“I’m debating. Green or blue?”
“Green, silly.”
“Hey, I had to ask.”
“I had ulterior motives.” Ororo raised an eyebrow. Jean sighed and shook her head.
“Yes, Ororo, you may borrow the blue one.” She surrendered the thick, cable-knit sweater to her best friend. Ororo smoothed it and tucked it into her duffle.
“Maybe we’ll have time to do some shopping.”
“A little retail therapy wouldn’t hurt. I bet Kitty’s excited.”
“Thrilled.” Ororo was excited, too, not just for the trip to Scotland, but for the chance to watch Kitty experience something new, see things through her eyes.
All of them deserved some leisure and rest. Spending time on the shore and in Moira’s rustic home was essentially “just what the doctor ordered.” Even Logan decided to go after much nagging on Moira’s part. He grumbled over it until he noticed Ororo’s enthusiasm over the trip. Sean promised him a trip to one of Moira’s favorite taverns, which was the icing on the cake. Logan was going.
“I have a hard time knowing what to pack.”
“Bring along something to go out in. And some warm pajamas and thick socks. I know Moira’s estate gets drafty.”
“I don’t really get cold,” Ororo mused, but she decided it couldn’t hurt. She might stand out more as the only woman walking around in spring-weight blouses and jeans while everyone else was bundled to the teeth.
“Funny. Lately…I don’t get that cold, either.” Ororo looked surprised.
Jean was always the one who brought extra fleece blankets with them when they went to watch outdoor events. Scott had teased her that her bubble jacket made her feel like he was hugging the Michelin Man. She was always the first one jumping up to turn up the thermostat once the weather outside dipped below fifty degrees.
She watched Jean pack her bag. There was just something different about her. She was humming as she worked. Her voice even sounded different, more earthy, almost sensual.
”Never know how much I love you,
Never know how much I care,
When you put your arms around me,
I get a fever that’s so hard to bear…”
Ororo watched her move back and forth around the room. Jean turned when she felt her stare.
“What?”
“You’re in a mood.”
“Sure. A good mood.” She sashayed over like a minx and grabbed Ororo, mashing her cheek against hers, yanking her arm straight in front of them, before she guided her around the room in an exaggerated tango.
“Goddess!”
“You lead.”
“You’re demented.” Jean dipped her.
“I know. You love me anyway.”
“So help me…” Jean let go of her, telekinetically righting her. Ororo felt off-balance and concerned. Jean’s green eyes held their usual gleam, but there was something else mingled with it.
“What are some of the things you usually do at Moira’s?”
“Eat, for one. Not just Moira’s cooking. She has an excellent housekeeper, herself, and I can wait to see the pubs. Beer, bangers and mash.”
“What on earth…?”
“Good, hearty food. Trust me.”
“I’ll trust your judgment.”
“You can always trust me.” Ororo sighed. Jean cocked her head at Ororo’s troubled look. “You don’t doubt that?”
“Never, sister.” But Jean felt a current of caution between them through their link.
“We’ll have a good time. Relax. You’ve earned it.”
“Jean?”
“Yes?”
“I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.”
*
“Looks like you’re packing for a year, instead of just two weeks,” Piotr commented, eyeing Scott’s travel bag. Scott was packing what looked like a couple dozen pairs of clean cotton briefs into the carryall and meticulously rolling his socks into pairs.
“With ten people sharing a washer and dryer, it helps to bring extra, just in case.” He rifled through his hangers in the closet, then selected two pairs of khaki slacks in different cuts. “I want to take Jean somewhere special.”
“Why not?”
“I know. It’s been hard, y’know? If there’s one thing that I’ve learned lately, Piotr, it’s that life’s too short. I need to spend some time with her away from the school for a while, and to catch my breath.”
“I get the feeling you haven’t breathed in a while,” Piotr said thoughtfully.
“I don’t know if I have.”
“We were all worried about her, too, Scott.”
“I’m sorry if this makes me sound like a dick, Pete, but you don’t know how I feel. No one does. Jean almost died.”
“So did you.” Scott looked up at him, stunned.
“No. I was fighting it. Nothing else mattered except getting out of there and getting back to Jean. And I knew I was taking Ororo and Charles with me, even if I didn’t know how. And the thing is, I felt her. I felt Jean.”
“What do you mean, tovarisch?”
“She was in my mind. It was like being buried, and having someone dig you out. Everything’s dark, but then you see that first crack of light above you and you can take a deep breath before your lungs collapse. She was searching for me.”
“She’d gone catatonic,” Piotr argued. “Moira said her mental capacity was-“
“I can’t explain how she did it, but Jean protected Ororo and I during the Professor’s attack. He was holding back, granted, but Jean helped him force us into stasis. For all intents and purposes, to anyone else, we were dead. Flatlined.”
Piotr looked troubled. He sank down onto the bed and let his hands dangle between his knees. “I don’t know how you manage it, my friend.”
“What?”
“Coming that close to losing the one you love.”
“Nothing can keep me from Jean. I don’t want to live without her. There’s no life without her. It started the day we met. We’re joined at the hip, and at the soul, Pete.”
“I don’t know whether to envy you or not.”
“Trust me, you should.”
“I worry about that every day. I lived in a small town, Scott. Here in New York, no one would bat an eyelash “ at least not for long “ about what I can do. My powers nearly made my family outcasts. I don’t know if I will ever find someone to share my life with who will be able to cope.”
“Some baseline people without the mutant gene will accept you. Or, the love of your life might come along when you least expect it and might be a mutant herself. You never know.”
“Sean seems to be growing close to Moira.”
“Sean isn’t the first mutant Moira ever loved, believe it or not.”
“Really?” Piotr was fascinated.
“She and Charles had a relationship a long time ago.”
Piotr’s face flooded with disbelief. His mouth dropped open. “I cannot believe that.”
“Why not?”
“She’s just…so abrasive toward him.”
“That’s her way of showing affection. And they’ve been together through a lot, even just as friends. In her own way, she takes care of him and still cares about him. That’s something Sean will have to learn to deal with as they move along. Moira and Charles were together for a long time. If things had been different, they might have been married.”
“So what broke them apart?”
“Charles went away to war. When he came back, Moira was married to someone else. It wasn’t a happy marriage. He was abusive. By the time Charles came back, he’d been wounded and was in his wheelchair. Moira didn’t care, but Charles did. He was too damned bullheaded to accept how much she still loved him and wanted to be with him.”
“That’s a shame that he couldn’t overcome that.”
“He didn’t want to. He felt the same way you do, Piotr, about not wanting to risk her, with him being a mutant and always being in the line of fire.” Scott went to his dresser and started rummaging through it. His room was neat except for the toiletries that he’d tugged out of his bathroom cabinet, currently cluttering the bureau. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that life’s too short and too precious to worry about whether you should spend it alone. We throw obstacles in our own way sometimes, Pete, when it comes to falling for someone despite common sense.”
“Sometimes, being alone makes sense,” Piotr murmured, reaching for a worn baseball glove on the desk. He slapped the baseball tucked inside it into the leather a few times. It had been so long since he just relaxed and played a game or two.
“Not for me. Keep a secret?”
“Depends. You don’t need me to help bury a body.”
“Not this time.” Scott’s grin was sly and contagious. He reached back in the drawer and moved aside a few rolls of socks. He extracted a small blue velvet box. Piotr jerked back.
“Wow.”
“Yep.”
“You’re going to take the plunge?”
“It’s called giving in to the inevitable. I love her. I’m hers, if she’ll have me, to the grave and beyond.” He handed Piotr the box, which looked ludicrously small in his huge palm.
He flicked it open and nodded at the simple setting, a gold band with a one-carat solitaire.
“Perfect.” He handed it back. Scott clapped it shut and tucked it back into the drawer.
“I want it to be. I’m hoping some time away from here will help us. Make it like a honeymoon before the fact.”
**
“What do you MEAN I can’t go??”
“Kitty, we’d prefer it if you didn’t travel out of the country without us. You don’t know what could happen to you so far away from home.”
“Mom, I’m fine! What could happen? Ororo and the Professor will be going, and so will Logan!”
“Logan?”
“The one with the gravelly voice and cowboy hat. He’s really cool!”
“No,” her father said flatly. “Don’t argue with me on this, Kitten. I know you’ve been looking forward to it, but I can’t grant your wish. Your mother and I feel strongly about this.”
“So what do I do, then? Everyone else gets to go on the trip, and I just stay here at the school by myself?”
“No. Definitely not. You’re coming home for a while until they get back. And even then, we still need to work out an arrangement for you for when you’re not at school.”
“What? Why?” Kitty’s heart skipped.
“We’ll talk about it when you get here. I’m reserving a seat for you on the Amtrak.” After a tense exchange, Kitty rang off, frustrated and indignant.
“It’s not FAIR!” She flung her stuffed doll against the wall in umbrage. “This sucks!” Her doll had no comment.
**
“I’m going down to see how Kitten’s faring with her packing.” Jean paused mid-fold, straightening up from her chore. She made a face.
“Don’t bother. She isn’t going.”
“What?” Ororo was stunned. “Jean…”
“I know what you’re going to say. Yes, I heard her. No, I wasn’t eavesdropping. She projected her emotions, and I couldn’t lock them out.”
“She’s not even in the same room.”
“I know,” Jean huffed.
Ororo was silent. Her mental shields reflexively went up, without her knowing why.
Jean felt her friend’s eyes boring into her. “Ororo, I know things have been tense lately-“
“That goes without saying, Jean.” The words nagged at her, unspoken.
We almost died.
“I’m still making an adjustment to everything that happened. It’s been hard. I feel…lost. Like I can’t get a grip.”
“Of what?”
“Of anything. Including me.”
*
“Already finished, sir?”
“If ya mean that I ain’t pretending that mess on the plate’s even close to real chicken anymore, son, yeah, I’m finished.” Matt sighed as the housekeeper cleared away the tray. Logan was already letting up the brake on his wheelchair so they could leave.
The air outside was biting, typical of a local late autumn. The hallway was sparsely decorated with turkeys and cornucopias, their orange and brown tissue and cardboard clashing with the beige-pink wallpaper and paint. It was a glaring reminder that so many of the residents had too little to be thankful for.
Logan took his time with his smoke, huddled beneath the thick blanket wrapped around him.
“I don’t mind it when it’s cold,” Matt said, “but I hate it when it gets dark early like it does now.”
“It’s the natural state of things, boy. Nature needs her beauty sleep during the winter, so she turns out the lights. I ain’t ever minded the night.” He leaned back and fidgeted in his chair, working out a crick in his back. “Makes me feel at home.”
Mr. Howlett refused to abandon his sojourns outside, despite how frail he’d become. Matt still looked forward to their talks and to each new page of his life he watched unfold, told in the old man’s scratchy burr.
His eyes were slightly bloodshot from the cold air. He rubbed warmth into the chilled tip of his nose.
“What was up with that other girl? The redhead?”
“Thought you were fond of Kitten. All ya wanted ta hear about before.”
“I’m not dissing her, man!” he insisted. “But c’mon…the other one sounded hot.” Logan chuckled under his breath.
“Didn’t say she wasn’t. Jean…Jean was fiery,” he said. “She was something else. Just kind of impetuous and fickle. One minute she was everyone’s best friend and cheering section, the kinda girl who brought ya a casserole when ya moved into a new house. But the next, she was dark. Moody. Unpredictable. When ya can read minds, kid…I don’t know what that was like, since that ain’t how I read people. I use my senses and instinct. But imagine havin’ all those people and their voices in yer head, all the time. Tryin’ ta hear yerself over the noise and remember who ya are, what makes ya tick. Jeannie was sweet at her best. Ain’t ever gonna forget her.
But there was this other side to her rearin’ its head, back then. Something dark and wild, kid. I know ‘dark and wild.’ Look it up in the dictionary, ya’ll see my ugly mug starin’ back atcha. It takes years of findin’ yerself, knowin’ yerself completely ta deal with darkness like that. I knew how ta live with my demons, and they practically pay rent. But Jeannie…up until then, before she started ta change, she was almost pure.” The end of his Cuban flared, sizzling red-hot before gray ash and cinders landed on the hard earth.
“We were helpless. When angels fall, they fall hard, son. All I could do was watch, and she almost took all of us with her. We cared about her, no one more than Scott and ‘Ro.”
“Didn’t she try to start something up with you?”
“Yep.”
“Did you give in?”
“Not quite.”
“That’s a story I wanna hear.”
“I’m getting to it. Sheesh. Impatient much?”
“Heck, yeah!”
“Guess hearin’ about how we got our asses handed to us in Scotland don’t interest ya?”
“For real?”
“Yep. Got the drop on us. Didn’t have a clue what hit us.”
“Lay it on me.”
“Take us in. I feel like some cider.”
*
Ororo was lost in her own musings as they boarded the 747 commercial jet. The engine’s shrill whine was already setting her on edge. Ororo had no qualms about flying, granted.
It was the mode of transport that was the problem. Each row of seats promised to make her feel like she was packed into a box. Piotr in particular looked uncomfortable, nearly folded in half by the shallow, narrow seat. He sat across the aisle next to Kurt. Ororo chuckled to herself about his appearance.
Henry McCoy’s invention was a godsend and promised Kurt hours of entertainment. Aside from his usual silver crucifix that he wore around his throat, he was completely unrecognizable. The image transducer projected a solid light hologram around him that moved with him, obscuring his true form. The hologram that he chose was slightly flamboyant, with the face and build of Errol Flynn, except his dark hair was spiked into a trendy haircut that Kitty suggested.
She was still indignant about being excluded from the trip. They took turns hugging her goodbye at the station, assuring her that pictures would be taken, souvenirs purchased and postcards mailed to Deerfield.
“Go fish?”
“Hm?” She looked up at the sound of his rough voice above her.
“Go fish. Wanna play?”
“I’ve…never really played. I’m no good at cards.”
“Don’t hafta be, darlin’. I’ll go easy on ya.” Logan’s smile was lopsided. Ororo shook her head.
“You don’t have to. I have a book or two I can read.”
“Not for the whole trip. Yer gonna be bored ta tears.” Ororo looked skeptical. She peered at the ticket envelope in his hand.
Seat 8A. Hers was 8B. She realized with a jumpy stomach that he was going to be her neighbor for the entire day.
Why did part of her cheer? Ororo absently realized she was in his way for the window seat and she rose to move into the aisle.
His broad, warm hand stopped her, closing around her shoulder. “Nah. Yer gonna hate bein’ stuck in the aisle with people gettin’ up and bumpin’ ya all day. Take the window. Gonna be a nice view.” But more than that, he hoped it would relieve her claustrophobia.
The Blackbird was small but spacious, with plenty of room between seats for the passengers to move freely and comfortably. Or, in Logan’s mind, to make hasty entrances and exits during combat without falling over the furniture or each other. Unfortunately, it was a military-grade aircraft. Even flying in its stealth mode, they didn’t want to risk showing up on anyone’s radar or explain themselves when they landed overseas. Therefore, the X-Men traveled like common man, stale peanuts and all.
Ororo stared up into his face and licked her lips. Logan’s eyes dilated, pinned to her mouth.
“If you insist.”
“Squeeze a cheek, then, darlin’.” She pitied him as he eased himself into the narrow seat. His barrel chest and broad shoulders took up all the room, but he didn’t complain.
“Gonna suck, not bein’ able ta smoke.”
“So why bother? It’s bad for you.”
“Nothin’ can come between me an’ a fine cigar, ‘Ro.”
“So having to go outside all the time and coming back smelling like tobacco is a better idea?” Yet she scolded herself. She didn’t mind the hint of tobacco in his clothes that much. It mingled with the other scents of his skin, hair and clothing, all of which appealed to her.
“It’s worth the trip. Besides, I like bein’ outside, in case ya haven’t noticed.”
“Smoking isolates people, in a way.”
“Don’t always mind bein’ alone, either.” She admitted to herself it was probably true. Logan was a loner. Only in recent weeks had he begun seeking anyone out beyond grumbling goodbyes before he went out.
There was something different about him.
He and Scott still got on each other’s last nerve, whether it was regarding Danger Room etiquette, school behavior code, or the way he spoke to Charles. And the other point of contention was Jean.
There was a strange game of cat and mouse happening under their roof. Jean loved Scott more than her life. They always came into the room as a pair. Lately, though, there was just…something…
Sometimes she separated from him briefly, whenever Logan entered. Yet before he left again, she flanked Scott, choosing that time to kiss him heartily, even greedily. Logan often left with green eyes pinned to his back.
Sometimes he rose to the bait.
“Cold, Summers?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Yer wearin’ yer woman like a sweater.”
“She’s his favorite accessory,” Ororo murmured. Jean shot her a venomous glance. Ororo raised her brow, questioning her back.
Ororo couldn’t even say why the exchanges bothered her. Yet they did.
At night, she still felt his lips beneath hers, with him stealing her breath, literally. The circumstances were unique, but Ororo wouldn’t deny it. Logan kissed her.
Two rows up, Scott and Jean were canoodling, whispering to each other and holding hands. They looked every inch the young couple on the go.
They made Logan want to hurl.
“Sickening, isn’t it?” Ororo spoke his thoughts out loud, surprising him. Her sigh was heavy.
“Maybe if ya ignore it, it’ll go away.”
“Fat chance.” She didn’t realize he was making her a better offer until he reach for her tray and turned the latch, letting it down. He slapped the Bicycle cards in front of her and nodded.
“Cut the deck.”
“I told you I don’t know how.”
“Ain’t nothin’ to it.”
He reached for her hand. Her heartbeat sped up slightly when he touched her. His skin was warm. Very warm.
He laid her palm over the deck. “Cut it in half and set it beside the rest.” She obeyed, almost complaining that he took his hand away.
Logan shuffled them like a card shark and dealt them out. They ignored the flight attendant as she walked up and down the aisle, checking items in the overhead compartments.
There was a delay on the runway due to commuter flight traffic. Ororo immersed herself in the first game and surrendered pairs only as often as she ended up drawing almost a double handful of cards. Logan’s tiny tray held seven pairs, turned face up. His face was bland, but there was a gleam in his eye.
“You cheat,” she muttered sourly as he took the four he asked her for. “Do you have any sevens?”
“Hope ya got worms, darlin’, because yer gonna hafta go fish.”
“Phooey…”
Yet she had no real complaints. They were practically sharing an armrest and the close contact with him made her content. Still indignant about losing three games in a row, but content.
Jean caught her eye over the edge of the seat. She winked at her. Ororo smothered a snort.
“What’s up? What was that look for?”
“Nothing,” she insisted.
“Didn’t look like nothin’.”
“Trust me. Nothing to worry about.”
“I ain’t worried. I just want in on the joke.”
“There’s nothing to be let in on.”
“Sure there ain’t.” He nodded at her hand. “Eights?”
“Go. Fish.” Her voice was smug.
“Still think yer hidin’ something.”
“Well, you think wrong.”
The doorbell-like chime signaled that the passengers needed to ready themselves for takeoff. The flight attendants began the safety presentation, looking more chipper than Logan could stand.
He hated flying. That never changed. When they had to raise their trays back to their position, he sulked quietly. Ororo stared over at him but said nothing.
She felt his tension. It took the rumble of the runway beneath them and the roar of the engines coming to life for it to come to her.
Logan hates flying. Oh, dear…
Ororo thought back to the cave on the island. Her hand remembered how his fingers felt wrapped around it, squeezing it firmly to calm her. Hers was cool and soft this time as she took his, covering it as he white-knuckled the arm rest.
“Huh? Oh.”
“Take it easy.” The plane was picking up speed, and they were giving in to the inertia, pushing back further into the uncomfortable seats. Ororo’s stomach did a little dip as his hand turned, changing her grip until their fingers were laced together. They’d reached an understanding as the nose of the jet rose at a forty-five degree angle and they were pitched into the blue-gray sky.
*
If Logan had to spend ten hours on a plane, ‘Ro was more than decent company. By the time the seat belt sign came on over the cockpit, she’d finally beaten him at king’s corner, rummy and five-card stud, once each.
Those games helped smooth the indignities of a bad in-flight movie and worse meal, not to mention constant shuffling around each other to use the rest room.
He didn’t remember when she zonked out on him.
“Hey, ‘ro, do ya want the headphones…?” Her blue eyes had rolled shut and she settled back into the seat, to the extent that it would allow. He reached carefully around her arm to try to adjust her seat back. It only moved three inches, nowhere near enough for a comfortable nap. He sighed.
He moved the arm rest up and out of the way. Her body listed toward his slightly without the barrier in place. He encouraged her to lean all the way over, hooking his arm around her until she lay over his lap. He almost wished he hadn’t.
His body had all the wrong ideas at the first contact of her pliant one against his. If God was feeling merciful toward Logan right now, she wouldn’t notice that he was in…questionable condition at the moment.
She made a tiny sound, halfway between a moan and a sigh in her sleep. The scent of her skin and her shampoo tickled his nose and her curves felt so soft and warm. She’d worn her hair in a no-nonsense braid down her back. His fingers itched to undo it and run his fingers through all that thick softness. Logan suppressed a groan as she fidgeted to get more comfortable. Without thinking, he caressed her, smoothing a piece of hair away from the corner of her mouth. It tempted him way too much…
Easy, buddy. Don’t get any ideas… He almost reared back in his seat at the familiar sound of Jean’s voice. Except that it was in his head. He growled in his throat.
Mind yer own business, Red.
My best friend is my business.
Ya think so, huh?
I know so. Don’t take any liberties. If you know anything about her now, it’s that she likes you.
Didn’t know that UNTIL now. Thanks fer the tip.
You’re missing my point. You hurt her, and I use my TK to give you the worst wedgie of your life. You’ll be able to floss your teeth with your tighty whities. Without taking them off.
What makes ya think I’d hurt ‘Ro?
‘Ro. That’s cute. A nickname. A man like you probably doesn’t keep track of the names of the women he runs around with.
I ain’t ‘runnin’ around’ with her, in case ya hadn’t noticed. And yer givin’ me too little fuckin’ credit, Red. I never forget a woman, a face, a lover, or a name. So far, she don’t mind me usin’ it. He stared down at her fondly. She rubbed her cheek against the rough denim of his jeans and licked her dry lips. Okay, she was undoing his good intentions…that gesture was killing him. She needed to stop that.
She can’t handle the kind of trouble you would bring into her life. Ororo’s been through a lot.
I know she has. ‘Ro an’ me have been talking. But it’s up ta her what she thinks she can handle. And so far, ya haven’t gotta worry about anything between me an’ her. There’s nothing goin’ on. Part of him was still jubilant about Jean’s earlier revelation: Ororo liked him.
She’s a nice girl.
I agree. Except for the ‘girl’ part. She’s an amazing woman. And why am I even talking about this with you? Mind yer own damned business, Red!
Jean reeled back at the small burst of negative energy she received from his thoughts. His psychic walls went back up, and he effectively shut her out.
Jean’s green eyes glowed gold; the irises were ringed in eerie flames. Resentment bubbled inside her. She peered back over the edge of the seat, glaring at Logan. His face was calm now as he stared down at his charge and cupped her shoulder. Tenderness.
“Jean?”
“Huh?”
“Want a 7-Up before we land?”
“Oh. No, sweetie, I’m fine.” Her eyes reverted back before she peered up at Scott adoringly. “But I know what I want after we land,” she purred.
Muir Isle:
“Man, I’ve missed this,” Lorna remarked as she blew on her hot tea. Ororo offered her an easy smile. “I have no girls to talk to since we left.”
“There’s your excuse to come home once in a while.”
“The only problem is, right now it doesn’t feel like home. Alex and I are having a great time! I love New Mexico and waking up every day knowing I don’t have to put on a uniform. I almost don’t know what to do with myself.”
Lorna Dane looked radiant with good health and cheer. There was no haunted, driven look in her light blue eyes. Her usually creamy skin was tanned from exercise and time spent outside. Civilian life agreed with her.
Ororo and Jean were indulging in a rich streusel cake and the black tea with milk as they watched the beach from the front picture window.
“I haven’t seen Jamie forever,” Jean remarked.
“That’s some suit,” Ororo replied.
“It helps him so much.” Lorna nibbled the cake, poking at crumbs. “It dampens the impact of inadvertent strikes against him. Now his body knows the difference between bumping into someone on a crowded street and a blow he gives himself.”
“He sure doesn’t seem as shy,” Jean said.
Sure enough, they watched Alex and the young man beside him outside as they skipped rocks. He was roughly the same height and build, but his dark hair and eyes contrasted with Alex’s blond looks. They buffeted and shoved each other out of habit, with no ill effect.
The biggest difference was their attire. Jamie Madrox wore a long overcoat, almost completely obscuring his clothing. The dark skin suit molded to his body. It was almost inpossible to see the filaments of circuitry woven like mesh into the durable fabric. Like the other X-Men’s uniforms, it was made from unstable molecules, so it fit him perfectly.
He scarcely left Moira’s keep without it. Jame still avoided close contact with strangers for fear they would grow too curious about his suit that dampened his mutant gift.
Jamie was a mutant, but not a full-time X-Man. Charles helped him shortly after he showed up Cerebro’s radar. His unique signature showed up not once, but five times concurrently. Charles accessed the psychic imprint of Jamie’s duplicates, amazed that it appeared to be more than one mutant sharing the same thoughts. One light shove or blow would accelerate Jamie’s body’s cellular growth, resulting in spontaneous mitosis one hundred times greater and faster than a normal human’s.
He could clone himself. His physical doubles shared his abilities and all of his knowledge. For the most part, they also seemed to share his personality. Charles longed to run more tests, but Jamie preferred to stay on Muir Isle at Moira’s estate. Jamie could reincorporate his doubles into his body after a short period, remembering all of their experiences that they had while away from him. Some were sweet; some were bitter. He was a complex young man.
Scott nicknamed him the Multiple Man. The name stuck.
“How are things going with Alex?”
“Fabulous.” This time Lorna’s smile was smug and self-explanatory. Jean rolled her eyes. Ororo sighed wistfully. “I feel like we’ve got a Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the front door knob!”
“Must be nice,” Jean sighed.
“You and Scott should get away for a few weeks,” Lorna prodded. “There’s more to life than the uniform, sweetie, even though you look awesome in leather.”
“Hey, I’m more versatile than that, give me some credit. Watch this!” Smoothly, Jean gave a series of little pirhouettes from one end to the room to the other. Ororo and Lorna sat transfixed as her outfit changed with each turn. Even her hairstyle adjusted to match her ensembles. Goth chic with liberty-spiked hair melded into classic, floral Laura Ashley with soft curls, then back to an Anne Klein suit with a chignon and long bangs. She ended her fashion show with a basic white tee and low-rise, faded jeans, back to her wholesome self.
Ororo and Lorna clapped, adding cat calls and whistles. “Encore!” Jean gave silly bows with a flourish.
“I feel like stretching my legs. Wanna ask the boys if they want to play Frisbee on the beach?”
“No thanks. It’s freezing out there,” Lorna complained, making a face.
“Suit yourself,” she shrugged. “Ororo?”
“I want more tea. I wouldn’t mind making myself useful, if Moira needs me.”
“She won’t,” Jean countered. “She wanted to see me in about an hour in her lab.”
“Why?” Lorna asked.
“She just wanted me to consult with her and run a few tests. I don’t know why, really.” But Jean looked resigned, even slightly annoyed. Ororo nodded, satisfied.
“That’s fine. I’m still at a loose end. I want to go shopping at some point.”
“Then wait for me to go, too,” Jean said.
“With a trick like that one, you hardly need to,” Lorna pointed out. “But count me in. We wait.” Lorna rose and took the plates back to the kitchen. Ororo sipped her tea. Her expression told Jean that she was glad the other woman was gone.
“What kind of tests, sister?”
“Moira’s worried. It’s silly. She wants to take a peak at my power levels.”
“That seems sensible,” Ororo agreed. “You’re different.”
“Baloney.”
“You are.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Well…this. And that night at the Hellfire Club.”
“I don’t know what any of that has to do with anything. I’m happy!”
“Are you?”
“Who wouldn’t be? I feel better than I have in a long time. I can control my powers. No more wondering if I’m going crazy when I hear thoughts I know I couldn’t have come up with myself. No more accidentally throwing things across the room out of the blue. And I can actually lift myself, Ororo! I couldn’t do that before. I’m having so much fun!” And she grew eager, even girlish as she described her revelation. This was the Jean Ororo knew.
“I know. I witnessed that on that night, too. You carried us. Yourself and me, when we made our way out into the open. That wasn’t just my wind.”
“Of course not, silly.” She waved her away. “But that was a special circumstance.”
“Have you done it since then?”
“I haven’t thought about it. Yet. Why? Are you saying I shouldn’t do it, even though I can?” Jean’s lips twisted in annoyance.
“I didn’t say that!”
“And it’s the pot calling the kettle black, anyway, Ororo. You have your powers and you use them whenever and however you want. What’s the big deal if I want to have a little fun?”
“I don’t have anything against fun. I like fun. It’s just-“
“You get to play with your toys, and I get to play with mine.” Ororo was flustered; Jean was annoyed and indignant.
“Jean,” Ororo said,”I’m not saying you shouldn’t enjoy what you can do. I am saying that you should remember how important it is to stay in control.”
“I am staying in control. I’m all about control.”
“That’s fine.” Ororo sighed.
Jean folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe, glaring. “At least I haven’t flooded a city lately…”
Ororo jerked as though she’d been slapped.
“No,” she said quietly, “not lately.” She felt the hot prick of tears behind her eyes but kept them dry.
Jean realized the gravity of her mistake at the first brush of Ororo’s emotions, right before her friend locked her out of her thoughts. But her body language spoke volumes. Ororo rose and smiled calmly.
“Ororo, I’m so-“
“Go and get ready for Moira. Better yet, why not go ahead and see if the boys want that game?”
“You didn’t even finish your tea, kiddo. Sit down, I don’t have to be anywh-“ Ororo’s braid slapped her shoulders as she shook her head. She approached Jean and gently clasped her arms, rubbing them.
“I’m finished, sweetheart.”
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
Ororo leaned in and kissed her cheek, a brief, cold press of her lips. “Even if it didn’t come out of your mouth, it was still in here.” She tapped Jean’s temple and stroked a lock of her hair, then released her. “I’m your friend, sister. You should be honest with me. Never forget that.”
“Okay.” Jean quivered.
“I’ll come find you.”
“Or I’ll find you first.” Ororo released her; Jean felt bereft as her light touch slipped away.
Before Jean could depart herself, she heard Moira’s voice through the intercom.
“Jean?”
“Yes?”
“Come t’me lab. Wear something comfortable and get ready tae work.”
**
Over the next hour, Moira watched the monitors in growing wonder. And fear.
Jean stood in the chamber below as Moira watched her through the observation windows.
Jean was glowing like the sun. Her psionic and kinetic energy readings threatened to surpass the limits on Moira’s scanners and overload them.
And the child wasn’t anywhere close to being used up.
“I’m adding another kiloton of pressure, lass.”
“Pour it on.”
The modules lined up along the wall pumped out air pressure that assaulted Jean from every angle. She continued the exercise of repelling the force with her TK bubble.
Five kilotons and counting. Moira counted her blessings that the labs walls were reinforced with an adamantium alloy, strong enough to withstand a tank impact. But she could still feel the fluctuating force rippling and pushing at her.
The pressure blasts stopped abruptly. Jean’s TK bubble discorporated instantly.
“What else have you got?”
Mini-projectiles fired without warning. Moira watched her, twirling her glasses by their stems.
Jean’s eyes glowed gold as she homed in on the kinetic energy created by the force of the shots. She was aware of their rate of acceleration, mass, friction, trajectory. She knew when each shot would likely hit their target “ her.
She wasted no time. The tiny missiles warped, veered and fell. When they hit the floor with dull clunks, they were melted and bent.
“Glory,” Moira murmured. “Magnificent.”
“Do you have enough data?”
“Plenty, lass. Have a rest.” Moira shut down her monitors, ceasing the low hum filling her chamber. Jean’s eyes reverted back, and the gold glow infusing her aura disappeared. Her hair drifted back to her shoulders; it had risen up like a shroud around her face during her exercise. Now, not a strand of it was out of place.
“What’s the verdict?”
“D’ye want the simple answer?”
“Please.”
“Yuir power level’s had a considerable boost. Ye’ve redefined the blanket concept of ‘telekinesis.” Ye dinna appear tae be just movin’ objects wi’ yuir mind anymore, Jean.”
“Well, no kidding.”
“Dinna be tart wi’ me.”
“Sorry.”
“Ye seem tae be able t’manipulate objects at the molecular level, even the energy surrounding them. That’s new.”
“It’s fun. It feels like fingerpainting.”
“Aye. Well…what concerns me is that I dinna know what long term effects this might have on ye, lass.”
“Long term? What are you talking about, Moira?”
“Yuir so powerful…lass, I know Charley did something t’ye when ye were a bairn tae make it easier tae control yuir gifts until they could be developed.”
“I know.” Her expression was tranquil, but there was something like resentment in her voice.
“What I’m worried about is that ye might perhaps…how could I put this…burn out.”
“Excuse me?” Jean choked on the gulp of bottled water she took.
I know the mental locks are no longer in place, child. Ye’ve been given free rein of yuir gifts, and ye’ve certainly learned how tae use them tae their best potential.”
“So?”
“But after time, lass, yuir powers age, just like ye do yuirself. Take Sean, for example. He’s no spring chook. He still has many good years ahead of him, more than he does behind him, t’be sure, but his scream might not always ring out as strong. I’ve given him an examination as well, perhaps not this rigorous, but I tested his range. I dinna want tae worry anyone, but his voice…it’s weakening. His power levels are a bit lower than they were the last time he was checked by Interpol. I have a copy of his records from when he was an operative in the field.”
“So it’s because he’s growing older?”
“Nay. It’s because of his use of those gifts. It’s like a part wearing out in a machine, it’s the amount of use more than the age. But also the type of use.”
“I’ll be fine. So I might lose a little power…”
“That’s not what I said, lass.” Moira’s voice was grave.
“Perhaps,” Jean said evenly, “you’d like to make it more clear to me.”
“Your control over your power might wane, and the physical demands of using them might grow to be more than you can bear. And Jean…you’re a psychic, like my Charley, perhaps just as powerful.”
So much more powerful, mortal. The voice whispered deep within Jean’s consciousness. She dismissed it.
“Ye don’t know what the long-term effect will be of experiencing everyone’s thoughts and feelings. And if ye dinna mind me asking-“
“You’ll ask me, anyway.”
“How often have you manipulated minds, lately?”
Jean reeled, stepping back. “Moira…how could you ask me such a thing? I-I only use it when it’s absolutely necessary. I don’t abuse my powers!”
“When was the last time it was necessary?”
“It just was,” Jean snapped. “Moira, I think we need to take a breather. I want to spend some time sight-seeing while we’re here. Scott’s got to be missing me by now.” She made a hasty retreat, red hair fanning out behind her as she spun on her heel.
“Och, Moira, subtlety would na’ hurt,” Moira chided herself. She sat and bent over her journal, taking dictation from the video footage she’d gathered. She brooded over their exchange and didn’t look forward to the conversation with Charles when she called him that afternoon.
On her way outside, Jean shifted her uniform back to the casual jeans she wore before, glad to be out in the brisk air and sunshine.
Moira was wrong. She was a smart woman, Jean reasoned; she’d eventually understand why her concerns were unfounded.
*
Moira was deep in thought as she left her laboratory suite. She was so focused on the events of the afternoon and her plans for the evening’s supper that she didn’t notice a dark shadow lingering over the hall window. The sun threw a pink cast over the clouds. It promised to be a gorgeous seaside sunset.
*
Bitch.
Angus stood outside, slouching back against the wall as Moira came down the hall. His gut knotted with anticipation, sharpened by the rage he felt.
She reneged on their contract to pay him for any damages to the hovercraft she rented from him, stating that its engine was faulty and nearly cost its occupants their lives during their expedition. So they’d destroyed it, leaving him short a rental craft that fed his income and still unreimbursed.
He couldn’t leave that insult unanswered. Angus MacWhirter wasn’t one to take something like this lying down. He scratched his nose briefly, then tucked his fingers into his jacket pocket, patting the small charges he kept there.
A small explosion at the Kinross docks, just enough to do a congruent amount of damage to her commuter boats and service shack was all he had planned. They wouldn’t find any fingerprints or other sign that it was him, and it would be awkward for her if she pointed the finger in his direction. The local authorities would call her paranoid. He was a humble businessman, and she was a bad customer.
He slunk away to the docks, looking for the best place to leave the charges.
His heart pounded and a chill settled over him. He felt as though someone was watching him. Assessing him. He peered around the docks and the water. There was no one there.
He busied himself setting the charges, unwinding the small spools of wire. He ran them around the post of the pier, below the planks where it wouldn’t be easily detected.
The wind ruffled the short gray hairs at his neck, and he shrugged more deeply into his thick wool peacoat. He snuffled in annoyance at the way his nose clogged from the cold air.
Footprints. Phantom impressions appeared in the dry grass. Other than Angus, the dock seemed deserted.
He muttered and cursed as he completed his chore, twisting the ends of the wires and implanting the charge in a wad of plastique.
“Ye don’t give Angue his due, then Angus will take his due however he sees fit, lassie,” he promised under his breath.
There it was again, he realized, that strange, cold sensation of being watched, except he felt as though something was reaching for him-
“Humaaannnn…I neeeed yoooouuuuu…!”
“Holy-!”
The charges dropped from his fingers into the water lapping against the dock.
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