X-Men 2 by Chris Claremont

Author:Chris Claremont [Claremont, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction, Comics
ISBN: 9780785122135
Publisher: Marvel Comics
Published: 1980-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Two-thirds of the way eastward across the continent, in the passenger cabin of the Blackbird, on its way to the mansion, Bobby Drake wasn’t happy with his roommate. John Allardyce, cheerfully flicking his lighter cap open and shut, open and shut, couldn’t care less.

“You think it’s funny,” Bobby fumed, refusing to let up even though he’d been speaking to deaf ears since they went airborne. “Let’s go set fire to your house next time!”

“Too late,” John said cheerily.

“You almost killed those cops, John,” Rogue told him.

“So?” John turned toward her. He spoke with exaggerated patience, as though explaining the most obvious facts of life to the terminally dim-witted. “Logan would have”—he gave a pointed look at the man across the aisle—“if he hadn’t gotten shot in the head.”

Logan ignored the boy. He wanted no part of this argument, because in this one instance, both sides were right. John was right. Given the circumstances, he would have charged those cops and likely used lethal force. But he also sided foursquare with Rogue. Just because he was prepared to shoulder that karmic burden didn’t mean it was right for these kids to do the same. Hell, it probably meant precisely the opposite.

Mercifully, Jean gave him a high sign from the flight deck, and he clambered up the aisle to join her and Storm.

“They’ll be all right,” she assured him. Unconvinced, he growled, crouching down behind the cockpit seats and occupying himself with an examination of the dials and display screens. Jean was staring at him, first at his reflection in the windscreen, then straight on as she swung around in her chair to look him full in the face. He thought he’d welcome such attention, but her direct gaze made him distinctly uncomfortable.

She must have picked up the cue, from body language or his thoughts, because she reached out and used her thumb to wipe a smudge of blood off his forehead, from where the bullet had struck back in Boston. She didn’t move her hand away, though, but stroked him again with her thumb, a quick caress right over the now-healed wound.

More than anything right then, he wanted to take that hand. He wanted to kiss those lips, he wanted to lose himself in the scent of her hair. He wanted—

Too many things.

“So,” he said, taking refuge in the proprieties, “any word from the professor?” Seeing a faint quirk at the edge of her mouth when she shook her head, he remembered to add, “Or Scott?”

“Nothing,” she told him.

“How far are we?” he asked.

“We’re coming up on the mansion now. Once Storm whistles up some cover—”

“I’ve got two signals,” Storm interrupted, “coming in fast.”

Accompanying her announcement, a proximity alarm sounded. Warning lights flashed on the main console, and the main display shifted channels to a radar field. Two blips, rising and approaching from behind, identified by the plane’s onboard computer as F-16s. They were armed and trying to paint the Blackbird with their target acquisition systems.

The Blackbird shuddered in wake turbulence

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