Seether Chapter 17 Firefly Lively, a x-men fanfic

Author's Notes: Don't work to hard in figuring this out this chapter. If need be, I will spell it out clearly in Chapters to come. For now, simply enjoy the ride.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Seventeen – Firefly Lively

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It caught quickly, like gasoline soaked tinder. A spark and it burned. Oh, it burned! The burning weakened it, made joints and supports buckle and snap. Embers danced around like lively fireflies.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lumina, come and wrap around me. Lumina, take me through the snow. Eve took a train. Eve took a train, went to see her man. Melting inside, melting away, like butter in the pan." (Lumina –by Joan Osborne)

It was just her luck that the train was coming across the bridge over the Mississippi when it did. It was just her luck that it slowed for some issue she knew not. It was just her luck that the same tears that fought against the choking black smoke from the church fire also fought the great puffs of the old chugger on its historic journey repeating its maiden voyage. With each cough from the inhaled smoke, with each hiccup of a sob, with every wipe of her tear soaked cheeks, the Core took form, took form by chopping off more and more of her previous existence. By the time she got off the train, stumbling, rolling, scraping her elbows and knees, she couldn't remember why she was there, not even her real name.

She wasn't scared or worried though. She saw this neat little clearing up ahead with an old gnarled tree that overhung the water at a particularly pleasant looking spot. She got this immediate image of what it would be like to swing on a tire and splash into the water below. She took off at a full run, intending to do just that.

A few hours later, her tummy rumbled. She dug into her soot covered teddy bear back pack and found a half eaten, soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The bread on one side looked bruised, purple where the jelly had been absorbed. The thermos was empty and smelled a little rank. It hadn't been closed correctly and the orange juice was nothing more than a smelly sticky film on the inside. Three animal cookies were left in the ziplock bag. They were all tigers. Something about the tigers... maybe... oh well, they seemed fine when she chomped them down. She didn't remember that her mother had convinced her not to eat them, not to like them because of some bias the daughter never quite understood.

The sun was setting, lighting the night like fire... fire... fire...

She shook her head and pulled out her dog-eared book. It wasn't quite a novel, though she liked to announce that it... or did she?

She shook her head again, and with a yawn, she began to read.

"...another enemy had fallen by his hand. He was near the main mast, so, like the bold and cheery rogue pirate he was, he climbed up a few rungs and yelled..."

It was too dark to read anymore. Even her tiny fire... fire... fire—she shook her head—was just a few smoldering bits now, but that was okay. Using her soot covered teddy bear backpack like a pillow, sleep soon took hold and dreams of being the heroic and adventurous rogue out to save the handsome prince filled her wholly.

"Seether is neither loose nor tight. Seether is neither black nor white. I tried to keep her on a short leash. I tried to calm her down. I tried to ram her into the ground." (Seether –by Veruca Salt)

~~~~~~~~~~~

It caught quickly, like gasoline soaked tinder. A spark and it burned. Oh, it burned! The burning weakened it, made joints and supports buckle and snap. Embers danced around like lively fireflies.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lumina, come and wrap around me. Lumina, take me through the snow. Eve took the fruit. Eve bit the fruit, juice ran down her chin. Babies will put things in their mouth, never heard of sin." (Lumina –by Joan Osborne)

She was crying when she carried the gas can in from the lawn maintenance shed out back. It was heavy for her gangly arms and banged against her gangly legs, most likely bruising them, as she lugged it that short distance across the picture perfect manicured lawn and in the side door of the church. She knew he would be there, as he was every night after dinner. She'd spied on him so many times as he sat in the eleventh row of pews, elbows on the back of the pew ahead of him, head bowed, half sobbed prayers asking for forgiveness and strength of will when he made a sound at all. Her Mama had given her many a talking-to when she spied on him, but she couldn't help herself. She felt so responsible for his torment, so responsible because she was sure the things her Mama convinced her to do and say were the very reasons for his torment, and that torment only seemed to whet her Mama's hunger to torment him more. She knew for sure what small torment had initiated the nightly ritual a little more than three years before.

She had been about five, the very night of her fifth birthday actually. He'd been so happy to surprise her with a party filled with everyone she knew from the kids' group at his church. His life was she and the church, and her life came from living in his world, and thus, her life was filled with the church and him... and of course her Mama. Her Mama...

She'd never sensed that anything he'd done was wrong or not appropriate, especially how he gave her kisses on her cheek or forehead, or when he blew raspberries on her tummy, or when he tickled the backs of her knees and the bottoms of her feet. But, her Mama insisted otherwise. Her Mama was so adamant that his touch was bad, so bad, that it was best she avoid all touch just to stay in practice of avoiding his.

"It's safer this way, Caitlyn," Mama had said. "If he thinks it's just how ya are, that ya are just finicky 'bout people touchin' ya, then he's less likely ta get violent with ya."

"Violent?" She'd asked, shocked and confused. "He's not violent. How can ya say that? He's never even spank—"

"Ah know!" Mama took a moment to compose her voice, since that was about all she seemed to have anyway. "Trust meh, sweetie. Ah know what he's like. Yoah just still too young. But yoah getting older. Yoah reachin' that age that drives him wild with—"

"Okay, Mama," she said. She'd do anything to keep her Mama calm. She'd do anything to keep life just normal like other people. "Okay, Mama. Ah'll do what ya ask."

And so, that night, after the cake, and the five candles, and the ice cream, and the teddy bear backpack from Uncle Byron, and all the other gifts from everyone else, she did as her Mama instructed. She parroted exactly the words her Mama said to use, the words that would most stab the point to him.

Like every other night, he made up her bath with lots of pretty smelling bubbles and her two bath dolls. He got her and brought her up to the room to brush her hair, undress her, and help her bathe. But this night, after he brushed her hair and before he pulled her shirt over her head, he stared at her with the most fascinated look on his face. For a moment, she doubted her confidence in him, her confidence that her Mama was wrong about him.

"You're so beautiful, Caitlyn," he said. "I'm so lucky to get this chance again, and I'm gonna do it right this time. It'll be perfect, so perfect."

He was so tender when he tucked a lock of her hair, probably one of the white shocks at her temples, behind her ear. His fingers lingered there on that oh so soft skin of her ear before her questioning voice said, "Grandpa?" and brought him back to himself.

He cleared his throat and reached into his pocket. He pulled out the small jewelry box and opened it for her. "You're growing up so fast, Caitlyn. You're getting to be such a big girl, such a beautiful, perfect big girl." He presented her with contents of the box, a strong gold chain with a heart pendant dangling on it. "Lift your hair for me, baby gir—ahem—pretty girl," he said with a wink as he undid the clasp.

She bit her bottom lip. Nervous, excited, a jumble of emotions all colliding with each other and with her Mama's warning, goading voice prodding from behind those emerald orbs of hers. She lowered her eyes, defeated, though still unsure of so much, and lifted her dual colored hair so he could put the necklace on her.

He pressed her hair back into picture perfect place and then lifted the locket, heavy and low on her chest, to show her that it opened up. He held it at an angle so she could see the picture inside of an angelic face with its pale strawberry-brown hair and green, green eyes that held a sort of distance in them. He stroked the edges of that heart pendant, and she got the feeling he imagined himself stroking the girl in the picture herself were he able to. "This is Lily," he said and swallowed down a choked sob. A deep breath and then, "She's beautiful, isn't she? Ya got her eyes, ya know? Ya got your Mama's eyes, pretty girl."

She looked at those eyes and wanted to disagree, wanted to say that hers had something that the picture's eyes were missing. She didn't have the word for it then, but her eyes did indeed have more life in them.

"They're close, all right," she settled for saying. "But—" The lost look on his face made her forget what she was going to say.

"Light," Mama supplied. "Fire, he stole any fire Ah evah would've hoped ta have. No, not stole, killed."

"You're right," he said to her. She tried to listen harder to him because she liked what he had to say more than what her Mama was saying. Ugly things, her Mama always spoke of. Always, such ugly things. "You've got more spark to ya, Caitlyn. You've got more sass and spirit."

He closed the locket and lowered it and pressed it against her chest with his palm. Lingering. A deep breath and he met her eyes, those lively and fiery emerald eyes, and said, "You won't end up like she did. No, no, I think not. I think you're a survivor."

"Say it!" Mama screamed from behind those very eyes he spoke so complimentary of. "Say it now, Caitlyn! Now!"

"Ah... Ah..."

"Shh," he said as he removed his hand off the locket and her chest. He pressed a gentle kiss to her brow. "You don't have to thank me, Caitlyn. It was my pleasure. It will always be my pleasure."

He started to lift off her shirt.

"Do it, Caitlyn," Mama screeched. "Befoah it's too late, do it, say it!"

"Ah want ta do it mahself," she said as she grabbed his hands to stop him. He mistook her down tilted glance as modesty, as shyness of some new girlish sort. It was embarrassment, for sure, but not for the reasons he surmised. Still, it worked for what she had promised she'd do. "It's like ya said, Ah'm a big girl now. And Ah... Ah don't think it's right..."

"Say it, Caitlyn. It's not right foah ya ta touch meh."

Gulp. "It's not right foah ya ta touch meh... when Ah wash up and stuff like that."

He staggered back. He looked so pained. "Why, Caitlyn, I've never... I, I... Ah would nevah."

"Oh, yes ya have, daddy," Mama said, triumphant. "And Ah won't be letting ya get your grubby paws on mah daughter next."

For a moment, Mama filled her daughter more than she ever had before. For a moment, the same look accompanied the same smile—that controlling, accusing, satisfied 'I've-got-you-by-the-balls' narrowed grace that Mama had turned on him after she got the upper hand when Corrin had died—peeked out from Caitlyn's emerald orbs and focused like a laser beam on him.

Seeing it, recognizing it, his breath hitched. It hitched. A gesture so resembling what was heard and felt against her ear when she saw his sweat dribble down her cheek as she was seeing through his eyes...

Caitlyn, filled with Mama, raised her hands towards his throat, but Caitlyn feared Mama's intention almost as much as she hated seeing that pained look on Grandpa's face and it was enough to regain her control of herself again.

"Ah just want mah privacy, being a growing girl and all." At a whole five years old.

He scrambled to his feet. "No need to explain, pretty—Caitlyn." He wiped sweat from his brow, smoothed his shirt that was sticking to his chest with more sweat there. His hands were shaking ever so slightly. "I'll go... I'll be in the church if you need me. Just tidy things up there, I guess."

"Sing ta meh—"

"No, don't go invitin' him inta yoah bed aftah this, dang it, Caitlyn!"

"—like usual tonight, ta help meh sleep?"

"Maybe," he said and then he fled. But, he never did read to her after tucking her in again. Heck, he never tucked her in again.

From that night on, the after dinner routine was forever changed. Like this very night she got the gas can from the maintenance shed, he was spending her designated bath time in prayer in the eleventh row pew in his church.

She was crying when she fumbled the top off and dumped the gas, a little in each of the back rooms first. Then, chewing on one of her pigtails to keep from voicing her cries, she carefully dribbled gas along the edges of the congregation hall. Her muffled sounds may not have given her away, not have broken his concentrated prayers, but she was sure shocked that the smell of the gas hadn't either. She guessed he was just that focused on his praying. And that thought made her want to sob all the more, made her want to plead with Mama for permission to not go through with it.

"No more protestin', Caitlyn," Mama whispered. "Ya gotta mind ya Mama like a good girl."

And she did. Hate it or not, Caitlyn did as her Mama told her to do. But it was too much this time. This was too far this time. Something had to be wrong with Mama for her to ask her own daughter to do such a horrible, horrible thing. How could that same sweet face in her locket with those empty, detached, simply accepting eyes have become the woman she knew as her Mama? The woman that could switch tinkling laughs that sounded like a rippling chime with shrieking tantrums that grated like nails on a chalkboard and with steady, hard, even demands that rubbed like sidewalk on falling knees and elbows? Switch those moods like flipping a coin? Total, complete, with no hint of the others? Whatever it was, it had to be something bad. Something worse than what Mama accused Grandpa of. Something Caitlyn never wanted to know about. Something Caitlyn would do anything to remove, chop off, convince herself and her Mama that it had never happened.

She would do anything to get away from it all and just be a normal little girl.

She was crying when her arms were screaming from the repeated motion of shaking the gas out of the can and onto the carpet of the final room, the congregation hall, where he sat and prayed so hard. She was crying when she wasted four matches before she got the fire to light. She was crying when she was trying to make it out of the church before the flames got to her first. She was crying when she heard her favorite Uncle call out to her, "Rogue, no, don't!" She always loved that he called her that, made her feel like her favorite character from that book that he'd given her. But wait, was it him that said that, or was it—

No, no, he never called her that like it was a name... did he? He would pick her up from school and they'd got get ice cream and pass the time until his wife, her Aunt, was done with her work—she was a greeter at the bank. And he had come up with the idea of reading these little paperback novels stuffed full of pirates, and heroes, and damsels in distress. She would scrunch her nose up at that and complain that if the girl would stop acting all silly she could do just as good, no, better, she'd do a better job at rescuing herself than that silly, arrogant boy could. They would take turns reading. Well, mostly he read, really, but she heard that one story about the dashing rogue pirate so many times that she could recite it by heart already.

Was it really Uncle Byron, simple and sweet Uncle Byron who kept the lawn and trees and flowers at the church and the house looking so nice that had done all that reading with her? No, it couldn't have been him. It had to be her Mama. Her mama was smart. Quiet girl once, but just cause she didn't talk a lot didn't mean there wasn't a lot going on in her head. Yeah, that's it, it was her Mama that did it. Of course it was her Mama that read to her all that time. Of course it was her Mama that was rushing in to save her from all that smoke that was making her gag and making her cry. Of course it was her Mama telling her no, don't, stop, because that's what Mamas do. Mamas teach their little girls to be good, they don't tell them to burn down their Grandpa's church.

So, that was it. Her Mama was rushing in all bright and shiny, sacrificing herself to save her precious daughter. Her Mama wasn't dead and gone and nothing but a voice in her head. That was crazy talk. Not just simple talk, like Uncle Byron, but out and out crazy talk. Whoever heard of a dead Mama telling her baby girl to do such nasty stuff as pour gasoline over the county's prized church and try to kill the head preacher, who just happened to also be her Grandpa?

But... But... Only horrible, horrible, evil naughty girls would do such a thing on their own. And she wasn't that. She knew that. Mischievous maybe, but not evil, not murderous. But then... But then...

"But ya (cough) told meh ta, (cough) Mama!" She couldn't breathe. The smoke was thick and black. She couldn't breathe… but she didn't mind. It was finally over. Finally over.

Wasn't it?

Byron's twiggy arm wrapped around her and dragged her out of all that smoke.

She was crying when she was dropped on the front lawn. She was crying as Byron ran back in. She was crying when she saw him try to break through the stained glass window with those aging limbs of his. She was crying when he cried out her name, "Caitlyn!"

His voice had been so full of relief to see her out there on the front lawn. His voice had been so full of relief to see she had escaped the burning, burning, burning.

"Caitlyn!" Mr. Beauregard gasped out happily when he saw she was safely outside the church. Only a few minutes before he could've sworn he'd seen one of her dual-colored pigtails bouncing after her as she skipped down the hall towards the church offices. It was then that he'd smelled the smoke and ran after her. He'd searched all through those burning rooms, praying harder than he ever had before that he'd find her in time. Eventually, the fire forced him back into the congregation hall. And for a long searing moment, he was so sure his cowardice, his selfish fear for his own safety had lost her to him forever. But seeing her out there on the lawn, crying, so scared for him, filled him with such blessed relief. "Oh, thank God, Caitlyn!"

"Grandpa!" She took a few stubborn steps toward the inferno that great famous church was becoming, but her legs stopped against her wishes.

Mr. Beauregard saw her take that step to come for him and he froze. "No, pretty girl, don't!" He said it even though he knew she wouldn't hear it. He never saw her stop coming for him though. Something burning fell and trapped him, kept the window from his sight. And not possessed of the young strength he once had, he couldn't lift if off him. He smelled his own clothes and hair and flesh bubbling and burning, but all he thought was a fine prayer of, "Don't let her come after me, God. Don't let her come after me, God. Don't let her come after me, God..."

It wasn't God that stopped her, though.

"Don't, Caitlyn," Mama insisted. "Ya agreed. Ya agreed this was right. Ya agreed he deserved this."

"Ah changed my mind, Mama," Caitlyn said. "We gotta save him. He's burning! He's burning! It's too much!"

"No," Lily told her. Fierce and venom-filled. "It will never be enough!"

"Ah won't watch it, Ah won't." Caitlyn was tearing at her hair, beating at her head, trying to stop her mother with all her might. "No more, Mama! Ah won't let ya do it no more! He hurt ya not me! Ya! It's over! Ah hate ya! Ah hate ya! How could ya make meh do this! Ah hate ya!"

Every time she screeched "Ah hate ya" Mama was crammed back further and further. It hurt Mama to hear it, and she receded back with each shove with each scream, crumpling and staggering and fleeing and shrinking and... and... She couldn't leave. She was trapped there. Nowhere to go to escape the words stabbed at her by the daughter she only sought to protect for she was inside her, forever inside her. But she couldn't just take it, she couldn't. She wrapped herself tight, self-protection at last. Doing it to herself, right? Or maybe, just helping Caitlyn do it to herself.

Hate meh, do ya? Better off on ya own, ya think? Then fine. Have it yoah way, little girl. Go on an' swallow meh down like Ah was nothing ta ya. Go on, go on, go on...

She was running through the field behind the burning church. She didn't see Byron collapse to his knees from the weight of Mr. Beauregard on his shoulders. She didn't see the melted flesh that rose with each of Mr. Beauregard's faint, hitched breaths. She didn't see Byron nod, comprehending in some bizarre and simple way of his, when he saw Caitlyn's tiny shape bobbing through that overgrown grass and nearing that stopping old train. She didn't know he was happy to see her get away even if he was sad to see her leave. She never knew he prayed every night for her happiness and prosperity.

"Go on, Caitie, our little rogue," Byron had whispered when he hauled his brother, Mr. Beauregard into his car. "Go on and escape."

Catie had been eight years old, that's all, when she set the fire in the church and then ran out of that section of Caldecott everyone called Luciole Animée [Firefly Lively]. But, in a way, she might as well have been a newborn. She cut off those first eight years, a phenomenon that was the birth of the Core and the birth of Rogue, swallowed them away, crammed them into the forgotten, and snapped shut inside the mouth of the spider web purse.

"Seether is neither big nor small. Seether is the center of it all. I tried to rock her in my cradle. I tried to knock her out. I tried to cram her back in my mouth." (Seether –by Veruca Salt)

~~~~~~~~~~~

It caught quickly, like gasoline soaked tinder. A spark and it burned. Oh, it burned! The burning weakened it, made joints and supports buckle and snap. Embers danced around like lively fireflies.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lumina, open like a sieve. Lumina, see me in the dark. Eve had to ask. Eve had to ask, what is wrong with this? Here is the place. Now is the time. Let's invent the kiss." (Lumina –by Joan Osborne)

Dominic, the greasy, boasting nephew of Caldecott's once beloved preacher Mr. Beauregard, rubbed the lotion into his hands. He felt powerful in that moment. All conversation had ceased. All attention was on him, as if waiting on him. He knew more than the rest of them combined. He was feeling powerful indeed. Still, it wouldn't be enough...

A chuckle bubbled up out of him. His greasy blubber shook with his mirth at the situation. "Marshall's gonna be pissed." He shook harder. It was creepy.

Blam! Blam! Blam!

Storm's walls of updraft wind, dirt, and dust, collapsed. Gyrich's guards had guns and they had used them.

The pain seized Storm like a vice grip on her arm. Fuchsia pink zipped past her view to strike and explode against the gun that likely shot her. Her own retaliation crackled and sizzled in vein after vein of crisp and violent lightning that leapt from beam brace to beam brace, gun to gun, and pitchfork to shovel to every other conductor in the dry, dry barn.

One spark was all it took and all that hay caught fire. It quickly spread to the walls and the high beams and the loft and the other bails of hay and the loose hay on the dirt floor. Smoke billowed and rose and swirled through all the thrown punches, kicks, and power blasts.

Someone grabbed Storm, Bishop, she thought, and a few steps later, Remy had a hold of her other side. They both carried her out. The others ran out as well. The front wall, licked by the angry flames, angry that its victims had escaped it, snapped loose and chased them at their heals.

Wooooosh!

A great rush of dirt and debris billowed over them all. Yet, still, the wood burned. And now a tree, and another, and another, and another...

Storm was not happy by what was happening one bit, unhappy in a way that was unnatural to her. The clouds rolled in, dark and ominous. Thunder rolled and echoed and threatened. Lightning crackled overhead, splitting the sky wide open, it seemed. The wind, oh, the wind howled her curses for her, for all of them, for the prospect of a little girl who had ran from home at so young an age so full of rage and confusion, never to return. The rain may have been directed at the burning barn and trees, but her fury, her fury was directed at Dominic and Gyrich and whoever else may have been responsible for that entire mess they all had been dragged into.

"Hey, Stormy," Gambit said. "I t'ink y' can tone it down a bit."

Storm's own parents had died on her, leaving her orphaned on the streets of Cairo. They couldn't help themselves; it was out of their control. But, what type of family would chase away their own child? Chase her off and never track her down? Never care where she ended up, if she even lived or died? Prefer to just assume her dead so they could weep and wail and soak up the sympathy for the loss of her? Sweep her memory away, except where political savvy could choke it for power threshold?

Storm rose, hovering so slightly out of their reach. Her eyes were solid white, no irises. She turned those glowing orbs on Gambit and answered him, "No, Gambit, I think not! They must pay. They must all pay!"

"Keep her down, boiling water. Keep her down, what a lovely daughter. Oh, she is not born like other girls, but I know how to conceive her. Oh, she may not work like other girls, but she's a snarl toothed Seether - Seether!" (Seether –by Veruca Salt)

~~~~~~~~~~~

It caught quickly, like gasoline soaked tinder. A spark and it burned. Oh, it burned! The burning weakened it, made joints and supports buckle and snap. Embers danced around like lively fireflies.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lumina, come and wrap around me. Lumina, come and wrap around me. Lumina, come and wrap around me..." (Lumina –by Joan Osborne)

Rain pounded down a release of frustration, a release of confusion... because they still didn't have the entire story. They still weren't any closer to solving the riddle that was Rogue, that was her most recent disappearance, nor the conundrum that was the diaries.

"This is... odd," Bishop said.

"No kiddin', pup," Gambit said. "Gettin' the feelin' Storm's not in her right mind."

Bobby slid in on an ice slide. "What happened?"

"Y' don't feel it? It's like when Imposter—Dieu!" Gambit gasped as he clutched at his chest. The slow seeping ache suddenly tripled there.

"Goddess!" Storm dropped out of the sky. Good thing she was only about ten feet up.

Bobby gasped and choked for air and de-iced so quickly it looked like it was sucked out of him, inside out.

Bishop grunted and nearly dropped his gun.

Dominic, thinking to take advantage of their distraction, scrambled to his feet. He had no qualms about leaving Gyrich or the thugs behind to save his own hide. Neal's boot on his shoulder stopped him, though.

"Don't think so," Neal said. Both hands were free and poised to let off a shot of his power if needed. He obviously wasn't affected.

Sage just watched in curiosity. She had never suffered Rogue's power, so like Neal she wasn't affected like Storm, Bobby, Gambit, and Bishop. With the aid of her glasses, her uncanny abilities analyzed, analyzed, analyzed what was happening to them.

Byron limped up with wily Aaron and ornery Joe. Byron went straight for Bobby, whom he had a semblance of friendship with, and reached out to steady—

"I wouldn't advise that," Sage said in her near monotonous tone. "I don't know for sure if direct contact would make it leap to you as well."

"What in the hell is happenin' ta 'em?" That was ornery Joe. Cranky and put out as he sounded, he was curious, and maybe even worried for the foursome that were slack on the ground, breathing rapidly, and paling more and more by the minute.

"I believe, if my understanding is correct, your long gone Caitlyn is happening to them."

"Caitie?" Wily Aaron, as much as he and Joe and Byron possessed many of the missing pieces of the puzzle, didn't know it all.

"The woman we've been searching for is like us, a mutant." Sage said, even toned. "She drains energy, thoughts, powers from others."

"You really think Rogue's doing this?" Neal. "How?"

"There is a lot still unaccounted for, yes, Neal, but I believe this is her doing, whether on purpose or not."

"Well, what the hell do we do now? We can't touch 'em, so it ain't like we can do much ta help them."

"I will call for assistance," Sage said as she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the mansion. It rang too many times before a strained voice finally answered.

"What?" Paige Guthrie all but yelled into the phone.

"It's Sage and we—it's happening there too, isn't it?"

"If you mean that half the remaining senior staff and some of the rest collapsed with no known cause or reason, then yes."

"Take a message, Paige, and come help!" That was Monet hollering uncharacteristically stressed from some distance on Paige's end of the call.

"Hang on," Paige called back, then on the phone, she said, "Do you know what's going on, Sage? Can you help us?"

"Rogue. You must find Rogue."

"Isn't she with you?"

"She was. She went missing."

"This is crazy, Sage. I know what Rogue's powers are. She can't do this. And even if it is her, there isn't a telepath here unaffected that can work Cerebro to find her. Most of the main team took the Blackbird on a mission to rescue Magneto. Maybe Monet can, but she's never done it before."

"Wait," Sage said, pieces fitting into place. "They found where Sinister is keeping Magneto?"

"Sinister?" That was Neal. He, along with Joe and Aaron's help, was tying up Gyrich, Dominic, and the thugs with some rope Joe kept in his trunk. "The faked diary, those strangers in the black coat... You think?"

Sage nodded and motioned him to quiet while she listened to Paige's rushed explanation.

"I don't know all the details, Sage," Paige was saying. "I wasn't briefed. But, yeah, Scott, Jean, Emma, Logan, and a few others left a couple hours ago."

"Could you patch me through to them?"

"Yeah, but I don't know what good it'd do. They're likely in the middle of the fight right now and with the way things are looking, most of them are dropping like flies too."

"That may be, Paige, but I think it would be a good idea that I speak with them."

A sigh, then, "Gimme a sec. You'll hear a couple of clicks and it'll ring. I hope they answer, Sage, I really do. We're at a loss for what to do here. Every time we try to touch one of them to help them, it spreads."

"Then don't touch them."

"We know that now. Good luck, Sage."

There were some clicks, just like she said, and then it rang.

It rang way too many times.

"Can't fight the Seether. Can't fight the Seether. Can't fight the Seether. I can't see her till I'm foaming at the mouth." (Seether –by Veruca Salt)

~~~~~~~~~~~

It sizzled and hissed. Cold water has that effect when it contacts such intense heat. A fine mist thickened the air like the cloying, corroding humidity of an August heat stroke. And still, embers danced around like lively fireflies.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"By all means, answer Scott's phone, Emma," Sinister said with a satisfied smile.

Rogue and Magneto were on side by side slabs. Both were unconscious, twitching here and there, with a glow of energy surrounding them. On first look, the energy seemed to be from a transfer stemming from Rogue's gloveless hold on Magneto's hand. But, that usually was an invisible transfer, and this wasn't invisible.

Just inside the door to the former nursery, Scott, Jean, and Kurt were sprawled. Each of them were clutching their chests, breathing rapidly, and paling by the second. Logan was still standing, but it was a struggle to do so. It seemed that his healing factor was fighting the very thing that had dropped Scott, Jean, and Kurt, but it was a losing battle. Jono was completely unaffected and utterly clueless as to what was happening to the others. Emma doubled over when the others were first hit, but then she'd suddenly seemed less affected, and stood straight and tall to face Sinister.

"It could be important, Emma," Sinister taunted. "Why don't you answer it?"

"Because I already know."

"You do, do you?"

"It's the damn catches," Logan snapped. "It's not just us, is it?"

Sinister was enjoying dragging this out. "Just the catches?"

"Union," Emma answered.

Sinister laughed. "Oh, the arrogance of ignorance."

The speakers perked up, then. "ZzttzzMother, Mother, Mother, Mother, Mother..."

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Seether is neither big nor small. Seether is the center of it all. I tried to rock her in my cradle. I tried to knock her out. I tried to cram her back in my mouth." (Seether –by Veruca Salt)

It was a long and terrible birth. Lily's aunt was in the room with Lily as her coach. She'd never before heard curses stream from Lily as right then. Never heard her curse at all before. The curses were dispersed around ramblings and instructions and explanations spat out desperately to Caitlyn. Lily's aunt assumed that was the baby's intended name. Though they hadn't ever determined the sex of the baby.

"Caitlyn's… her… name—aaaarrrggg!" Lily bellowed.

When the contraction ended, Lily continued her ranting.

"Caitlyn's gonna be a spitfire. She ain't gonna put up with crap from nobody. She's gonna be sassyyyyyyyyy!" She hollered through the whole of that one. She didn't even take a breath before she spoke again, beaming, "An' stubborn an' strong."

Then she did take a breath, a deep painful breath.

"An' sweet an' carin' an'—"

Lilly heard the baby's heart monitor go flat.

The doctor exploded into action. He shouted something about emergency C-section and sedation.

No! Yoah gonna do what ya have ta. Whatever it takes!

Flatline.

The nurse tried to inject something into Lily's IV but Lily smacked her away viciously.

Caitlyn yoah a scrapper.

Flatline.

The doctor, ready to make the incision, insisted Lily be under anesthesia so again the nurse attempt the injection. This time, Lily almost fell off the side of the bed when she heaved the nurse away.

"No!" Lily yelped. Lily needed to be awake. It wouldn't work if she wasn't awake.

Yoah a fighter, Caitlyn.

Flatline.

The doctor gave up on the sedation and went for it. Lily's piercing shriek put voice to his long cut across her belly.

Yoah gonna do what ya have ta.

Flatline.

The doctor's hands reached deep into her womb, but Lily dug deeper into desperate, determined resolve.

Whatever it takes!

Blip-------------ip.

The baby's heart monitor beeped, then beeped again. Weak and slow as it was, the sound of Lily collapsing back against the bed in exhaustion drowned it out for a moment. The umbilical had been wrapped around Caitlyn's neck, strangling her. But, now that the doctor had loosened it, the beeping of the monitor got louder and steadier.

Lily's aunt looked to Lily just as Lily's monitor showed one last desperate blip. With one final gasping breath, Lily pushed all of herself, her hopes, her ideals, her strength, her endurance, and her powers, all of it into Caitlyn. She felt it slide through the umbilical into her baby. She tried to hold only one thing back. She held back her memories. It was the one thing she wouldn't give her baby. She wouldn't give Caitlyn the pain her own father had caused her, the pain that stayed with her until her last breath.

Caitlyn's monitor went silent.

Caitlyn was free from Lily so the monitor connected to Lily didn't register a dependent fetus anymore. Caitlyn was living on her own now. Lily's work was done.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Lily's monitor.

Lily's turn to flatline.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—

The nurse turned off Lily's monitor. It's missing keening was replaced by the stressed wail of Caitlyn's first cry.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sizzling, hissing, cloying, corroding. Cold water has that effect when it contacts such intense heat. A fine mist thickened the air like the cloying, corroding humidity of an August heat stroke. And still, embers danced around like lively fireflies.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Oh, Caitlyn cried all the time. She had fevers a lot. She was premature, she was weak, she had no mother's breast to suckle on, no mother's arms to hold her close, to share her heart beat like a lullaby, to share her voice—

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Lily's aunt couldn't handle her. Despite her promise to Lily, she had to give Caitlyn over to Lily's father. Mr. Beauregard was a well-known preacher. He had money and lots of people offering help to him. Two nurses from his congregation volunteered time with Caitlyn twice a week each. Care packages showed up daily. Inside the church and the Beauregard home, it seemed the whole of Luciole Animée [Firefly Lively] if not all of Caldecott was rallying for Caitlyn Leigh Gyrich while outside the stoops they whispered hushed rumors about the whereabouts of the absentee father and other such things of a scandalous nature.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

That constant crying could be quite a headache and a nuisance though. Baby Caitlyn had quite the pair of lungs on her, she did. And nobody could quite understand the reason for all that wailing all the time. Colicky is one thing, but what was going on with Caitlyn... that was just odd, to say the least.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

"Shhhhh, sugah," Mama whispered. If she had a head, she was sure it'd be fit to crack already. If she had hands, she was sure she'd have tore off her ears. If she had ears...

She didn't understand what was happening. She died. She gave birth to Caitlyn and that was supposed to be it. She felt it. She felt herself slipping away at the end. She felt herself sliding into Caitlyn...

As many times as she reasoned it out, she fought against believing it. The more she fought it, the longer those constant cries continued. She couldn't think with all that crying. She couldn't think. She couldn't—

"Jesus Christ on the cross, Caitlyn, just shut up already!"

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

"Ah'm sorry, Caitlyn," Mama whispered. "Ah'm sorry. Ah am. Ah just... Ah'm scared, sugah. Ah'm scared. Ah don't understand. Ah can't, Ah can't... Ah can't be here." But she was. "But Ah am. Ah am."

She just had to face up to it. She was a fully aware person, well a persona at least, trapped inside a newborn's mindscape. Everything was shiny and new, but it was also so abstract. Things flashed by her. Things she didn't understand. Shapes, sounds, textures, tastes, they all brushed by her second hand, filtered through a shiny new baby's conception, which wasn't much, which wasn't solidified, which wasn't standardized of cohesive thought just yet. It was sensory overload. It was trappings. It was insanity, insanity, insanity. She couldn't focus. She needed to focus. She needed Caitlyn to communicate like a reasonable person.

But she couldn't. She was a baby without speech yet, without recognition, without anything resembling mature communication.

"Oh, Caitlyn," Mama sobbed. She felt so defeated. "Yoah Mama done messed up good."

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Exactly.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Can't fight the Seether. Can't fight the Seether. Can't fight the Seether. I can't see her till I'm foaming at the mouth." (Seether –by Veruca Salt)

"ZzttzzMother, Mother, Mother, Mother, Mother..."

"Ya don't understand what it was like," Impostor Eleven's voice said barely above a whisper over the speakers Sinister had set up. Surprisingly, everyone quieted and listened to her. "A baby's mind... It's such an incomprehensible thing. As alien as the world and the people outside it is ta it isn't even a drop in the bucket to how alien we are ta it. Time and experience and learnin' gives it order, gives it shape, gives it sanity. But the process of reaching that point...

"Ah wasn't prepared foah it. She wasn't prepared foah meh ta be an intruder in it. Who would be? Who could be?"

"Oh woe is me." That was Emma. Not her ghost, but the real deal. "After all this mess you've caused, you're not getting any sympathy from us."

"Ah suppose not," Impostor Eleven's voice said. "Ah suppose not."

"Wait a second here," Logan said. His voice was more gruff than usual from the wear and tear of fighting the effects of the catch. "Yer doin' this? Draining us? The stuff with Gambit, and me and Rogue, and now putting her in this monster's hands? This is all yer doing?"

"Yesssss," Impostor Eleven hissed through the speakers. "And Ah'm just getting started. Ya'll interrupted Mr. Essex's work in here."

"If you would but sit back and let us finish," Sinister said. He knew the answer, but said it anyway. "Well, I'm sure that the effects on all of you would lessen."

"Half in, half out," Impostor Eleven supplied. "It's not a pretty feeling."

"Ya know we can't just sit back and watch." Logan, of course. He punctuated it with the familiar SKINT of his claws' release.

Sinister smiled, condescending. "I didn't think so." A press of a button, a spark, some smoke from the control room to distract them, and when they turned back to where he'd just stood, they found he was gone. He always could come and go from any and every place as he pleased. Wasn't remote teleportation divine?

"Bastard!"

The controlled release was gone with Sinister.

Personas shoved out, pummeling and tearing and shredding through webbed strands of the Core. Nine, Twleve, Fourteen, Twenty, Eighteen, Ten, Sixteen, Nineteen, Twelve, Seventeen... There wasn't one per age. There was one for every traumatic moment, just about, whether life threatening, sanity threatening, or not. Ever wanted to know why Rogue didn't give up much information about her past, any of it, even moments following her joining with the X-Men? This was why. She swallowed it all away. She shoved it all inside that spider web purse and forgot. She did it so often she didn't even know she was doing it. Like breathing, like blinking, after a while it was just something her body did. Habit was like that. If you don't acknowledge the existence of the habit, you couldn't possibly acknowledge a need to end it.

Rogue's mind was turned into a maelstrom again. Personas and ghosts whipped every which way. Domains twisted and stretched, flipped over and back. Webbed strands snapped in places, while others multiplied, strengthened, thickened doubled and tripled in size. And in the heart of it, Impostor Eleven clung onto her sense of self. But she was slipping, losing her grip, remembering what it was like when she first entered, what it was like every single time Rogue touched someone and added that someone inside the mindscape.

"Enough!"

Vengeance was hers. Survival was hers. A long time coming, it was, and she drew on all that yearning, all that fear, all that waiting, all that desire, all of it. Just all of it. And she took hold of all those catches, and the Closet itself, imbued herself into it, made it hers to control, hers to feed from, simply hers.

Jono's knees buckled. The catch drove into him, a barbed clawed fist that bore into his chest and drank him down.

Logan passed out. His body hit the floor like a ton of bricks as though Rogue herself had just reached out and touched him.

Emma stumbled back, tried to diamond up, but couldn't. A pause, waiting for the drain on her to increase sharply, but it didn't.

Impostor Eleven brushed it off, Emma was just one person, and reached past her. Not time to worry about that Ivory Queen Bitch right then. She wanted free. Free! And to do that, she needed more people, more energy, more control, more power. More!

The people populating the blocks around the old abandoned hospital never knew what hit them.

"Lumina, come and wrap around me. Lumina, come and wrap around me. Lumina, come and wrap around me..." (Lumina –by Joan Osborne)

~~~~~~~~~~~

A fine mist thickened, congealed more dense than the humidity of an August heat stroke. The shimmering cloud solidified into the figure, the shape, the person she remembered being, into Lily. In her wake, sizzling, hissing, cloying, corroding, and deep inside the shredded open Core something burned, molten hot. Like the embers, Lily danced around IT like a lively firefly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued in Chapter 18 – Union

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~