A/N: Oh, my poodles, I am so sorry for my absence over the last....year? More maybe? Heh. At any rate, here is another chapter, and I do hope I get around to further updating. If I don't, well, you have my sincerest apologies. Oh, the flightiness of me.

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Chapter 3: Boom, and then Boom

Sunlight settled in streaks over the naked yellow-green figure, filtered through the slats of cheap plastic blinds. The constant light against his thin eyelid brought him slowly to wakefulness, eliciting a groan of protest. His arm, roped thick with muscle, was wrapped possessively around the shapely figure of the Blonde he'd gone to bed with. At his stirring, she too found herself awake and mumbled something irritable, directed at the brightness of day in general.

Mort smirked at the petulant whine and, adding gasoline to the fire, danced his fingertips across her ribs. Her harpy shriek brought him a cringe and instant regret, but he wouldn't let himself be deterred. Rolling swiftly onto his knees over her, he played her like a fiddle, laughing as the younger woman kicked and spasmed and gasped for breath between unladylike guffaws.

Without a pause to allow her breath, he suddenly braced his palms on the mattress and leaned down to catch her lips. They hummed with lingering giggles that spilled into his mouth and brought a warmth to settle in his belly that hadn't been there many times before. By the time her lips worked hungrily against his, he'd shifted his weight over her and used a hand on the back of one knee to pull her into a easily accessible position. He didn't ask permission, they'd established the night before she took the pill, and in moments he was seated within her and bringing them both to such great heights.

"Gonna make me breakfast?" Toad asked her cockily when they were both glowing with perspiration and a shiver with the post coital endorphins. He drew lazy circles with one finger on the back of her thigh, not making any attempt to withdraw from where he was still comfortably nestled. He didn't doubt that she might very well be the death of him one day, but he found himself swelling with an odd sense of affection toward Magneto for sending her.

"Do I look like a girl who cooks?" She challenged him, resting languidly against the pillow and catching her breath. Toad chuckled and pinched her chin just enough to hurt her a little bit, enjoying the expression of discomfort. This was what he'd missed when he'd been with Storm. Sure the first time had quite a bit of bite, but after that...well Ororo was a sweet gel, he'd always have a soft spot, but she just didn't have the feisty personality this girl did. Young, and so damned sure of herself, itching for a fight. For a pretty and a woman, she really did remind him of himself.

Spanking her thigh affectionately, Toad finally abandoned her body, shivering when the recycled current of air swept over a particularly sensitive portion of his anatomy. He let his gaze ravage her while he pulled on the soft black cotton boxers previously discarded, but then ducked out of the room to peruse her refrigerator.

"You want Captain Crunch?" He called, already overfilling a bowl and figuring he could share.

"Check that the milk's not expired," She suggested just before he popped back into the bedroom and made a disgusted face from around the handle of the spoon. He dropped character before she could giggle herself into hysterics and crunched through another significant bite.

"I checked it before I poured."

Breakfast was easy and unforced. They shared bites of cereal, a few hungry kisses and within the span of a half hour, Toad was dressed again and hovering near the door. Facing the reality of their impossible relationship wasn't appealing, but Toad hadn't quite brought himself to leave yet. He took her hand, lacing calloused fingers with hers.

"What're we gonna do, pretty precious?" He asked, leaning in to nuzzle at her cheek. "You feel like defectin'?"

She interrupted her peal of giggles and the nuzzle to scowl at him, "I've been waiting to be Brotherhood my whole life."

How did one contest that? He knew what it was like to need a purpose, to beg for family. Looking at her he wouldn't have pegged that life for her, but what did he know? The world wasn't anything like he'd thought it was when he was young. Wisdom came with age, after all. And dementia, he added internally as he thought of Magneto's current state.

"That's it, then." The wave of disappointment wasn't unexpected, but he was faintly pleased to see it mirrored on his lover's face, despite her shrug that followed. Reluctantly, he released her hand and backed out, pulling her front door shut in his wake. The swagger to his step on the way downstairs was severely diminished by the knowledge he wasn't going to get to partake of that particular treat again anytime soon.

Darkness fell on the city that never slept, the lamplight and garish brightness of store signs bathed the streets in false day. It wasn't unusual for a woman to run desperate through the seedy streets, dodging winos and dealers or others that might do her harm. Nor, was it unusual for the denizens of this city to look the other way, it had become the unofficial motto. There were, however, few women who ran to a man like Toad for protection.

He heard the thud thud thud of footfalls on the staircase coming for him and lurched off his sofa, dropping a still burning cigarette to smolder on the carpet. Gun in hand, he opened the door, prepared to defend himself from the repercussions of fucking the Blonde kitten. The last thing he expected was that self same figure to thrust herself into his arms, heedless of the firearm and collapse.

"Shit."

Blood pattered onto the carpet, sizzling as he pulled her inside and the fluid dribbled down to put out what was left of his cigarette. A glance into the hallway to make sure she wasn't followed and then he'd slammed and locked the door, hefting her more securely into his embrace and making for the sofa. She'd gone suddenly limp upon wrecking into him, head and limbs dragged down by gravity without force of will to keep her aloft.

The wounds were recognizable. As he peeled away layers of clothes matted against seeping open wounds, he mentally searched his cabinets for where he kept the needle and thread. Vic usually gouged deep enough to need stitches and this was obviously no exception. He wondered what in the shit the girl had done to merit this wreckage, and hoped she hadn't called it down upon his head.

A misplaced finger had her suddenly coherent enough to scream as he fumbled to tug away the rest of her clothes.

"Sorry sweetheart, m'sorry," He mumbled, tossing the wretched bundle of clothing to slop in a corner of the apartment, "Where's that brave little shit I fought a week ago?"

Air was sucked in between clenched teeth and shuddered in the back of her throat with every hysterical breath. She didn't unclench long enough to answer, but hazel eyes, glazed with pain and fear, settled on his face, searching for his assessment. Remembering where he'd left his sewing supplies, behind the hydrogen peroxide and ky, he gathered her up again and stumbled with care for the bathroom.

"Alright, pet, we're gonna have a bath and then dip into the stash I've been keepin' for a rainy day," He told her, more to soothe her with the calm timbre of his voice than because he expected her to respond. He kept the water body temperate and carried her in, despite his state of bloody dress. He had to be able to see where to sew her up and she was currently drenched in copious amounts of her own blood.

He knew from experience that it looked worse than it was. The blood was displaced over a large surface area. She'd not gone deathly pale yet, there was a good chance she'd live through this. After splashing away as much blood as he could, he leaned to dig out the sewing kit from his cabinet and kept steady hands to do his work. Despite the fact she sported a couple of intricate tattoos, getting stitches without anesthesia after being brutally ravaged wasn't fun. She performed a full body arch and screamed, but went into shock soon after and he was able to tether together two sides of skin in different spaces all over her body.

She'd stopped shaking by the time he carried her out, ignorant of the puddles he left in his wake. His apartment was successfully trashed at this point; the cleaning woman was going to have kittens. Dropping her on the bed he ducked beneath the mattress a moment to retrieve a tin lunch box with the Thundercats logo he'd gotten at some flea market awhile back when he'd thought Cheetara was especially hot. Inside was the remainder of old vices, not forgotten. The worst of them.

The needle was clean, he'd been a clever enough junkie to avoid that particular stigma. He filled it with careful precision from the vial and tapped out the bubbles before feeding it into the crook of her arm. It was hard not to frown as he gave away freely that which he'd promised himself he wouldn't touch again, but a look at the state she was in had him feeling guilty.

It wasn't often that he played nursemaid and less often that he enjoyed it, but she was beautiful and most certainly in need. A pang of rage at his old family and what they were willing to do their own, enveloped him as he ran his knuckles against her cheek.

"Sleep, Tabby. All'll look right in the morning. Y'safe as houses with me."