NYC
Cheryl shifted uncomfortably in her restraints. The warehouse was dark, smoky, and stank of cheap whiskey and cheaper cigars. The workers were rowdy, boisterous men with little class and no manners. 'You'll be alraght,' she thought to herself. 'You just have to hold out until Remy shows up.'
Cher didn't doubt once that her fiancée would be arriving any second to save her. Is all she had to do was wait...
"Oh, don't look so sad, sweetheart. Trust me, you wouldn't want to spend the rest of your life with him if you knew what he really was." The sound of footsteps from behind Eric prompted him to spin around. Logan stepped from the veil of darkness and metal pipes, walking casually to where Cher and her captor were.
Her heart leapt momentarily in relief- someone had come, and so soon. But it sank just as quickly upon realizing that Logan had, in fact, not been sent by her love, was not making an attempt to set her free, and was not going to save her. That could only mean one thing: Logan was a traitor. And if Cher knew one thing about Remy, he did not tolerate traitors.
"Logan! How nice of you to finally make it." Eric said wryly, wiping grease from his hands with a dirty, gray rag.
"Would have been here sooner, but I got caught up."
Intrigue rose Eric's eyebrows. "With what, may I ask?"
Logan paced a small plot of cement, a satisfied grin on his face. "I ran into Remy; he's here. He's not alone, though. Detective Summers has decided to provide him company. He has a sister, too" he clenched a cigar between his teeth, "and at present, I have her tied and gagged up in room 214. Creed's watching her."
Cher's glimmering green eyes widened above the gag Eric re-crammed in her mouth for fear she'd give away the location to Remy. A pleased smile curled at Eric's lips at the news. "Really? Splendid, positively splendid."
"You want me to bring her in?"
Eric's head whipped to face his associate. "No, I have a much better idea. Keep the woman there with you, in room 214. If they show up here first, I'll shoot out once, and you kill his sister. If they stumble upon you and her first, shoot and I'll," he threw a glance at Cher, "unfortunately have to kill this beautiful little vixen." He cupped her face with the rough palm of his hand, Cher flinching and at the same time promising to take at least ten showers once she was out of this mess. "Let them come to us."
"Can't save one without killing the other. Hmm, it's sick, perverted, ironic. Brilliant." Logan stabbed Cher with a malicious glare one final time before turning on his heel and vanishing into the shadows again.
**
Jean returned to consciousness like a diver returns to the surface after plunging into watery depths. It was slow, steady, almost pleasing, until she realized why she had blacked out and how she had awoken. She was in a most uncomfortable position: tied against a metal pole that protruded from the ground, her hands secured behind her back with what felt like handcuffs, tight ones at that. She was sick to her stomach, probably a side effect of the chloroform pressed crudely against her face not one hour ago by...
"Logan," she rasped as her eyes eventually sharpened the blurry image of a man standing before her with a gun.
"Naw, you got the wrong guy, lady." Her eyes soon came into perfect focus and she discovered he was right; it was not Logan. This one was taller, much taller, with unruly blonde hair and hands the size of her very head.
She swallowed; her throat was extremely dry, also probably a side effect from the chloroform. "Water," she breathed.
He snorted, "What do you say, missy?"
She pressed her head against the pole. "Please."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin." He shuffled over to a dark corner Jean couldn't make out and returned with a plastic cup, filled to the brim with the sweet, cool liquid her parched mouth yearned for. He held it to her lips brusquely, as if he was annoyed at such a chore. She swallowed gratefully, the refreshing water bringing back the usual crimson color to her peach lips. When she tried to signal she was done, by inclining her head ever so slightly, Creed did not heed the indication. Instead, he followed every move her head made with the cup, forcing her to swallow it in big gulps as he tipped the cup further and further up. Finally, she could take no more and wrenched her head aside, causing the water to splash across her neck and the collar of her shirt.
"Bastard," she muttered between gulps of air.
He laughed heartily, tossing the cup to the far side of the room. "I thought you might like that, Red." He paused as a nearly inhumane glaze spread across his eyes. "I like 'em wet."
"Go to hell," she snapped, returning his repulsive stare with her own flaming blue one. Her mouth would never, but her eyes said 'fuck off.'
"Careful, Creed. That one packs bite." Came from the doorway.
"That's fine," he replied, his eyes never leaving Jean.
Logan sauntered into the room, glancing idly at Jean's soaked features. "Get outta here, Creed. I think I can handle one frail."
The taller man turned to Logan once he was beside him. "Yea, I bet," he mumbled before leaving the way Logan had come.
The Canadian smuggler, hit man, and traitor didn't say anything for a long time, wanting to make Jean sweat a little. She did, too. In fact, she had never been so scared in her entire, short life. She wanted nothing more than to scream obscenities in his face, but the revolver in his holster told her not to speak until spoken to.
"It's too bad you're here. I wasn't planning on killing any innocents tonight besides the belle, but now, God- you, Scott... anyone else I don't know about?"
She stiffened. "You don't have to kill anybody, Logan."
He scoffed. "Yeah, okay. Grow up, doll-face." He reached for the crisp handkerchief stuffed in his coat pocket, holding it up in offering to wipe her face and neck. She jerked her head and rolled her eyes in disbelief.
"Thanks, but no thanks."
"Oh that's right, little snobs like yourself don't let us peasants touch you. No, you're much too prim and proper for that." He said contemptuously.
"No, I don't let RATS such as yourself touch me. The filth of a traitor is one that can never be wiped clean, not even by them."
He raised his hand high and she screwed her eyes shut, waiting for the back of his hand to crack against her cheek. When it didn't come, she peeked her eyes open, chest heaving in fear. He had lowered his hand.
"That's a warning, princess. Trust me, you only get one."
Jean bit her lip; she didn't doubt the truth to his words. The room went silent, making the sound of men, machines, and merchandise in the other room clearly audible. He refolded his handkerchief and slid it back into the chest pocket, patting it secure.
Finally, he was the one to break the silence. "I wasn't always with Eric, Red. In fact, I just started about a couple of months ago, when he started killing off all those women."
Jean's face went ivory white. "He was the one killing all those women? Oh my God." She paused for a long moment. "Logan," she started weakly, "Please tell me you didn't have anything to do with that. You didn't kill any of those women, did you?"
He sighed. "Nah, that don't do nothin' for me- killing for the thrill. I kill for a reason. Most of the time money."
"Why are you going to kill us?" She cried.
He neared her. "Do you know what's being shipped in here, right below your feet? Merchandise worth more than your brother or me have ever shipped in our entire lifetimes. Eric has major connections, were talking politician negotiations. I'm not going to let you, or your brother, or Cher, or even that Private Dick screw this up for me. After I get my cut tonight and milk it for all it's worth, I'm never going to have to lift a finger again. I'll be a million miles away in some exotic country with more money than God." He shook his head in amazement. "Tons of merchandise- guns, coke, diamonds the size of fucking golf balls."
She cocked her head to the side smugly. "Is that where the diamond you offered me came from- one of these trucks?"
The contact his seemingly iron fist made with her face stung like a bitch, and what's worse, it caught her totally off guard. Her adrenaline pumped hot blood through her veins; she was too scared to whimper.
He clenched his teeth so tightly she thought they might shatter. "Don't. You. Ever. Bring. That. Up. Again. Do you understand?"
Jean should have kept quiet; she even knew that. But like her lover, she loved to tempt fate. "Were you with Eric when you asked me? Huh, Logan, were you a traitor when you got down on one knee?" Immediately she braced herself for another blow, but he just stood their, silent, still, statuesque.
He took a deep intake of air and exhaled through his nostrils. "No, I was not. Your brother and I were still genuine partners. It was before the bust on Sax and 5th."
"We trusted you." She said, not knowing why. Perhaps it was because it disconcerted her to think that a traitor managed to dwell amongst their midst. Remy was always tactically careful as to who seeped through their defenses, and yet here Logan had been, absorbing information the entire time. Or maybe she was uncomfortable with the fact that Logan had once truly been a 'good guy.' Can somebody really make such a drastic change from simple, wealthy smuggler to a money-driven monster with blood-saturated hands? Call her naïve, but Jean didn't think so.
He stopped his aimless wandering of the room. Trust, huh...
"Are you the one that's going to kill us?"
He turned to her with knowing, black eyes. "Shut-up."
"Tell me, Logan." She purred mockingly. "I think I have a right to know. Are you going to be the one that lives the rest of his life with the image of Cher's last terrified gasp of air, of Scott's innocent blood splattered across the wall?"
"I'm warning you, little girl."
"How are you going to end Remy's life? Are you going to have to resort to doing it with your bare hands?" She persisted, struggling against her bonds to let off energy.
He began to pace nervously, perhaps subconsciously knowing what was coming next.
She annunciated each word, whispering softly with a trembling chin and tears welling in her eyes. "Are you going to be the one that puts a bullet in my head?"
Inevitably, he slapped her again, harder, this time her lip opening at the contact. She wheezed as her wind caught back with her. "I said, shut the hell up," he cocked his gun and aimed it at her forehead. "Or I'll answer your damned questions sooner than you think."
**
"Where the hell are they?" Scott shifted his weight from one foot to another to let off nervous energy. He and Remy had made it to the halfway meeting point on time, empty-handed, but Logan and Jean were five minutes late, already. Scott was getting a bit worried.
"Don't worry, homme. Dey'll be here. For all we know dey're checking out a lead. Hopefully dey are, 'cause Remy's not too fond of de idea of staying here all night." Remy ran a hand through his auburn hair, giving him a drunkard appearance, and leaned against the near wall.
At that second, a soft, almost gentle German accent permeated the air, both men turning their heads toward the sound.
"Shh, you here dat, Summers?" Remy whipped his hand out for silence. Scott nodded, following Remy to where the sound came from. It led them to the balcony looking down on the third and final floor. There stood Eric Lehnsherr over Cher, tied to a chair. He was mumbling something to the southern belle that sounded like it was supposed to be sultry. Whatever it was, it appeared to be making Scott's secretary nauseous... and Remy very, very temper-mental.
"C'mon," the Cajun said, making his way lithely down the last flight of stairs, Scott slowly in tow.
"What about Jean, remember, your sister?"
Remy stopped dead and turned to face Scott, his dark, bone-chilling eyes slashing into the detective's own honey brown ones. "Are you implying somet'ing, Scott?"
"No, but Jean and Logan are nowhere to be found. I think it's best we solve that problem first before we go running into a new one."
Remy turned back and continued his agile pursuit down the metal stairs. "I don't. We see dis problem right before our eyes, and I'm going to deal wit' it now. I trust Logan to have kept him self and Jeannie out of trouble, dey're just late." He paused. "Besides, Remy has a plan."
Scott didn't like the prospect of moving forward without knowing the condition of Jean; his gut told him something was wrong. But then again, Remy and Logan were the type of guys that dealt with instincts. Scott went on pure, solid evidence. Maybe, then, Scott was not ecstatic about the idea of those particular two being alone, together. Her and anyone else: Scott, Remy- that would have been fine. But it had to be that damned animal, Logan. Needless to say, it put Detective Summers on edge.
**
Eric, as usual, was talking...and talking...and talking. Cher knew this for a fact, but she had really stopped listening approximately ten minutes ago. It all blended together after a while. 'Such a beautiful thing you are' this, 'join me, gorgeous' that. It was positively redundant, and Cher idly wondered where the hell Remy was. The only thing that kept her sanity was inspecting the merchandise his thugs carried off trucks in the other, visible-from-where-she-was room. Humongous diamonds, fine silks and satins, big, shiny guns Cher didn't know the name of but had an undeniable feeling were ridiculously expensive.
In mid-sentence, Eric was interrupted by a short, foreign worker. The little man approached his boss, wringing his hands timidly.
"What?" Eric snapped.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you, sir, but one of your trucks- it's tipped over."
"What?!" He exclaimed.
"It seems that the ramp in room 19 was blown from the outside, causing the entire truck to come falling down onto the pavement. Come see."
"No," Eric began, "You stay here with her. It seems her knights in shining armor have finally come to her rescue. I knew they'd find us before we found them." With that, he swiftly made his way to room 19 to inspect the damage.
Cher sat watching the little man. He was small, jumpy, and extremely scared of Eric, or really, upsetting Eric. Her observations were abruptly cut short when the little foreigner's body went suddenly limp, his entire self collapsing to the cement floor, revealing a sweaty, tired, but grinning Remy.
"Memmy!" She said, her voice muffled through the gag.
He put his finger to his lips. "Shh, quiet Cher." He rushed behind her and nimbly unfastened the restraints on her hands and the one around her mouth, wasting no time in kissing her fully the minute it was possible.
"Oh! Oh, Gawd, I knew you'd come, Remy!" She whispered excitedly between kisses, Remy managing to work at the rope around her ankles and never break the embrace.
"Hold it right there," Remy heard behind him, along with the cocking of a gun.
**
Scott stopped for a quick breath after jumping in through the window he and Remy had originally entered in. Surprisingly enough, slipping out through the exact window, shooting out the side of the ramp Remy appointed him, and doing it all unnoticed, wasn't as hard as he thought it would be, just taxing. Silently, he made his way down the first flight of stairs, then the second until finally, he was leaning against a far wall directly outside of where he and the Cajun found Cher and Eric.
Immediately, Summers knew there was something wrong. Remy wasn't there, where he said he'd be with Cher, and the entire place was eerily quiet. That is, until he heard...
"Detective Summers, do come out and grace us with your presence," faint German accent and all.
Scott reflexively went to his holster and whipped out his gun, cocking it once and turning the bend of the wall to see a triumphant Lehnsherr standing before Cher, the way she had previously been bound, and Remy, hands cuffed to a large metal pipe. Eric was pointing a gun straight up to the ceiling, his other hand tucked casually in his pocket.
"Do you know why I'm holding my gun like this, detective?" He stopped as if actually waiting for an answer. When he didn't receive one, he continued. "Put the gun down, Summers, or all I have to do is shoot this gun and Jean White dies. She's upstairs, tied to a pole, gun to her head. Oh, and if you were curious as to who is holding the gun to her head, you'll do good to know it's your dear friend," he paused dramatically, but he didn't need to. Scott knew already whom he spoke of. Logan. "Logan." Eric mirrored Scott's assumption. "Now why don't you just slide the gun right over here?"
"You're a liar. Don't listen to him, Summers! He's de one dat killed all dose women! De Manhattan Massacre: it was all him!" Remy called from where he was chained. Three men immediately aimed their own guns at his head, probably the same goons that bestowed the busted lip, black eye, and swollen whelps on Remy's cheeks.
"Liar am I? Well, yes, but not this time, Mister White. Ask your beautiful fiancée here, whom I have come to know quite well myself. She saw the whole thing with her own big, pretty eyes." Eric gestured toward Cher.
Remy looked desperately at the woman he loved. She nodded reluctantly, confirming that Logan was indeed a traitor.
Scott's stomach dropped. What was he to do? Eric made it clear he was not afraid to fire his gun, thus killing the woman that dragged him into love kicking and screaming. Being detective cool and savvy, playing mind-games was all fine and dandy with your average sleeze. This man was not such; he was murderous, bloody, and most importantly very intelligent, cunning, crafty, experienced: never good qualities in an opponent, especially one that held your lover's life in their hands.
"What do you say, Mister Summers? Set the gun down and kick it right over. Come now, is your pride truly worth her life?"
Scott looked to Remy, hoping he might know what the hell to do. The Cajun returned his despairing stare, silently cursing himself for not trying to find Jean before running head first into what he thought was a bigger problem at the time. His fierce love for Cher blinded him into making sloppy, hasty decisions: decisions he used to beat men for making on his time. 'I'm so sorry, Jeannie.' He sent to his sister, hoping she could somehow hear it.
Knowing not what to do, Scott slowly placed the gun on the floor by his feet and gently kicked it to where Eric stood, gun still in hand and directed toward the ceiling. As soon as Scott's gun reached his feet, the mass murderer shot his gun into the air once, the bullets singing through the air in sick glee for freedom.
Scott went blind with rage and betrayal, screaming as he charged Eric. He only made it about four feet before three men Scott hadn't even noticed behind him wrenched him back, holding down his struggling body, silencing the detective just in time for all to hear the two shots ring out on the floor directly above them, Jean's piercing, gurgling screams following soon after. Then, a loud thud as her body collapsed to the floor.
Cher screamed against her gag, providing the only sound in the room aside from Eric's satisfied intake of sweet air. "Ah, That. Is a beautiful sound."
"You sick fuck!" Remy screamed, struggling uselessly against the handcuffs. All energy drained from Scott's body and he suddenly went limp in the thugs' arms. They all but dragged him to where Remy was chained and put in similar restraints as Logan merrily made his way down the stairs, wiping blood from his hands with his handkerchief. The silk, white fabric was quickly painted crimson from the action.
"I've said it before and I'll say it 'til I'm six feet under: Women are workers of Satan. Why, just look at what these two seemingly innocent broads have done to you two strong gentlemen. Brought you to your knees, that's what they've done."
Scott immediately sprung back into action. "You goddamned traitor! I'll kill you!" He thrashed against his cuffs violently. In the meantime, Eric sent his men home with the rest of the workmen. He wanted this to be a private deal in which he privately killed four people.
Remy just stood, stunned, appalled, still burning into Logan with his furious eyes. "Why, Logan? Was it wort' it? Are de diamonds so big dat you had to kill her?" His words came smoothly, evenly, but the drainage of color from his face belied any façade of control.
Logan approached Remy until his face was a mere inches from the Cajun's. Like Remy, he spoke easily, serenely but said only one word in answer to his questions. "Yes."
Remy, in one swift motion, maneuvered his elbow to slam against Logan's jaw, causing the murderer to stumble back a few steps. "Bastard."
As opposed to coming back at Remy, Logan simply walked away, silently nursing his bruised jaw.
Eric howled with laughter and tipped his head back joyously. "Ah! What a riot this has been! But I am afraid, Mister White, that the time has come to end your life." He pointed the barrel of his gun at Remy. "But first," he moved the weapon to Cher's temple instead, the sassy belle not giving Lehnsherr the pleasure of seeing her tremble.
"No! No!" Remy began lashing against his cuffs again and flailing his legs wildly. "Please, I'll do anyt'ing, but not her! Not her, too! I'll work for you! Remy can do anyt'ing you need; I can get into anywhere!" He kept his eyes on the gun in Eric's hand as he desperately babbled compromises and offers. "You want money, Eric! Remy can get as much as you want, as fast as you want!"
Eric raised his eyebrows at Remy. "You can get me anything, you say?"
Remy nodded, teeth clenched. Scott stood next to him, equally aghast at Eric's seemingly endless sadistic morals.
"I want my business partner, and very good friend back: a Mister Charles Xavier."
Remy believed that at that moment, he could do just about anything to keep Cher safe, including resurrect the dead, but Eric apparently didn't seem to think so for he re-aimed his gun at her head and readied himself to pull the trigger.
Until a gun cocked and the wind was knocked out of him from a steel hand clamping around his throat coupled with the feel of a gun resting against the side of his head.
"What's the matter, Logan? Can't decide which side of the fence you want to be on?" Eric mocked the man holding him from behind.
"Not anymore, I know which side, and judging that I have you in a position in which I could kill you in two different ways if I so choose, it shouldn't be too hard to see which side that is. I've done a lot of shit for you, but killing Jeannie was the brink- she was innocent." He tightened his grip around Lehnsherr's neck. "Now drop your gun, NOW, and give me the keys to the cuffs." Eric complied. Logan continued, "Jean, get those boys out of there."
Jean slinked out from behind the far wall's shadows followed by a collective sigh of relief from her three captive friends, and did as she was told. Once free, Remy immediately moved to where Cher was and untied all of her bonds. The instant she was able to move, Remy wrapped his arms around his fiancée and hoisted her off the ground, capturing her mouth with a fervent kiss. "T'ank God," he mumbled.
Logan, in the meantime, hissed to Eric, "And please don't be so naïve as to think Creed will save you. After all, who's blood do you think this is?" He nodded toward the red-blotted handkerchief in his pocket. Eric cringed.
After Remy made sure Cher and his sister were absolutely safe, he stalked toward where Eric remained captured in Logan's arms and threw a punch clear across his cheek, then another to the jaw. Remy dragged him to his feet only to punch him three times more, holding Eric up after every time to get another clean shot. Scott stood behind Lehnsherr, ready to lock his arms to make it easier for Remy if he needed, but it didn't appear to be necessary. "I should kill you." Remy snarled.
"But you won't," his sister said softly, laying a hand on his arm. "He isn't worth it, Remy. I've already called the police."
"Yeah, sugah," came his soon-to-be-wife's voice from the other side. She hooked her arm with his then slid her hand to grab his own. "Let them deal with this piece of trash. If you kill him, you'll get in all kinds of trouble. At least with the other one it was self-defense; this would not be the case." She looked up at him with enchanting green eyes. "And who am I supposed to marry if yoah in jail, swamprat?"
That earned a grin from Remy, and he turned to walk away with Cher in his arms. He didn't even see Eric whip a knife from his inside pocket and lunge toward him...but Logan sure as hell did. A shot rang out, coupled with a startled scream from both women as they spun around just in time to witness a bullet going through the center of Eric's forehead. He fell limply to the ground- his body collapsing like a rag-doll.
There was a stunned silence that scarred the air for a time, until Remy gave Logan a genuine thank you.
"Don't mention it," he returned, turning and walking out of the warehouse.
"Where are you going?" Scott called after him before following, the others doing the same.
"Away, kid. Probably to my place up in ole' Maple Leaf country."
Remy smirked. "We're never going to see you again, are we?"
Logan shook his head. "Nope, prob'ly not."
Remy removed his hand from around Cher's waist and offered it to the Canadian; he took it and they shook firmly. Cher threw her arms around his neck and captured him in a hug. "Thank yah so much."
Jean approached him a bit awkwardly, as if she were unsure he even wanted to talk to her after she pressed his buttons up in room 214. Still, she hugged him despite her uncertainty and was returned with an equally earnest one. "Why?" She questioned.
He sighed. "Lady, you flash your blues once and you could make a man offer his own lungs as a gift...but you already knew that." She blushed, and he turned to Remy and Cher. "And I'm willing to bet same goes for that one," he rose a hand to the woman wrapped in the Cajun's arms. He nodded assuredly and grinned.
The handshake that took place between Detective Summers and Logan was brief and to the point. "Take care of them, Summers...of her." Scott couldn't be sure, but he almost swore the handshake became tighter, almost painful, at that last part, but he brushed it off and promised he would.
And with that, Logan walked out of the warehouse, and out of their lives.
And almost as soon as he left through one door, the police barged in through the back.
"Alright! Nobody move!" Came a bellowing voice from the head of their brigade. The man was not incredibly tall, but extremely built with enormous hands and feet. He whipped out his badge, "Officer McCoy, NYPD." He noticed Scott and immediately brightened. The detective was renowned throughout the department for his good work and at times the two were even known to help each other out on certain cases. "Detective Summers, mind tellin' me what the hell is going on?"
Scott glanced around at his companions. Remy stood stoic, prepared to face the consequences of anything thrown his way. Scott had to admit, the man had guts. After being assured by Remy's body language that he could continue with the truth, Scott recounted every detail to McCoy (all except knowing the whereabouts of a certain running Canadian) as men scribbled every word furiously...
**One Year Later**
Scott sat hunched over his desk, mass of papers scattered every which way. Just when he thought his head would explode from looking at the bulk of papers all day, his door swung open and a young, twenty-something woman waltzed into the room. "Detective Summers."
"Yes Kitty." Scott replied, grateful for the chance to look up from his work. Kitty had just started almost a year ago and fell into the swing of things perfectly. And though Scott wasn't sure if Kitty was her real name, he addressed her as such anyway. Grown up way before her time, she usually wore heels too high for her and an up-do too old for her youthful, fresh face. She was a good kid, though, and Scott was glad he landed her.
"Your wife is here to see you." She said sweetly, her eagerness at being able to say 'your wife' to the newlywed not hidden in the least.
"Send her in," he said, smiling ruefully.
"I'll send myself in." A voice called from the doorway.
"I'll leave you two alone," Kitty rose to leave. As she passed Jean she giggled, "Don't you keep him long; he's got work to do Mrs. Summers."
Jean smiled brightly, "I'll try."
With the door closed, Jean sauntered over to Scott and he pulled her down into his lap. "Hey you. What brings you to my humble abode?"
She smiled and ran her fingers through his short, mahogany colored waves of hair, her diamond glittering as it flirted with the sunlight. "I just wanted to check up on my husband. Is that a crime Mister Summers?"
He kissed her once. "No, I don't believe, Mrs. Summers."
"Well, there is one, teensy, little reason I dropped by."
"Aha! I knew it! C'mon, spill it!" He urged.
Jean chuckled playfully. "Well, Remy and Cher are coming up from New Orleans for a visit. Isn't that great?!"
Scott lifted his eyebrows, "Really! Well, that is great! When?"
She smiled sheepishly, "Well, um...Now!"
As if on cue, Remy burst through the door, Cher in tow. "Hey Scottie! Miss us?"
Scott, utterly shocked but pleased, stood from his chair and returned Cher's hug and Remy's handshake. The two women squealed delightfully, ooing and aweing over each other's outfits, hairstyles, and most importantly, the bulge coming from Cher's tummy.
"Look! Look Scott! She's pregnant!" Jean exclaimed.
Scott looked to Remy. "You dog! An addition to the family!"
Remy shrugged, "Yeah. What can Remy say? I t'ink it be time for a li'l Remy junior." He held his hand about waist length to exaggerate his point.
Cher grabbed Jean's hands. "Now you two have tah have one so they can be best friends!" Jean nodded enthusiastically and looked to a blushing Scott.
"Well, we just got married two months ago, but definitely some day... soon."
The four continued to chat amicably for a few hours, recounting every thing that's happened during their time apart.
Detective Scott Summers leaned back in his chair to take a brief moment and think about the drastic changes in his life over the last, brief year. It all led back to that fateful day when a redhead strolled into his office asking he find her brother whom, little did he know, was fiancée to his secretary at the time. Hell broke loose after that, complete with hit men, traitors, and emotional roller coasters. Looking back, Scott realized again what he already knew: he wouldn't have changed it for the world. After all, it was just another year in NYC.
THE END
There ya' have it!
Cheryl shifted uncomfortably in her restraints. The warehouse was dark, smoky, and stank of cheap whiskey and cheaper cigars. The workers were rowdy, boisterous men with little class and no manners. 'You'll be alraght,' she thought to herself. 'You just have to hold out until Remy shows up.'
Cher didn't doubt once that her fiancée would be arriving any second to save her. Is all she had to do was wait...
"Oh, don't look so sad, sweetheart. Trust me, you wouldn't want to spend the rest of your life with him if you knew what he really was." The sound of footsteps from behind Eric prompted him to spin around. Logan stepped from the veil of darkness and metal pipes, walking casually to where Cher and her captor were.
Her heart leapt momentarily in relief- someone had come, and so soon. But it sank just as quickly upon realizing that Logan had, in fact, not been sent by her love, was not making an attempt to set her free, and was not going to save her. That could only mean one thing: Logan was a traitor. And if Cher knew one thing about Remy, he did not tolerate traitors.
"Logan! How nice of you to finally make it." Eric said wryly, wiping grease from his hands with a dirty, gray rag.
"Would have been here sooner, but I got caught up."
Intrigue rose Eric's eyebrows. "With what, may I ask?"
Logan paced a small plot of cement, a satisfied grin on his face. "I ran into Remy; he's here. He's not alone, though. Detective Summers has decided to provide him company. He has a sister, too" he clenched a cigar between his teeth, "and at present, I have her tied and gagged up in room 214. Creed's watching her."
Cher's glimmering green eyes widened above the gag Eric re-crammed in her mouth for fear she'd give away the location to Remy. A pleased smile curled at Eric's lips at the news. "Really? Splendid, positively splendid."
"You want me to bring her in?"
Eric's head whipped to face his associate. "No, I have a much better idea. Keep the woman there with you, in room 214. If they show up here first, I'll shoot out once, and you kill his sister. If they stumble upon you and her first, shoot and I'll," he threw a glance at Cher, "unfortunately have to kill this beautiful little vixen." He cupped her face with the rough palm of his hand, Cher flinching and at the same time promising to take at least ten showers once she was out of this mess. "Let them come to us."
"Can't save one without killing the other. Hmm, it's sick, perverted, ironic. Brilliant." Logan stabbed Cher with a malicious glare one final time before turning on his heel and vanishing into the shadows again.
**
Jean returned to consciousness like a diver returns to the surface after plunging into watery depths. It was slow, steady, almost pleasing, until she realized why she had blacked out and how she had awoken. She was in a most uncomfortable position: tied against a metal pole that protruded from the ground, her hands secured behind her back with what felt like handcuffs, tight ones at that. She was sick to her stomach, probably a side effect of the chloroform pressed crudely against her face not one hour ago by...
"Logan," she rasped as her eyes eventually sharpened the blurry image of a man standing before her with a gun.
"Naw, you got the wrong guy, lady." Her eyes soon came into perfect focus and she discovered he was right; it was not Logan. This one was taller, much taller, with unruly blonde hair and hands the size of her very head.
She swallowed; her throat was extremely dry, also probably a side effect from the chloroform. "Water," she breathed.
He snorted, "What do you say, missy?"
She pressed her head against the pole. "Please."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin." He shuffled over to a dark corner Jean couldn't make out and returned with a plastic cup, filled to the brim with the sweet, cool liquid her parched mouth yearned for. He held it to her lips brusquely, as if he was annoyed at such a chore. She swallowed gratefully, the refreshing water bringing back the usual crimson color to her peach lips. When she tried to signal she was done, by inclining her head ever so slightly, Creed did not heed the indication. Instead, he followed every move her head made with the cup, forcing her to swallow it in big gulps as he tipped the cup further and further up. Finally, she could take no more and wrenched her head aside, causing the water to splash across her neck and the collar of her shirt.
"Bastard," she muttered between gulps of air.
He laughed heartily, tossing the cup to the far side of the room. "I thought you might like that, Red." He paused as a nearly inhumane glaze spread across his eyes. "I like 'em wet."
"Go to hell," she snapped, returning his repulsive stare with her own flaming blue one. Her mouth would never, but her eyes said 'fuck off.'
"Careful, Creed. That one packs bite." Came from the doorway.
"That's fine," he replied, his eyes never leaving Jean.
Logan sauntered into the room, glancing idly at Jean's soaked features. "Get outta here, Creed. I think I can handle one frail."
The taller man turned to Logan once he was beside him. "Yea, I bet," he mumbled before leaving the way Logan had come.
The Canadian smuggler, hit man, and traitor didn't say anything for a long time, wanting to make Jean sweat a little. She did, too. In fact, she had never been so scared in her entire, short life. She wanted nothing more than to scream obscenities in his face, but the revolver in his holster told her not to speak until spoken to.
"It's too bad you're here. I wasn't planning on killing any innocents tonight besides the belle, but now, God- you, Scott... anyone else I don't know about?"
She stiffened. "You don't have to kill anybody, Logan."
He scoffed. "Yeah, okay. Grow up, doll-face." He reached for the crisp handkerchief stuffed in his coat pocket, holding it up in offering to wipe her face and neck. She jerked her head and rolled her eyes in disbelief.
"Thanks, but no thanks."
"Oh that's right, little snobs like yourself don't let us peasants touch you. No, you're much too prim and proper for that." He said contemptuously.
"No, I don't let RATS such as yourself touch me. The filth of a traitor is one that can never be wiped clean, not even by them."
He raised his hand high and she screwed her eyes shut, waiting for the back of his hand to crack against her cheek. When it didn't come, she peeked her eyes open, chest heaving in fear. He had lowered his hand.
"That's a warning, princess. Trust me, you only get one."
Jean bit her lip; she didn't doubt the truth to his words. The room went silent, making the sound of men, machines, and merchandise in the other room clearly audible. He refolded his handkerchief and slid it back into the chest pocket, patting it secure.
Finally, he was the one to break the silence. "I wasn't always with Eric, Red. In fact, I just started about a couple of months ago, when he started killing off all those women."
Jean's face went ivory white. "He was the one killing all those women? Oh my God." She paused for a long moment. "Logan," she started weakly, "Please tell me you didn't have anything to do with that. You didn't kill any of those women, did you?"
He sighed. "Nah, that don't do nothin' for me- killing for the thrill. I kill for a reason. Most of the time money."
"Why are you going to kill us?" She cried.
He neared her. "Do you know what's being shipped in here, right below your feet? Merchandise worth more than your brother or me have ever shipped in our entire lifetimes. Eric has major connections, were talking politician negotiations. I'm not going to let you, or your brother, or Cher, or even that Private Dick screw this up for me. After I get my cut tonight and milk it for all it's worth, I'm never going to have to lift a finger again. I'll be a million miles away in some exotic country with more money than God." He shook his head in amazement. "Tons of merchandise- guns, coke, diamonds the size of fucking golf balls."
She cocked her head to the side smugly. "Is that where the diamond you offered me came from- one of these trucks?"
The contact his seemingly iron fist made with her face stung like a bitch, and what's worse, it caught her totally off guard. Her adrenaline pumped hot blood through her veins; she was too scared to whimper.
He clenched his teeth so tightly she thought they might shatter. "Don't. You. Ever. Bring. That. Up. Again. Do you understand?"
Jean should have kept quiet; she even knew that. But like her lover, she loved to tempt fate. "Were you with Eric when you asked me? Huh, Logan, were you a traitor when you got down on one knee?" Immediately she braced herself for another blow, but he just stood their, silent, still, statuesque.
He took a deep intake of air and exhaled through his nostrils. "No, I was not. Your brother and I were still genuine partners. It was before the bust on Sax and 5th."
"We trusted you." She said, not knowing why. Perhaps it was because it disconcerted her to think that a traitor managed to dwell amongst their midst. Remy was always tactically careful as to who seeped through their defenses, and yet here Logan had been, absorbing information the entire time. Or maybe she was uncomfortable with the fact that Logan had once truly been a 'good guy.' Can somebody really make such a drastic change from simple, wealthy smuggler to a money-driven monster with blood-saturated hands? Call her naïve, but Jean didn't think so.
He stopped his aimless wandering of the room. Trust, huh...
"Are you the one that's going to kill us?"
He turned to her with knowing, black eyes. "Shut-up."
"Tell me, Logan." She purred mockingly. "I think I have a right to know. Are you going to be the one that lives the rest of his life with the image of Cher's last terrified gasp of air, of Scott's innocent blood splattered across the wall?"
"I'm warning you, little girl."
"How are you going to end Remy's life? Are you going to have to resort to doing it with your bare hands?" She persisted, struggling against her bonds to let off energy.
He began to pace nervously, perhaps subconsciously knowing what was coming next.
She annunciated each word, whispering softly with a trembling chin and tears welling in her eyes. "Are you going to be the one that puts a bullet in my head?"
Inevitably, he slapped her again, harder, this time her lip opening at the contact. She wheezed as her wind caught back with her. "I said, shut the hell up," he cocked his gun and aimed it at her forehead. "Or I'll answer your damned questions sooner than you think."
**
"Where the hell are they?" Scott shifted his weight from one foot to another to let off nervous energy. He and Remy had made it to the halfway meeting point on time, empty-handed, but Logan and Jean were five minutes late, already. Scott was getting a bit worried.
"Don't worry, homme. Dey'll be here. For all we know dey're checking out a lead. Hopefully dey are, 'cause Remy's not too fond of de idea of staying here all night." Remy ran a hand through his auburn hair, giving him a drunkard appearance, and leaned against the near wall.
At that second, a soft, almost gentle German accent permeated the air, both men turning their heads toward the sound.
"Shh, you here dat, Summers?" Remy whipped his hand out for silence. Scott nodded, following Remy to where the sound came from. It led them to the balcony looking down on the third and final floor. There stood Eric Lehnsherr over Cher, tied to a chair. He was mumbling something to the southern belle that sounded like it was supposed to be sultry. Whatever it was, it appeared to be making Scott's secretary nauseous... and Remy very, very temper-mental.
"C'mon," the Cajun said, making his way lithely down the last flight of stairs, Scott slowly in tow.
"What about Jean, remember, your sister?"
Remy stopped dead and turned to face Scott, his dark, bone-chilling eyes slashing into the detective's own honey brown ones. "Are you implying somet'ing, Scott?"
"No, but Jean and Logan are nowhere to be found. I think it's best we solve that problem first before we go running into a new one."
Remy turned back and continued his agile pursuit down the metal stairs. "I don't. We see dis problem right before our eyes, and I'm going to deal wit' it now. I trust Logan to have kept him self and Jeannie out of trouble, dey're just late." He paused. "Besides, Remy has a plan."
Scott didn't like the prospect of moving forward without knowing the condition of Jean; his gut told him something was wrong. But then again, Remy and Logan were the type of guys that dealt with instincts. Scott went on pure, solid evidence. Maybe, then, Scott was not ecstatic about the idea of those particular two being alone, together. Her and anyone else: Scott, Remy- that would have been fine. But it had to be that damned animal, Logan. Needless to say, it put Detective Summers on edge.
**
Eric, as usual, was talking...and talking...and talking. Cher knew this for a fact, but she had really stopped listening approximately ten minutes ago. It all blended together after a while. 'Such a beautiful thing you are' this, 'join me, gorgeous' that. It was positively redundant, and Cher idly wondered where the hell Remy was. The only thing that kept her sanity was inspecting the merchandise his thugs carried off trucks in the other, visible-from-where-she-was room. Humongous diamonds, fine silks and satins, big, shiny guns Cher didn't know the name of but had an undeniable feeling were ridiculously expensive.
In mid-sentence, Eric was interrupted by a short, foreign worker. The little man approached his boss, wringing his hands timidly.
"What?" Eric snapped.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you, sir, but one of your trucks- it's tipped over."
"What?!" He exclaimed.
"It seems that the ramp in room 19 was blown from the outside, causing the entire truck to come falling down onto the pavement. Come see."
"No," Eric began, "You stay here with her. It seems her knights in shining armor have finally come to her rescue. I knew they'd find us before we found them." With that, he swiftly made his way to room 19 to inspect the damage.
Cher sat watching the little man. He was small, jumpy, and extremely scared of Eric, or really, upsetting Eric. Her observations were abruptly cut short when the little foreigner's body went suddenly limp, his entire self collapsing to the cement floor, revealing a sweaty, tired, but grinning Remy.
"Memmy!" She said, her voice muffled through the gag.
He put his finger to his lips. "Shh, quiet Cher." He rushed behind her and nimbly unfastened the restraints on her hands and the one around her mouth, wasting no time in kissing her fully the minute it was possible.
"Oh! Oh, Gawd, I knew you'd come, Remy!" She whispered excitedly between kisses, Remy managing to work at the rope around her ankles and never break the embrace.
"Hold it right there," Remy heard behind him, along with the cocking of a gun.
**
Scott stopped for a quick breath after jumping in through the window he and Remy had originally entered in. Surprisingly enough, slipping out through the exact window, shooting out the side of the ramp Remy appointed him, and doing it all unnoticed, wasn't as hard as he thought it would be, just taxing. Silently, he made his way down the first flight of stairs, then the second until finally, he was leaning against a far wall directly outside of where he and the Cajun found Cher and Eric.
Immediately, Summers knew there was something wrong. Remy wasn't there, where he said he'd be with Cher, and the entire place was eerily quiet. That is, until he heard...
"Detective Summers, do come out and grace us with your presence," faint German accent and all.
Scott reflexively went to his holster and whipped out his gun, cocking it once and turning the bend of the wall to see a triumphant Lehnsherr standing before Cher, the way she had previously been bound, and Remy, hands cuffed to a large metal pipe. Eric was pointing a gun straight up to the ceiling, his other hand tucked casually in his pocket.
"Do you know why I'm holding my gun like this, detective?" He stopped as if actually waiting for an answer. When he didn't receive one, he continued. "Put the gun down, Summers, or all I have to do is shoot this gun and Jean White dies. She's upstairs, tied to a pole, gun to her head. Oh, and if you were curious as to who is holding the gun to her head, you'll do good to know it's your dear friend," he paused dramatically, but he didn't need to. Scott knew already whom he spoke of. Logan. "Logan." Eric mirrored Scott's assumption. "Now why don't you just slide the gun right over here?"
"You're a liar. Don't listen to him, Summers! He's de one dat killed all dose women! De Manhattan Massacre: it was all him!" Remy called from where he was chained. Three men immediately aimed their own guns at his head, probably the same goons that bestowed the busted lip, black eye, and swollen whelps on Remy's cheeks.
"Liar am I? Well, yes, but not this time, Mister White. Ask your beautiful fiancée here, whom I have come to know quite well myself. She saw the whole thing with her own big, pretty eyes." Eric gestured toward Cher.
Remy looked desperately at the woman he loved. She nodded reluctantly, confirming that Logan was indeed a traitor.
Scott's stomach dropped. What was he to do? Eric made it clear he was not afraid to fire his gun, thus killing the woman that dragged him into love kicking and screaming. Being detective cool and savvy, playing mind-games was all fine and dandy with your average sleeze. This man was not such; he was murderous, bloody, and most importantly very intelligent, cunning, crafty, experienced: never good qualities in an opponent, especially one that held your lover's life in their hands.
"What do you say, Mister Summers? Set the gun down and kick it right over. Come now, is your pride truly worth her life?"
Scott looked to Remy, hoping he might know what the hell to do. The Cajun returned his despairing stare, silently cursing himself for not trying to find Jean before running head first into what he thought was a bigger problem at the time. His fierce love for Cher blinded him into making sloppy, hasty decisions: decisions he used to beat men for making on his time. 'I'm so sorry, Jeannie.' He sent to his sister, hoping she could somehow hear it.
Knowing not what to do, Scott slowly placed the gun on the floor by his feet and gently kicked it to where Eric stood, gun still in hand and directed toward the ceiling. As soon as Scott's gun reached his feet, the mass murderer shot his gun into the air once, the bullets singing through the air in sick glee for freedom.
Scott went blind with rage and betrayal, screaming as he charged Eric. He only made it about four feet before three men Scott hadn't even noticed behind him wrenched him back, holding down his struggling body, silencing the detective just in time for all to hear the two shots ring out on the floor directly above them, Jean's piercing, gurgling screams following soon after. Then, a loud thud as her body collapsed to the floor.
Cher screamed against her gag, providing the only sound in the room aside from Eric's satisfied intake of sweet air. "Ah, That. Is a beautiful sound."
"You sick fuck!" Remy screamed, struggling uselessly against the handcuffs. All energy drained from Scott's body and he suddenly went limp in the thugs' arms. They all but dragged him to where Remy was chained and put in similar restraints as Logan merrily made his way down the stairs, wiping blood from his hands with his handkerchief. The silk, white fabric was quickly painted crimson from the action.
"I've said it before and I'll say it 'til I'm six feet under: Women are workers of Satan. Why, just look at what these two seemingly innocent broads have done to you two strong gentlemen. Brought you to your knees, that's what they've done."
Scott immediately sprung back into action. "You goddamned traitor! I'll kill you!" He thrashed against his cuffs violently. In the meantime, Eric sent his men home with the rest of the workmen. He wanted this to be a private deal in which he privately killed four people.
Remy just stood, stunned, appalled, still burning into Logan with his furious eyes. "Why, Logan? Was it wort' it? Are de diamonds so big dat you had to kill her?" His words came smoothly, evenly, but the drainage of color from his face belied any façade of control.
Logan approached Remy until his face was a mere inches from the Cajun's. Like Remy, he spoke easily, serenely but said only one word in answer to his questions. "Yes."
Remy, in one swift motion, maneuvered his elbow to slam against Logan's jaw, causing the murderer to stumble back a few steps. "Bastard."
As opposed to coming back at Remy, Logan simply walked away, silently nursing his bruised jaw.
Eric howled with laughter and tipped his head back joyously. "Ah! What a riot this has been! But I am afraid, Mister White, that the time has come to end your life." He pointed the barrel of his gun at Remy. "But first," he moved the weapon to Cher's temple instead, the sassy belle not giving Lehnsherr the pleasure of seeing her tremble.
"No! No!" Remy began lashing against his cuffs again and flailing his legs wildly. "Please, I'll do anyt'ing, but not her! Not her, too! I'll work for you! Remy can do anyt'ing you need; I can get into anywhere!" He kept his eyes on the gun in Eric's hand as he desperately babbled compromises and offers. "You want money, Eric! Remy can get as much as you want, as fast as you want!"
Eric raised his eyebrows at Remy. "You can get me anything, you say?"
Remy nodded, teeth clenched. Scott stood next to him, equally aghast at Eric's seemingly endless sadistic morals.
"I want my business partner, and very good friend back: a Mister Charles Xavier."
Remy believed that at that moment, he could do just about anything to keep Cher safe, including resurrect the dead, but Eric apparently didn't seem to think so for he re-aimed his gun at her head and readied himself to pull the trigger.
Until a gun cocked and the wind was knocked out of him from a steel hand clamping around his throat coupled with the feel of a gun resting against the side of his head.
"What's the matter, Logan? Can't decide which side of the fence you want to be on?" Eric mocked the man holding him from behind.
"Not anymore, I know which side, and judging that I have you in a position in which I could kill you in two different ways if I so choose, it shouldn't be too hard to see which side that is. I've done a lot of shit for you, but killing Jeannie was the brink- she was innocent." He tightened his grip around Lehnsherr's neck. "Now drop your gun, NOW, and give me the keys to the cuffs." Eric complied. Logan continued, "Jean, get those boys out of there."
Jean slinked out from behind the far wall's shadows followed by a collective sigh of relief from her three captive friends, and did as she was told. Once free, Remy immediately moved to where Cher was and untied all of her bonds. The instant she was able to move, Remy wrapped his arms around his fiancée and hoisted her off the ground, capturing her mouth with a fervent kiss. "T'ank God," he mumbled.
Logan, in the meantime, hissed to Eric, "And please don't be so naïve as to think Creed will save you. After all, who's blood do you think this is?" He nodded toward the red-blotted handkerchief in his pocket. Eric cringed.
After Remy made sure Cher and his sister were absolutely safe, he stalked toward where Eric remained captured in Logan's arms and threw a punch clear across his cheek, then another to the jaw. Remy dragged him to his feet only to punch him three times more, holding Eric up after every time to get another clean shot. Scott stood behind Lehnsherr, ready to lock his arms to make it easier for Remy if he needed, but it didn't appear to be necessary. "I should kill you." Remy snarled.
"But you won't," his sister said softly, laying a hand on his arm. "He isn't worth it, Remy. I've already called the police."
"Yeah, sugah," came his soon-to-be-wife's voice from the other side. She hooked her arm with his then slid her hand to grab his own. "Let them deal with this piece of trash. If you kill him, you'll get in all kinds of trouble. At least with the other one it was self-defense; this would not be the case." She looked up at him with enchanting green eyes. "And who am I supposed to marry if yoah in jail, swamprat?"
That earned a grin from Remy, and he turned to walk away with Cher in his arms. He didn't even see Eric whip a knife from his inside pocket and lunge toward him...but Logan sure as hell did. A shot rang out, coupled with a startled scream from both women as they spun around just in time to witness a bullet going through the center of Eric's forehead. He fell limply to the ground- his body collapsing like a rag-doll.
There was a stunned silence that scarred the air for a time, until Remy gave Logan a genuine thank you.
"Don't mention it," he returned, turning and walking out of the warehouse.
"Where are you going?" Scott called after him before following, the others doing the same.
"Away, kid. Probably to my place up in ole' Maple Leaf country."
Remy smirked. "We're never going to see you again, are we?"
Logan shook his head. "Nope, prob'ly not."
Remy removed his hand from around Cher's waist and offered it to the Canadian; he took it and they shook firmly. Cher threw her arms around his neck and captured him in a hug. "Thank yah so much."
Jean approached him a bit awkwardly, as if she were unsure he even wanted to talk to her after she pressed his buttons up in room 214. Still, she hugged him despite her uncertainty and was returned with an equally earnest one. "Why?" She questioned.
He sighed. "Lady, you flash your blues once and you could make a man offer his own lungs as a gift...but you already knew that." She blushed, and he turned to Remy and Cher. "And I'm willing to bet same goes for that one," he rose a hand to the woman wrapped in the Cajun's arms. He nodded assuredly and grinned.
The handshake that took place between Detective Summers and Logan was brief and to the point. "Take care of them, Summers...of her." Scott couldn't be sure, but he almost swore the handshake became tighter, almost painful, at that last part, but he brushed it off and promised he would.
And with that, Logan walked out of the warehouse, and out of their lives.
And almost as soon as he left through one door, the police barged in through the back.
"Alright! Nobody move!" Came a bellowing voice from the head of their brigade. The man was not incredibly tall, but extremely built with enormous hands and feet. He whipped out his badge, "Officer McCoy, NYPD." He noticed Scott and immediately brightened. The detective was renowned throughout the department for his good work and at times the two were even known to help each other out on certain cases. "Detective Summers, mind tellin' me what the hell is going on?"
Scott glanced around at his companions. Remy stood stoic, prepared to face the consequences of anything thrown his way. Scott had to admit, the man had guts. After being assured by Remy's body language that he could continue with the truth, Scott recounted every detail to McCoy (all except knowing the whereabouts of a certain running Canadian) as men scribbled every word furiously...
**One Year Later**
Scott sat hunched over his desk, mass of papers scattered every which way. Just when he thought his head would explode from looking at the bulk of papers all day, his door swung open and a young, twenty-something woman waltzed into the room. "Detective Summers."
"Yes Kitty." Scott replied, grateful for the chance to look up from his work. Kitty had just started almost a year ago and fell into the swing of things perfectly. And though Scott wasn't sure if Kitty was her real name, he addressed her as such anyway. Grown up way before her time, she usually wore heels too high for her and an up-do too old for her youthful, fresh face. She was a good kid, though, and Scott was glad he landed her.
"Your wife is here to see you." She said sweetly, her eagerness at being able to say 'your wife' to the newlywed not hidden in the least.
"Send her in," he said, smiling ruefully.
"I'll send myself in." A voice called from the doorway.
"I'll leave you two alone," Kitty rose to leave. As she passed Jean she giggled, "Don't you keep him long; he's got work to do Mrs. Summers."
Jean smiled brightly, "I'll try."
With the door closed, Jean sauntered over to Scott and he pulled her down into his lap. "Hey you. What brings you to my humble abode?"
She smiled and ran her fingers through his short, mahogany colored waves of hair, her diamond glittering as it flirted with the sunlight. "I just wanted to check up on my husband. Is that a crime Mister Summers?"
He kissed her once. "No, I don't believe, Mrs. Summers."
"Well, there is one, teensy, little reason I dropped by."
"Aha! I knew it! C'mon, spill it!" He urged.
Jean chuckled playfully. "Well, Remy and Cher are coming up from New Orleans for a visit. Isn't that great?!"
Scott lifted his eyebrows, "Really! Well, that is great! When?"
She smiled sheepishly, "Well, um...Now!"
As if on cue, Remy burst through the door, Cher in tow. "Hey Scottie! Miss us?"
Scott, utterly shocked but pleased, stood from his chair and returned Cher's hug and Remy's handshake. The two women squealed delightfully, ooing and aweing over each other's outfits, hairstyles, and most importantly, the bulge coming from Cher's tummy.
"Look! Look Scott! She's pregnant!" Jean exclaimed.
Scott looked to Remy. "You dog! An addition to the family!"
Remy shrugged, "Yeah. What can Remy say? I t'ink it be time for a li'l Remy junior." He held his hand about waist length to exaggerate his point.
Cher grabbed Jean's hands. "Now you two have tah have one so they can be best friends!" Jean nodded enthusiastically and looked to a blushing Scott.
"Well, we just got married two months ago, but definitely some day... soon."
The four continued to chat amicably for a few hours, recounting every thing that's happened during their time apart.
Detective Scott Summers leaned back in his chair to take a brief moment and think about the drastic changes in his life over the last, brief year. It all led back to that fateful day when a redhead strolled into his office asking he find her brother whom, little did he know, was fiancée to his secretary at the time. Hell broke loose after that, complete with hit men, traitors, and emotional roller coasters. Looking back, Scott realized again what he already knew: he wouldn't have changed it for the world. After all, it was just another year in NYC.
THE END
There ya' have it!