“Really?” Caroline hissed in a stage whisper. “That’s awful. I’d hate that.”
Kevin whispered some more.
“I don’t know,” Caroline answered. “I could get in big trouble.”
More whispering. This time, Trish caught a few words that sounded like “if it was you.” After a few moments, Caroline stood up and walked over to the spot where Trish lay on a bunch of throw pillows from office sofas.
“Trish?” Caroline asked. “You asleep?”
“Hmm?” Trish answered, feigning the classic half-asleep disorientation.
“Is that Beast guy really your boyfriend?” she asked.
Trish opened her eyes wide, stretched her neck, then sighed deeply.
“Yeah,” she lied. “We haven’t seen each other in a while,
but he is my boyfriend. Why do you ask? Are you surprised?” “You love him, huh?” Caroline persisted, not answering Trish’s question.
Trish allowed her concern for Hank, the real pain that was there, to spread across her face.
“Yeah, I do,” she said, and this time she wasn’t lying. She might not be in love with Hank McCoy anymore, but she definitely still loved him.
Caroline looked deep in thought. Though she knew it was uncharitable, Trish couldn’t help thinking that anytime she seemed to concentrate, the girl looked as though she were in pain.
“Okay, look,” Caroline finally said. “I feel bad for you, okay? I think I can understand how bad you feel, how much it sucks. There’s a major risk involved here, but if you promise you won’t try anything, won’t do anything crazy, I’ll see what I can do to get you in to see the blue guy.”
“See Hank?” Trish asked, all excited and hopeful. “Oh, Caroline, my God, do you think you could do that?”
Caroline smiled, reaching back and taking Kevin’s hand in her own.
“Yeah,” she answered. “I’m pretty sure we can pull it off. Just don’t say nothin’ to anyone. Else we’re all in trouble.” “You’re the best, lady,” Kevin said, and kissed Caroline on the head.
“Hey, a girl’s got to be able to be with her man,” Caroline said, shrugging off the compliment though it was clear she reveled in it. “And it’s not like you guys are really the enemy, right? I mean, in a way, you’re working with Magneto, same as any of us. Working for a better world.”
“Absolutely,” Trish agreed, but she felt awful, not only that they were manipulating an innocent girl, but that the same girl actually thought Trish and Kevin could ever be on Magneto’s side.
“So, what do we have to do?” Trish asked, hoping she didn’t seem too pushy, wary of the possiblity that Caroline might get skittish and back off.
“Can I trust you here for a couple of minutes by yourselves?” she asked.
“Please!” Kevin protested. “Even if we wanted to leave, where would we go?”
Caroline giggled. “I guess you’re right,” she said.
She disappeared through the door, gun bolstered at her back. A few minutes later, she returned with a huge grin on her face.
“The guards were both exhausted. I didn’t force them to sleep, can’t do that yet, like I said. But it didn’t take much to nudge them toward it. Now, let’s hope I can keep them asleep while you talk to your Beast-man,” Caroline said excitedly. “Ooh, it’s so romantic.”
“Kev, you’ll have to stay here,” she added with regret. “I don’t think I can cover for all of us. Just don’t go anywhere, okay? They might shoot me or something.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured her. And funny thing was, at the moment, Trish believed him. She wondered if Kevin might not actually be taking a liking to the free-spirited mutant girl.
“All right, then,” Caroline said. “Let’s go.”
Caroline led Trish to the stairwell. Since she was supposed to be guarding Trish anyway, nobody looked twice at them. Once at the stairs, she waited to see that nobody was looking, and they started down.
“I took the elevator, but I didn’t think we should risk that with you,” the girl explained.
“Good idea,” Trish agreed. “Listen, thank you so much for doing this. Hank and I both owe you,”
“He was so excited to know you were coming,” Caroline said, and Trish’s eyes widened.
“You talked to him?” she asked, surprised Hank hadn’t blown the story.
“Oh, yeah,” Caroline said enthusiastically. “He misses you, too, big time. I had to make sure you were telling the truth. He loves you, Trish. No question. You’re pretty lucky too. Up close, that blue fur is kind of sexy.”
Trish smiled with pleasure and relief. Her feelings and her plans were getting way too complicated for her own good. Obviously, he’d been smart enough to go along with the story' she’d told Caroline. Maybe some of those feelings were for real, for both of them, but she’d hurt Hank McCoy, and Trish didn’t figure he’d forgotten that just yet.
Caroline had said something while Trish was musing on the subject of human-mutant relations, hers in particular.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said it must tick you off when other women flirt with him,” Caroline repeated.
“You get used to it,” Trish said with a shrug, and they continued down the stairs, Caroline babbling on about this boyfriend or that and how badly they had treated her.
Suddenly, it didn’t seem quite so harmless the way Trish and Kevin had been taking advantage of the girl. She hoped she could repay Caroline somehow, or at the very least that she could avoid getting the girl in too much trouble. Sure, she was one of Magneto’s mutant fascists, but Trish figured Caroline wouldn’t have known ideology from physiology. In fact, the more she talked about her boyfriends, it seemed that the girl felt the two were one and the same.
The basement was a long, long way down. Like anyone whose career placed her in the public eye, the pressures of celebrity forced Trish to keep herself in shape. Despite that, and the fact that they were going downstairs, her legs were tired in no time. She had no faith in her ability to make the climb back up with any haste if the need arose.
Finally, they reached an anonymous steel door crossed with a long red bar. Printed on the bar was a warning that an alarm would sound if the door was opened. It was for emergency use only. Apparently, it had been disconnected since Magneto had taken over, because Caroline pushed it open without a glance, and the expected wail of alarm bells did not come.
They traveled more corridors than Trish thought ought to be in a basement, even for a building the size of the Empire State. Finally, Caroline hugged the cement wall as they neared a turn in the hall, and Trish followed suit. For a moment, she felt foolish. It was like she was seven years old again, playing army with her brother and his friends.
Their version of army had been different, though. The Cold War was still on, but they weren’t fighting the Soviets, they were fighting a pack of werewolves. They took turns being the werewolves because, even though the army always won, the werewolves were cooler. Only, Trish never got a turn to play werewolf. She was just a girl, and girls weren’t strong and mean and nasty enough, or so her brother Billy always said.
To hell with him, she thought now. If Billy had been there, with Magneto’s band of super-human terrorists lurking about, he’d have lost control of his bladder the same way he did in the fifth-grade spelling bee. Trish smiled at the memory. Telling that story—or threatening to—had been her favorite weapon when they were kids.
Still, she had to wonder where her brother was now. In a way, she wished he were there. She had always felt better facing the werewolves when the two of them were soldiers together. And though he’d never admitted it, she’d known he felt the same way.
Caroline peered around the comer carefully, her brow furrowed as if she were concentrating. It occurred to Trish that she very probably was concentrating, attempting to make sure that the guard she’d turned her forced-narcolepsy mutant power on had stayed under her spell. A moment later, she stepped out into
the open, motioning for Trish to stay put. She took several steps down the hall, out of Trish’s sight.
In that moment, Trish became afraid. Afraid it had all been a setup, that Magneto was testing her loyalty. Afraid that Caroline would be captured, that they would all be executed—for the Acolytes were notoriously fond of executions. Afraid that she had gotten herself into something she had no hope of extricating herself from, and was proceeding to get in deeper and deeper as the moments ticked past. And, finally, afraid that she would be able to do nothing for the X-Men. That Hank would soon be dead.
No matter what had passed between them, the idea that
Hank might die filled her with a terrible dread unlike anything she had ever experienced. He was the most unique individual she had ever encountered, a fact that had little or nothing to do with his status as a mutant. His intelligence, his humor, his gallantry—she treasured them all, as friend or lover.
Caroline whistled, low and short, and Trish responded by popping out into the hallway. A bald, stocky man in leather sat on a chair, his head back against the wall and his mouth open in a silent snore. Beyond him, Caroline held open another steel door, and beckoned rapidly with her left hand. Trish rushed down the hallway, and turned into the room where the X-Men were being held captive.
She didn’t know Bishop well, though she certainly knew who he was. It was her business to know such things. She had known Storm and Wolverine for years, by reputation and personally. Then there was Hank. As Trish looked at his face, at the concern etched there, she worried that he might think her a traitor now. He was captive, she was free, within limits, to do as she pleased. That meant reporting the story as accurately as Magneto would allow. She feared Hank would brand her a collaborator. So, for a moment, she could think of nothing to say except...
“Hank.”
“Trish,” he said, an amused acknowledgement that begged her to continue, to lead the conversation. This was, after all, her show. Caroline was standing by, expecting to witness the drama of lovers reunited, of a woman weeping for her doomed man.
“Oh, God, Hank!” Trish said in a grateful rush, then hurried to where he hung suspended from the techno setup on the wall.
Even as she moved to him, embraced his blue, furry form— though he was unable to return the embrace—Trish was marveling at the technology and wondering how the hell she might be able to break the X-Men out of their restraints. She knew one thing, it wasn’t going to happen right then. She held out hope that Hank might be able to direct her.
“I missed you, darling,” he said, and she couldn’t help but notice the trace of irony in his voice. He had missed her. Just as, in her way, she had missed him. But she didn’t want to mistake a crisis for a reunion.
“Caroline, could Hank and I just have one final moment to ourselves?” she said, trying not to be too dramatic, though the girl probably expected something out of a soap opera. ‘ ‘It might be our last chance.”
“What about them?” Caroline asked, pointing to the other three X-Men with a quizzical look.
“It isn’t as if we can go anywhere,” Bishop said angrily, and though Trish winced at the thought that he might alienate Caroline, she was glad his anger was unchecked. It was good for realism.
“We will respect the Beast’s right to privacy as much as we are able, though we cannot leave the room,” Storm said, her voice confident and reassuring as always.
“Besides,” Wolverine growled cynically, “we’re like family” ......
After a moment of uncertainty, Caroline turned and left. Trish thought the girl looked a little disappointed that she was going to miss what she obviously considered the best part. Tough.
“You’re placing yourself in tremendous peril, just being here,” Hank said when Caroline had gone.
“So what if they catch me?” Trish asked. “They put me down here with you. I might as well be restrained, for the amount of freedom Kevin and I are allowed.”
“We appreciate the effort, Ms. Tilby,” Storm said, “but the Beast is right. You are a single, human woman. Despite your formidable will, you are weaponless in a city filled with powerful mutants who range from legitimately evil to sadly misled, all at Magneto’s command. With all due respect, what do you hope to accomplish?”
Trish knew that Storm was right. It pissed her off.
“Let me get this straight,” she said, her voice rising just a touch, not enough to alert Caroline that anything but a sweet reunion was happening inside that room. “You think I’m just going to keep doing my job while the four of you rot down here, waiting for Magneto to decide on a whim to execute you? I don’t think so.”
Trish glared at Storm, then at the others. Hank was last. He said nothing.
“Ms. Tilby,” Bishop began, “while your intentions are honorable, putting yourself in unnecessary jeopardy would
be—”
“Unnecessary?” she snapped. “The only way it would be unnecessary would be if you all had figured out a way to escape without my help. I assume you haven’t, given that you’re still here. Now, if you can honestly say that each of you would not do the same in my position, I’ll go back to my little cage and not bother you again. But if you’re just treating me like I’m useless because I’m human, you’re just as bigoted as Graydon Creed and the rest of them. As anyone who ever thought someone couldn’t do a job because of their race or gender.”
Storm raised an eyebrow and lifted her chin slightly, a motion that gave her an incredibly haughty appearance. Bishop appeared to consider her words. Hank’s expression had not changed.
“She’s right, Ororo,” Wolverine said quietly. “Any one o’ us would do the same.”
The Beast began to smile.
“What the hell is so funny, Hank?” Trish demanded.
“Not a thing, my dear,” he answered, still smiling warmly. “It just occurred to me how elated I am that you are on our side in this conflict. I would loathe having you as an opponent.”
Despite herself, Trish had to smile at that. She detailed everything she had gleaned about Magneto’s operation and plans from her observations. Sadly, she feared very little of it was helpful, but she was as thorough as possible.
“Do you imagine you might arrange to visit us again?” he asked her.
“Might be tough, but probably,” she answered.
“Excellent,” Hank said. “Whatever else you discover between now and then will doubtless prove invaluable. If you
can contrive a strategy for our emancipation, pass it on then.”
“But..Trish began, and then kept silent. She didn’t know what she could say. At the moment, she didn’t know how she might be able to free the X-Men. All she did know was that she would not stop trying.
“Otherwise,” Hank continued, favoring her with a look of crushing benevolence, “we will simply incorporate you into our deliberations of potential liberation schemes.”
“But...” she said again.
“Please, Trish,” Hank said, his voice urgent, for they both knew Caroline would not stay in the hall forever. “Be content with the knowledge that you have our trust and faith. We shall all endeavor to do what we are able.”
The door opened as Trish was about to protest once more. Caroline hissed that the guard would not sleep much longer. Apparently her control over her powers was as limited as she had feared.
Trish moved to embrace Hank once again. She looked into his eyes, so familiar, so intimate in memory.
“I love you, Hank,” Trish said.
“And I you, my dear,” he responded.
For a moment, they were transported back in time to the day, months earlier, when they had first exchanged such promises. Vows so easily broken.
Trish turned and rushed from the room, partially feigning the appearance of being overcome with emotion. But only partially. She was fleeing, as well, from the moment itself. She and Hank were through. She knew that. But a part of her wanted to forget, wanted to go back.
If there
was one thing Trish Tilby knew, there was ever and only one direction in which time flowed. It wasn’t so much forward, it seemed to her, as it was away from the past.
Yet, despite what was in the past, and their current situation, she knew she wanted Hank to be in her life in some fashion for as long as he was willing. They had shared too much to drift away from each other, to sacrifice their friendship on the altar of broken romance.
One way or another, Trish was determined, the X-Men would be free.
k
pa*
Sven Kleinstock started to move forward, but Harla
“No,” Trish said, shaking her head. “No way. I’m n
Then he’d hit Cyclops again, hard, leaving a dark
pa*
III can almost hear that Mission: Impossible theme song,” I Rogue said, and followed the comment with a laugh as ■ gentle as her lilting Southern accent.
Nobody else laughed. Professor Xavier even gave her something of a dirty look, that little frown he had practiced so often when the Xavier Institute was still teaching academics.
“Just tryin’ to lighten the moment,” she added.
Then she shut up.
In silence, she, Cyclops, and Jean finished the meal that had been hastily cobbled together from the mess tent in the section of Exchange Place that had been taken over by the military. None of them had eaten for a while, and it was good to have something in her belly. Not to mention sitting down for a few minutes. It was almost time to go, to put their collective heads in the proverbial lion’s mouth. As far as Rogue was concerned, another few minutes would be welcome.
But she didn’t want to wait too long. If she really started to analyze the situation, to calculate the odds, she might head west rather than east when the team began to move out. Gambit and Archangel had already departed with Val Cooper, trying to track the Alpha Sentinel. It would be just the three of them, then—she and Scott and Jean—against the mutant army Magneto was amassing.
Salvation Page 4