiding spot. *Quickly.*

 Domino jumped up then helped Emma scale the slimy wall.  Together, they hoisted Chamber into the small space and pushed him to the back.  As not to leave him completely in the dark, Emma let Jono look through her eyes.

 The thought was to stay quiet, but when the shadows moved across the entrance to their hole, a communal gasp escaped in a breath of wonder.  Sentient or not, the shadows seemed to be consciously protecting them.

 Emma and Domino exchanged glances as a woman, or more accurately a child, walked slowly along the path below them.  The girl stopped and looked around, running her spindly fingers along the slimy bricks.

 "I see you," she whispered hauntingly, but she was not speaking to them.  She had picked up a rat in her thin hands and was stroking its head tenderly, looking at it.  "Are you hungry, Ratty?  Do you wish the eat?"

 The rat squeaked, and she let it drop the ground, watching it scurry back into the darkness and disappearing from sight.

 "I could have made you hungry."

 Famine looked up and around blindly, but Emma found her heart beating in her chest, terrified of being discovered.  It was one girl, but the girl worked for Apocalypse, and they weren't strong enough yet to oppose him.

 When Famine finally left, Emma closed her eyes and willed her pulse to slow.

 That had been too close.

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