We Can Explain...

We Can Explain... Chapter Twelve (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE (tm), Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta...Damned allergies. How're you now? InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena are loverly 'sm goo goodness for archiving/hosting. ProPhile...persevere! Morgan...*glomp * Readers/Reviewers: The platypi have decided they are to be called Ivan now. All of them.

"Y'all can keep right on talkin'," Remy yawned, "but I gotta go..." he glanced at Emma and cleared his throat. "Just go." Rakish attitude aside, he was still Southern enough to be reluctant to admit having bodily functions around members of the opposite gender or clergy.
"A break," Storm sighed, nodding to Logan. "Ten minutes, and we all meet back in the..."
"Rec room," Logan put in stoutly. "These chairs suck." He rubbed absently at his back, the pain already fading. "Ten minutes or I come lookin'." He did not wait for a response but instead struck out for the Professor's study. He had marked the time Kitty had been in there and was not happy to see more than an hour had passed. _What the Hell could they be telling him that's taking so long? _
Storm glanced at her lover's departing back and nodded in assent. "Ten. Go."
Todd was on his feet like a shot, Rogue right behind him as he practically vaulted the distance from the table to the mudroom door. "Slow down," she hissed, mindful of the eyes peering in their direction. "You look like you're guilty or somethin'."
Todd pressed his lips into a thin line and forced his steps to a more sedate pace as he opened the mudroom door and crossed into the garage, Rogue's intense stare boring holes into his back. He fetched up on the fender of the Jeep, his face set in an expression of consternation. "It's just," he began without preamble, "this whole thing is dumb, ya know? Something's not right here!" He drummed his heels against the metal, worrying his thumb between his teeth as the silence stretched. "I mean...I don't know what I mean!"
"Todd," she said quietly, her foul mood easing a bit, "I know it's a pain in the ass telling this out loud and all but..."
"Not that," Todd snapped, then fell silent again. He knew the others' stories, he had heard them over and over again on the drive home and the hours before, when they rescued themselves. He even had a good idea about what had started all the trouble, but something still did not seem right. "I mean," he finally said, sounding not as sure of himself as he would have liked, "why couldn't the Professor see us on Cerebro? He must've been lookin', right?"
"Well," Rogue said thoughtfully, sitting next to him on the narrow bumper, their thighs touching through layers of denim and her tights underneath, "Cerebro's just a machine and the Professor is just a man. He ain't God...he can't see everything."
Todd sighed. "Do you even remember all of what happened after that?" His mind was obviously on the end of her part of the story, his yellowish eyes gazing at some spot in the recent past she could not see as well as he. "I mean, after I woke up..."
"Yeah," she responded quizzically. "Shouldn't I?"
"It's just that...well...could you tell me if what I'm remembering really happened or not?"
"Huh?"
Todd sighed miserably. "I'm sort of doubting myself here." His heels beat against the metal of the Jeep even harder, his fingers self consciously moving to rub the new scar he had acquired in that week, just below the tattoo over his heart. "It's like the whole thing was some big meth trip."
"And how would you know what that's like?" she asked dryly.
"Hey, I watched _Fear and Loathing1, _ too..." He smiled weakly at his own lame joke.
"Tell you what," she murmured, her gloved fingers lacing with his. She stroked her thumb over the back of his hand and continued in a calm tone, "you tell me what you remember and I'll tell you if it matches my memory..."


He opened his eyes to darkness. The air around him felt close, hot. He knew he was not alone. He tasted blood in his mouth, warm and salty, slowly coagulating to choke him if he did not swallow. Todd closed his eyes again and gagged on the blood, forcing it down his throat to keep it from stifling him. He heard a rustle of cloth near his ear and froze. Something smelled familiar...A clean scent, layered under the dusty, sweaty, old smell of his confines. He cautiously wiggled his fingers and then his toes, finding them all working if somewhat cramped and painful from lack of circulation. He gave his leg muscles a tentative squeeze, working his way up his body until he determined that everything was, more or less, in working order. The rustling sounded again and this time, it was accompanied by a soft groan that was strikingly familiar. "Marie?" he asked hoarsely. Even as he said her name, horrible thoughts occurred to him. He knew her safe time was weeks away and they were very close together, wherever they were. Was her bare face near his? Were her gloves still on? Was he just a fraction of an inch away from an accidental death? Was she? "Marie, if you can hear me, make a noise." She groaned again, this time a little louder. He could smell her breath, cotton candy and lemonade from hours before, and knew she was very close indeed. "Don't move, okay?" He moved the fingers of his left hand, the side she did not seem to be on, until they were splayed flat on the surface where they lay. _Carpet...no padding. Hard surface...noise. What is that noise? _ His other senses were slower in waking than his sense of touch. The loud rumbling beneath his back resolved itself into engine noise around the same time as his vision adjusted to the scant bit of light seeping into their enclosure. "Marie, don't panic, but I think we're in the trunk of a car..." She tensed beside him, her inarticulate groan tinged with a whimper. "Are you hurt?"
"I...don't know," she finally muttered. "I hurt." She tried moving again and hissed a curse. "My leg ain't right."
"Okay...don't panic," he repeated. He cautiously reached to feel the limits of their confines. Barely an inch to his left, maybe three above his face. His legs burned now and he could only imagine how the taller Rogue must be bent to fit in the space. "Try not to talk okay? Don't wanna waste air..."
"How do you know this?" she murmured.
"Freddy locked me in the fridge once, yo. You learn things." He chuckled weakly and closed his eyes. "Just stay still..." He felt her still-gloved fingers come to rest on his hand and sighed. "We'll be okay."
She gasped sharply as they were jolted, the car bouncing over what seemed to be railroad tracks, the road noise becoming a rattling, rocky sound. They were banged around in the small space, each praying to whatever deity was listening to keep them from touching, to let them live. The motion of the car seemed to sweep in an arc, sending nauseating waves of vertigo through their bodies. Finally, it came to a halt. "I think," she breathed, "we're here."
1 Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas...the movie is fucked up, the book even more so. Follows "Where the Buffalo Roam" and is one long mescaline induced trip.