Disclaimer: The X-Men characters, and all other recognizable characters are copyright to Marvel Entertainment Group. This work of FanFiction is not meant to infringe on that copyright or defame Marvel Comics or the X-Men and related characters in any way. No copying, distributing or editing of this material is permitted without the express permission of the creator, K-Nice, under United States copyright law. The poor thing has a curfew. I like all my stuff be home by 11pm.
Notes: This story is majorly and beyond all excuses graphic in some places. Please do not read this if violence and rape offend you, which they should. Another thing, I don't have it in for Jean or Xavier, but in the police world, profilers don't get that much respect.
Dedicated to Whitewolf, Araignee, Edana_Ni_Emer, Sparks, Yona and Hyjnx. A big, warm "Thank You" to all the wonderful people who commented on this story! You know who you are :)
The line {Text.} is one I inserted at my mother's behest. I summarized the story for her (minus the yucky parts) and she demanded I throw in this little tidbit of symbolism. It's the amateur playwright in her. :)

Blood and Bone
by K-Nice

Chapter 6

Kletus Kasady, it turned out, was still living in Gotham, still within their jurisdiction. Remy turned the siren off as they neared the address from the case file. The place looked abandoned, but people live all sorts of places when they're down and out in New York. Guns drawn, they stormed up the stairs, banging on the door before they even came to a full stop.

"NYPD, open up!" They paused the requisite ten-count and pulled out their badges.

Munroe slammed herself to the right of door as Lebeau kicked it in. "NYPD, we're looking for Kletus Kasady." They trained their guns on the four men sitting at a blue plastic card table. None of them moved, but Remy suddenly wanted back-up. "Kletus Kasady. Is he here?" Lebeau advanced on the table, finger on the trigger. He trusted Ororo to be his extra backbone.

"Heck no. That mutha left three weeks ago, stole all my stuff when he left too." The only one to respond was a white male, in his late twenties, smoking something decidedly not tobacco and swathed in black from head to toe.

"And you are?" Ororo was upset. There was dirt on her left shoe.

"Eddie Brock." Brock rocked back in his chair and found a gun-barrel pressed to his forehead. He grinned. "If you find that punk, slug him once for me."

"You're coming with us Brock. And y'all won't be here if I decide to come back up the stairs." Lebeau cuffed Brock while Munroe covered the other three. They backed out the door and were back in the Lexus ten minutes after they left it. Which was good, because there were three separate thieves sizing up the tires, hub-caps and air-bag.

Shoving Brock into the back seat, Remy thought frantically about something to arrest him for. As it turned out, Ororo already had something in mind. "You're under arrest for narcotics possession, Mr. Brock. You have the right to remain silent--"

"Yeah, yeah, lady, I'm no virgin, I know the deal. Why you guys hustling me, huh?" Brock talked like a felon, which mean he talked like a person with defense attorney on retainer.

"Where is Kasady?" Munroe belted herself in as her partner gunned the car into traffic. "We just want to find Kasady, as I'm sure you do. There is no love lost between you two, so why protect him?"

"I'm not protecting him, lady. If I wanted to, I'd take that mutha out for good. But I don't know where he is, okay. He shows up one day three weeks ago, and I let him stay the night. Next day all my stuff is gone. If I knew where he was I'd stick a plug in him myself."

"Relax, Brock. Kasady have any other friends, any family?" Lebeau turned around quickly and then went back to bobbing a weaving in and out of traffic.

"He killed his family, man. And his foster family. Anyway, that's what he told me. He's crazy, man. Who can know where he is?" Brock was working his cuffs, Remy could tell from the way he held his shoulders. Lebeau didn't care, they were going to drop him off at the station any second now.

"Did he know anybody in Gramercy Park?" Munroe turned full around and put that blue-eyed stare on him.

"Nah -- Wait, he always bragged about this chick he got pregnant over near there. She lived by Union Square. So there, I delivered, you gonna let me out now?"

"Nope. We're gonna leave you with some nice capable officers for a little chat session." Lebeau screeched to a stop, the front tires kissing the curb.

"About what?" Brock barely struggled as they pulled him out of the car.

"The health risks of marijuana smoke. Or maybe the Louima case." Lebeau grinned as Brock turned green. "Or your old friend Kletus Kasady. You know, whatever comes up."

It just so happened that Kletus Kasady's ex-girlfriend applied to the state for part of his Corcraft wages. Which meant she gave them a valid permanent address, which got attached to Kasady's paper file.

Remy was in the archives, nursing a paper cut, when Ororo leaned against the wall he was holding up. "How are you feeling, Rem?" He looked exhausted, and a little like he was in pain.

"Fine, just fine. How 'bout you?" There was dust all over her nice off-white pants suit and a nasty scuff on her shoe.

"I'm okay." Ororo paused, still not eager to breach the subject. Remy gathered her coat from the chair they were hung-over and held it open for her. She stalled by putting it on slowly, ignoring the shiver of contentment as he helped her with the sleeves. Once they exited the building, she shooed him off to get the car. "I'll go arrange for some officers to meet us there." Dashing back inside, she called Summers for the latest information.

Summers seemed to be waiting for her call. "Munroe, whatever you do, don't let them kill Kasady. The guy's a cop-killer and I want him just as bad as anybody else, but if he gets gunned down this case will be all over the media before morning. We have to get two decent jury pools out of this, and the silence order is still on for the Carpent -- Sinclair case. Sinclair's gonna testify on what she saw in the alley, just get Kasady back here alive. Bishop and Japheth and some of the guys from last night will be there. I tried to keep it to officers already involved. Just remember, the DA can't indict a dead body."

She didn't get one word in edgewise, but that was okay. She didn't trust herself to talk much. There was a cop-killer on the loose and like everyone who wore the badge, she wanted him dead. She also didn't want to have tell her partner who the victim was, but some things are unavoidable.

"Ready to go, 'Ro?"

He was right there in front of her and she couldn't help but jump at the sound of his voice. "Let's finish this."

As they drove, Ororo weighed her words. "Forge got back to me about those prints."

"Finally. What'd he say?" He darted a glance at her to make sure she was okay.

"Sinclair's prints are there, as are Kasady's. And he identified the victim." It was agony to prolong it, but she couldn't find the words.

"What's her name?" He signaled the turn, only mild interest in his voice. They had one perp and were closing on the other. Her name wouldn't change the case at this point.

"Rebecca McKenna." Ororo dropped the bomb and waited for the explosion.

None came. "Oh." Remy just kept driving. His headache dropped to his gut and after four blocks, he could no longer see to drive. "Oh God no!" He pulled over and Ororo reached over to rub his back.

She pulled her hand back almost immediately. He wasn't sobbing. He was seething.

White and red.

White and red on the same head.

He had convinced himself it wasn't her, couldn't be her, but all the signs were there. Bone and blood juxtapositioned so uncannily. 'Ro would call it a sign. The headaches -- his over-tired brain's way of warning him as it made connections his conscious mind still could not fathom.

His hands were squeezed into impotent fists against the steering wheel. Her killer was still several blocks away, if he hadn't skipped the country already. And even if he found Kasady, it wasn't like he could put two bullets in the thug's skull and call it a night.

Right?

He couldn't do that? Kasady could just randomly pull some girl off the street, rape and murder her, and go on with his idiotic anarchistic agenda, but Lebeau couldn't air-condition his brain for him. Was that justice?

The gun was in his hand before the thought was fully formed.

"Rem, don't! You can't go gunning for this guy. They'll crucify you for it." Pulling him back was against her every instinct, but she knew she had to try, if only so that they could both testify to the fact in a court of law.

Snapped back into reality, Remy tried to focus past red and white hair and bones and blood all twisted in together, until all he saw was white and brown -- his partner's hair and face. "Fine. Whatever. Le's jus' get dere." The car was back in traffic almost instantly, and his foot rarely left the gas.

Ororo closed her eyes and prayed to the Goddess. Prayed for balance.

Karen Page reached for the kitchen knife. Klet had finally lost it. Their baby lay in his arms, neck twisted all wrong. The gleeful expression on his face was all wrong too. "Don't come any closer Klet. Don't move. I'm telling you, I'll do it."

"You'll do what?" His voice rumbled seductively, enticing like all madness can be before it rips your throat out. He was still coming closer.

"I'll kill you, I swear it. Klet!!" She was hopped up on enough dope that she just might have done it. If he hadn't thrown her baby at her head like 20 pound sack of potatoes. Little Michael John Page hit his mother square in the face, knocking her backwards into the kitchen counter. Karen's head bounced off the cabinets and the knife fell from her hand.

Grabbing her by the hair, Kasady kicked the knife away. "That's alright, baby, you tried. You tried, Karipoo, but you just couldn't do it could you? Sorry baby, but if you can't kill, you can never be free and if you can't be free, you might as well be dead."

"One, two, three." Detective LeBeau's red-rimmed eyes were behind Oakley shades, the angry red glow of his cigarette the only form of visible expression. Munroe watched him carefully as he gave the count. Bishop and Japheth were questioning Brock, but six other members of their precinct were ranged around the door. Two more were in the alley below in case Kasady attempted a back door escape.

Officer Guthrie and Officer Gilmore kicked the door in. The detectives had debated Ms. Page's right to privacy for about thirty seconds on the stairs. Armed with another one of those magic search warrants, they stormed into the room in time to catch Kasady in flagrante delicto. If the gurgles coming from Karen were any indication, she wasn't quite dead yet. Her neck twisted at an odd angle, her eyes seeming to plead with the detectives. Blood from her body darkened her already stained carpet and one of her hands twitched near a hypodermic needle. Whether she wanted to use it as a weapon against Kasady, or to free herself from her mortal coil, she had little chance of getting a grasp on it with her slick red fingers.

"Smith, Bedlam, get an ambulance." Munroe never turned her head, shouting instructions over her shoulder. Kasady had a ten inch blade, the serrated edge caked with blood and fabric. "Kletus Kasady. Put down the weapon and move away from the woman."

This was the thing that had killed Rebecca, had hurt her, stolen from her what should have been a gift of love. Cut her until she bled, hit her until she bruised, shook her until her neck snapped, raped her until she died. White. Red. Bone. Blood. Lebeau kept moving closer, not waiting for Kasady to disarm.

"Rem, stop. Kasady, put the knife down and step away!" Munroe moved into firing position trying to see past her partner. Guthrie shifted and she held out a hand to keep him in place.

Lebeau didn't stop. This was a cop-killer, a man with no respect for the badge and what it stood for. Lebeau stood side by side with him, well within knifing range.

"Why'd you do it? Kill her, I mean." His voice was calm, dispassionate. The gun was in a straight line from his shoulder, pointing down at Kasady's head. Karen closed her eyes.

His eyes gleaming with the anarchistic joy of destruction, Kasady answered, "She was there." Kasady shrugged his shoulders, rolling his arm so he could sink the knife up into the detective's side. He didn't get the chance.

Lebeau fired four shots. Not one of them missed. {Munroe jumped back as blood splattered her off-white suit, staining it an viscious crimson.}

Nicholas Fury tapped the ashes from his cigar and went on reading the morning edition of the Daily Bugle. As the sun faded beneath the canyon of steel and glass, Fury finished the last article on the Carpenter case. It was a small addendum about Kletus Kasady, who was arraigned on two counts of first degree murder and a myriad of sexual assault and rape charges times two, from his hospital bed.

Fury especially liked the part about the traction pulley being operated to raise his right hand. Lebeau had planted slugs in all four limbs, right along the major arteries, earning himself a week of leave in the process. Kasady would recover but he would be in a whole lot of pain for a long time.

Fury half wondered where a detective learned to shoot like that, but then he didn't really need to know to enjoy the fruits of that detective's labor: special sixteen page wrap-around of Carpenter coverage. Somehow there were photos of the last body, but they were so blurry they couldn't possibly scare any little old ladies. His cone of silence had worked, bringing the case off without a hitch while preserving the new image of New York City as a place where Mayor Richards had everything under control.

There was a discreet knock at the door and the unfortunately named George W. Bridge let himself into the room. The Deputy Police Commissioner snorted at Fury's cigar. "City-owned buildings are smoke-free zones, Commissioner."

Fury smirked good-naturedly. "I know that, deputy, but where's the fun in that?" Fury's smile vanished however, as Bridge stepped aside for two guests.

"Commissioner Fury, this is Mr. Matthew Murdock, Esq. and Lieutenant Raven Darkholme. They want to speak with you about the Carpenter case." Bridge settled down in an overstuffed leather chair by the window, watching the vista of changing colors and wondering how he would decorate the office when he inherited it. In about two weeks.

"Welcome. What can I do for you?" Fury plastered on the smile Richards encouraged him to use for talking to reporters.

"Nothing much." Murdock handed him a thick sheaf of blue and white paper. "This is a summons to appear in the New York District Court. You are being named as a defendant in the McKenna v. the City of New York wrongful death suit, being brought by Lt. Darkholme, executor of Rebecca McKenna's estate." His duty done, Murdock turned carefully, letting his long white cane lead him out of the room.

Raven stalked up to Fury's teak desk, leaning her arms on the wood so she could get right in his face. "You should have told me, Fury. You put my people in danger with your precious silence and it cost McKenna her life. You're gonna pay for that decision for the rest of your life." She pushed herself away in disgust and crossed her arms over her chest. "Depositions are set for twelve noon tomorrow. Be prompt." Raven smiled like the cat that destroyed the canary's career and walked out with a spring in her step.

Ororo came in from work Friday night to the smell of fried chicken and collard greens wafting from the general direction of her kitchen. Hanging up her coat in the closet, she tidied up a few newspapers and a stray can of soda before facing him.

"Hey Rem." She was surprised to find him still there. The Carpenter case was over, they had their freedom of speech back. He had spent the first few nights of his leave in his apartment, helping her with the mounds of paper work that surrounded the arrests and the shooting. Then last night, he had come over, pale and shaking, mumbling about bone and blood, and she had held him until his brown eyes closed in peace. She had never been so content. Or so confused.

"Hey 'Ro." He wasn't sure why he had stayed at her place all day. He just knew he felt comfortable here. And comfort was important to him now. Very important. He stirred a pot of okra, lifting the spoon to his lips for a satisfying taste-test. He waved her over to the stove to show her his creations. "Can you smell what the--" he boomed in a demonstrative voice.

"Don't even, okay! This looks good. Very good." He was wearing an apron, one he had bought her back from one of his rare trips to New Orleans. "Kiss the Cajun, huh?" She leaned in and did just that.

Remy pulled away as a thought occurred to him. "Hey, some lady, Wanda Markoff or something, called about your herbs?"

"I'll call her back." Ororo leaned even closer. "Tomorrow."

And that's a wrap. Thanks for reading, sorry for warping your mind, hopeful I can now go back to writing only the mildly disturbing stuff.

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