Disclaimer: Marvel's
Thanks to Alexis for giving me the 'kick' of inspiration I needed in the 'action' scene (I'm just so bad at those ^^;;;)

On the Beat
by Cat Smith and KazeRogue

Part 8

The gun fell to the floor, making an unnatural noise in the sudden calmness on the nightly docks, but Xandra didn't hear it through the blood rushing in her ears. Terror creeped up her veins, like a serpent that waited for the right moment to perform it's deadly bite.

Frantically, she thought about possibilities to get rid of her gloves, start a surprise attack and drain her opponent before he could tear her guts out. She almost laughed hysterically as she remembered that he knew the nature of her powers well enough. She didn't stand a chance ... Almost casually, the man strolled closer, lightning a cigarette.

"Long time, no see, babe. Hey, what's wrong? Don't ya remember yer old buddy?"

"Hi Creed." Xandra's whisper was hoarse, her stance betrayed her urgent need to flee.

"What? No hug fer ol' me?" He grinned ferally as he stepped closer. "See, babe, it's a real shame our 'cooperation' back then didn't turn out as expected. Mmh, really liked yer mom, she was a hot chick. Pity she was turned in..."

Xandra winced and Creed's smile became even wider, while a dangerous gleam entered his eyes. He mock-slapped his forehead.

"Oh, I forgot. YOU turned her in. Bad bad girl. You betrayed us and blew the mission ... that wasn't very nice, don't ya think so?"

A low growl escaped his throat, becoming louder, more dangerous, as he tensed, then jumped at the young woman. Xandra stood like a statue, frozen, gaping as the feral mutant jumped at her, claws extended and saliva dripping from his fangs. Then it was over, he was past her, and all she felt was coldness.

Her eyes still unnaturally wide, she looked down at herself and watched a dark liquid soak her shirt over her stomach. She lightly touched the wet area and looked at her now red fingers. Blood?

With the realization came the pain. Hot, red pain, that savagely stabbed through her guts as her weakened knees gave way and she dropped into the dirt again. Through the red blur of her vision, she saw the beast approaching, then picking her up.

"A real shame, babe. But ya had to find yer conscience, huh?"

Xandra heard the words, but couldn't find a sense in them. Her mind was clouded and she barely even noticed as he dropped her again, until the East River took her into it's cold, deadly embrace.

Reflexively, she opened her mouth to scream and it filled with icy water, nearly choking her. She moved frantically, tried to get to the surface again, but she didn't know which way was up anymore and the gash in her side punished her every movement with a flood of pain.

After a few moments of hysteric paddling, Xandra calmed somewhat down. And with the calmness came the realization. The realization that she was dead. Then, her angel came to save her.

Everything was working according to plan. The Detective was chasing the killer to the docks, where she confronted him. Remy, following at a safe distance, grinned inwardly as his two most dangerous adversaries opposed each other. The Detective that had come closer to his trail than any had before, and the killer that had been hired to clean the world of his handsome self.

Kill two birds with one stone. Luckily, Kitty had helped him to trick Thorne into getting rid of Creed in his stead. The thought that it could be vice versa, that Creed could kill her, slit the tender, white skin of her neck, was suppressed grimly.

She was the enemy. Sooner or later, he would have to defeat her. At any costs. He COULD not be imprisoned, would die there, needed his freedom like air to breathe. And he would keep this freedom for a long while, he thought smirking as he watched the scene on the docks unfold before his eyes.

Obviously, Creed and Thorne weren't complete strangers. Well, this was not according to plan. They talked, and the Detective looked as if she had seen a ghost. Remy slowly approached the pair for he couldn't understand a single word they were saying. Then, suddenly, Creed became savage and attacked the woman. Remy froze in the middle of the movement, staring at the dreadful scene that played at the shore of the East River.

The human beast slashed at the frail woman - Remy had never noticed before, how small and weak she was - and brilliant red blood spilled at the floor, mingling with the dirt. Then, he picked her lifeless body up, like a doll, and threw her into the river.

Horrified, he watched her drown in the dirty water, saw every weak movement and stared at the point where she had been even after she was long gone.

The low growl that was Creed's voice jerked him back into reality as he mockingly said good bye to the drowned woman and wandered away laughing.

Then he ran. He hurried to the riverbay, stumbling over his own feet, though born with an enhanced agility. Terror filled him, terror that he might be responsible for another being's death. He knew that she HAD to be dead, that she had been underwater for too long, but images of her corpse, of the blood spilling from the gash in her abdomen, caused an incomparable horror in Remy that he knew he would never forget if he didn't try anything to make up for his self-righteous play.

Deep down though, there was no trail of guilt or responsibility for the Detective's situation. There was only the thought that SHE IS GONE, that made him run and jump into the East River, fighting for his own consciousness at the impact and the strength to move on, to dive deeper until he saw her lifeless form flowing in an undertow.

It was this thought, the thought of never seeing her again, that made him mobilize every resource his body still held, move towards her and grab her to pull her to the surface again. Gasping for air and trembling of the cold (had to be the cold...) he pulled Xandra to the docks, feeling her wrist, then her neck with numb fingers to find ... nothing. No pulse. No breathing.

Frantically, he started to perform CPR on her, noticing with horror that everytime he pushed down her chest, fresh red blood flowed out of the gash in her side. If she didn't wake up soon enough, the bloodloss would kill her as certainly as the water in her lungs did now. Sheer horror written on his face, he went on and on, pushing her chest, breathing into her mouth ... way beyond the point where any medic would have given up.

She was dead. She KNEW she had to be dead. Yet, she could feel every muscle of her body aching, felt the sting of the injury Creed had inflicted on her. She tried to open her eyes, but they wouldn't listen to her orders. Forcing her mind out of the pitch black darkness it was embedded in, she grasped for the thin line of consciousness that tied her to reality. After a few moments of strain, she managed to open her eyes.

To no use. The room she was lying in was darkened, the curtains locking out every possible ray of light. She moaned and lifted her hand to search for some kind of switch to turn on the lights. Bad mistake. At the sudden movement, her injury protested with a painful sting that made her wince and breathe sharply.

"I switched dem off so your eyes wouldn' hurt, unused to de light."

Xandra turned her head at the sound of the voice, but she needn't see the face in the dim light he now flashed on besides her bed to recognize the accent, the smoothness of the voice, though somewhat strained now.

The thief's face looked hollow in the flickering light of the oil lamp he now put on her nightstand, but Xandra was sure he would look little better in daylight. He was obviously exhausted, way past the point of pure weariness, his eyes flickering around her features restlessly. He removed the blanket and pushed up her shirt a bit to check the bandages.

"Good, de wound hasn't broken up again. Now, ya better be more careful."

Xandra gleamed at him, suspiciously.

"Why are ya helping me?"

The thief only grinned tiredly.

"Must be de gentleman inside o' me. But why 'aven't you helped yourself? Far as I know, ya're a cop, but ya did not'ing to defend yourself. Ot'erwise, le bête wouldn' 'ave been a match for you."

He held her gaze now, trying to read her, trying to find out why she had let Creed get the better on her so easily. Xandra looked away. What should she tell him? That she felt she deserved to be punished for what she had did to her mother? She knew it had been the right decision, and she would do it again.

But was this a good enough reason to betray her own mother and commit her to a life deprived of her highly cherished freedom? For Xandra, it was. Ever since, she had worked hard enough to gain her place among the side of the angels, to become a cop despite her past. It has always been clear to her who the good and the bad guys were.

And she had promised herself to fight every single one of the bad guys. Like she would fight the thief that had just saved her life. By any means, she would be the one to make an end to his story of pinches. She turned to look at him again, spite and determination in her dark-ringed eyes.

"Well, obviously, it ain't my business. Try to sleep a bit, chère, ya need de rest." Remy blew out the lamp and watched the Detective close her eyes and shift into a more comfortable position with his sensual eyes. He had seen the fire in her eyes, that was why he had told her to sleep. He wanted to escape this look on her face, but the image was unerasably burned into his memory. She would still fight him. He knew that now. Without making a noise, the thief left the apartment of Thorne's colleague, where he had brought her only hours before.

Continued in Chapter Nine.

Down-Home Charm / Fan-Fiction / Fan Artwork / History Books / Photo Album / Songbank / Miscellania / Links / Updates

Legalese: Rogue, the X-Men, and the distinctive likenesses thereof are Trademarks of Marvel Characters, Inc. and are used without permission. This is an unofficial fansite, and is not sponsored, licensed or approved by Marvel Comics.
• Privacy Policy and Submission Guidelines