Logan chewed on his Cubar cigar pensively, remembering the pen scratching on the short, cryptic note that he left behind for Ororo on her Post-it pad on Xavier’s desk. A halfhearted attempt at gulping down breakfast left his stomach knotted and growling five hours later at the tiny rest stop. He cursed the cost of fuel as he gassed up the bike and wolfed down two questionable convenience store hot dogs, knowing he’d be hating himself later when they “repeated” on him.
Miles of scenery that didn’t vary any further from trees changing color and the occasional toll booths whizzed past him, and his skin smarted from the wind rushing at him.
Ororo’s eyes still burned into him, defiant and accusing. Nice to hear you finally admit it out loud, Wolverine. You were in love with another man’s fiancée. Her mask of indifference dogged his footsteps on his way into the kitchen as he fixed himself a plate of reheated leftovers. It was no fault of how the food was prepared; Peter was a helluva cook, but the food stuck in his throat. He chased it down with a cold beer and ruminated over the homely crumbs and his own angry thoughts.
Scott called him out. Damn.
A year ago, he couldn’t have argued with him. Sure, he carried a torch for Jeannie, all but set himself on fire with it. He argued the point back and forth with himself as he popped open his second beer. Jeannie was the whole package; anyone would fall in live with her. Smart, sexy, sweet, funny and damned tempting…that was enough to catch his attention before Scooter warned him to stay away from his girl. Getting his goat, well, that was just a bonus.
That left him here, running away again, back to the source of everything fucked up in his life. Alkali kept pulling back like a magnet. How long would it be before his nightmares there and his obligations at the school tore him apart? Logan grunted to himself; he missed the rugrats already. When did he become such a softie?
Logan hated the cowardly feeling of running out and leaving things unresolved with Scott, and just plain unfinished with Ororo, but there were still too many questions, too many rocks left unturned. He knew he smelled Stryker at the lake. Blue would have known he was right if he’d been there when they lost Jeannie, his own senses wouldn’t have lied to him if he had any clue to go by.
That begged more questions. How could he have made it out of that flood? How did he get away? Where had he been holing up?
Even worse, who had helped the bastard?
Logan once again silently thanked Scott for making sure the bike was equipped with satellite radio as he tuned it to a station of country and old blues to keep him company on his trek.
{Flashback}:
Logan scraped his plate into the trash bin and rinsed it before he dropped it with a muted clank into the lower rack of the dishwasher.
“He was just overwhelmed, Logan. He wasn’t himself,” Hank rumbled behind him. “Things will look better in the morning. Just give him the chance to adjust.” Hank contemplated the beer sitting on the table briefly before he shook his head, opting for some coffee instead. He laced it generously with creamer as he continued. “He’s not quite…himself.”
“Ya weren’t here those last few days before he left, Blue. That was Scott talking, loud and clear. He ain’t the same guy ya knew. He’s a lot more blunt.” He left the thought unspoken that he’d grown a bigger pair of cojones since he left, too.
Will you try to fuck her in our bed this time, just for kicks? Ouch. Granted, it wasn’t like he thought of Summers as a friend anyway, not by any stretch “ guy walked around like the bug up his butt was choking on all the starch in his shorts sometimes “ but it rankled that he thought so little of him. He’d changed. The old Logan would have given as good as he got, maybe egged him on a little with “Naw, Summers, I wanna give her a little change of scenery. Ain’t all that exciting in yer bed anyway, from what I could gather.” And he would have enjoyed the resulting smackdown to the hilt.
“I get the impression his reaction downstairs wasn’t unprovoked,” Hank suggested.
“Don’t go there. I ain’t in the mood.”
“Fine. You’ll need to talk to him again eventually, Logan, and set things straight. The children are impressionable, many of them empathic, psychic…and definitely vulnerable. We’re the adults. We set the example for them to follow. If Charles were still here, he wouldn’t abide discord like this.” He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “I don’t want to give Scott a clean bill of health and then find the two of you outside, kicking each other’s asses on the front lawn.”
“Eh. G’night, Blue.”
{end flashback}
The rest of his trip was uneventful and didn’t leave him any less restless. By the time he got there, the sun was considerably lower in the sky, which was turning that deep sapphire on the edge of the horizon. He parked his bike and set up his tent, glad that the firewood that he’d left behind hadn’t been taken. He decided to start the fire when he got back from the compound, and unpacked the small battery-powered lantern from his supplies. He began his trek through the woods, mumbling to himself, “Time t’go into the belly of the beast.”
Stryker’s scent was still there, fleeting but discernible from the myriad aromas of the thickly wooded copse. He’d smelled it on the rocks on the shore, but it came back to him the closer he came to the dam. Logan paused as he reached the tiny clearing and found the twisted wreckage of Stryker’s helicopter. His eyes dilated and he felt as though someone had just walked over his grave.
No body.
The length of chain that had bound him to the landing gear of the chopper lay in a limp, rusted heap. Logan knelt down and gripped them in his palms, running over the length of links carefully, looking for clues.
There were no cut marks from where Stryker could have used something to saw through the metal. There were a few abrasions in the metal where it looked like the links were pulled taut against the landing gear and scraped against the sturdier metal of the wheels. Logan vaguely remembered how the panels of the hull had warped and twisted themselves back into place as Magneto slowed their descent, repairing the jet’s external damage, but doing nothing to repair the system itself. He wondered if that had been intentional on his part, knowing that it would hinder their escape once they made it out of the compound. He cursed the old terrorist for endangering the lives of children that way in his selfishness to use Stryker’s crude Cerebro for his own ends.
The links weren’t bent apart; he knew this wasn’t Magneto’s handiwork. It was as though he had crawled free, or maybe, he mused, someone wrested him free. The only one who could have pulled a stunt like that was Jeannie. That left him to ask, Why?
Why show the sanctimonious old bastard mercy?
Logan plodded his way to the ruins of the compound, satisfied when he found the metal grate over the holding pen where Artie and the kids had been held hostage. The metal was rusted like the chains had been from the immersion during the deluge when the dam broke free, so that weakened it. Logan’s claws had no trouble slicing through it. The shock of the concrete under his feet ran through his legs as he jumped through the opening. Logan savored one last glance at the sky above him before he made his way into the catacombs.
Back at Westchester, the next morning:
“Whaddya mean, we can’t see him?” Kitty eyed Peter with the “are ya shittin’ me?” glare that she had picked up from Logan, her face incredulous as she planted her hands on her hips.
“Doctor’s orders. Scott needs the chance to get his bearings back. He can’t do it with everyone climbing all over him with questions.” Peter felt badly about it, but he resumed scrambling the enormous skillet of eggs, crumbling a few chunks of cheddar cheese into the mixture before he turned down the heat on the burner.
“I’m not everyone. I’m Kitty. And I don’t crawl, I phase,” she clarified haughtily.
“Doesn’t matter. Sit. Eat. Do something constructive,” he suggested. He tossed an appraising glance over his shoulder and liked what he saw. Kitty was comfortably dressed in boot-cut, low-rise black jeans and a snug, long-sleeved jersey in charcoal gray with a pink Happy Bunny logo and matching pink stitching and trim around the neckline. Short, black leather boots shod her feet, and her posture was proud and graceful, making her appear taller than her mere five feet, five inches. Years of dancing and gymnastics honed her physique into a thing of beauty, sparely built and without an ounce of flab. Her shiny, sable brown hair was loose about her shoulders, which if anyone had asked him was his favorite way of seeing her wear it. But she’d never ask him his opinion.
She was too busy giving him a piece of his mind.
“Constructive? I’ve got your ‘constructive’ hanging right here, Rasputin! This…this SUCKS. Ororo’s still recuperating, Logan’s off doing his own thing, whatever that is, and the hell if I know! And now Scott’s back among the living, but not back among us, leaving us with one less adult in this place to keep the school running like a school. I took over Ororo’s introductory chemistry class yesterday and ran a PE class for the K thru fours, just to pick up the slack. I don’t mind, Pete, since I love Ororo like the mother I wish I had, but I just want an ETA on when I’ll get my own life back!”
“Scott’ll appreciate you being so worried about his well-being.” Peter turned to empty the scrambled eggs onto a serving platter, just setting down the pan on the burner before he felt a sharp “thwack!” against his butt. “Ow! Kitty, what was that for?” The twisted roll of dish towel was still brandished meaningfully in her grip, and her hazel eyes blazed up at him. Yup, Peter decided, she was definitely cute when she was mad.
“Don’t give me that shit. I AM worried about Scott. I’m not some unfeeling bitch, thank you very much. Don’t you think all the kids are wondering why their favorite teacher, Mr. Summers, isn’t back at the helm? Or that they’re wondering why they can’t see him? Haven’t they already been through enough losing Jean and the Professor?”
“Take it easy, Katya, I’m not the one you need to be yelling at.”
“Don’t act like I don’t care about Scott.”
“I know you do,” he soothed, reaching out and twisting the towel loose from her grip before she decided to zap him again. He tossed the towel onto the butcher block table, then captured her wrist, tugging her toward him and wrapping her in a bear hug that she didn’t expect. “I’m sorry, Katya. I’m just following directions from Hank. I haven’t seen much of Scott since he’s been back, but he’s not himself. It’s best not to crowd him right now. Give him another day or two to settle in. And if you needed a little help with Storm’s class schedule, all you had to do was ask. I can handle a PE class for a bunch of kids, it’s not rocket science. I can leave that part up to you.”
Kitty was stunned to find herself relaxing against the solid bulk of Peter’s chest, and her arms crept up and wrapped around his waist of their own accord. Various fresh smells made up his scent as she rubbed her cheek against his navy Russell Athletic sweatshirt. “I just hate not knowing when things’re gonna finally go back to normal.”
“What’s normal?” he quipped, noogeying the top of her head with his chin and tugging on a lock of her soft hair. She stifled a laugh, burrowing more deeply into him.
“It was awful, y’know? One minute, Ororo was telling me that Jean was back, they had her in the infirmary, and that the Professor was doing what he could to bring her powers back in check. It was just so exciting having her back, and wonderful, and terrifying and I just didn’t have the first clue of what to think, how to feel…I never even got to lay eyes on her to make sure she was all in one piece. Not until we went to Alcatraz.” Kitty found her footing less firmly planted on the kitchen floor as Peter slowly, gently rocked her. Her eyes stung, and she felt slightly guilty using his shirt as a makeshift Kleenex. “And that was horrible, Peter. She was back! She was back with us, and then the next minute, she was gone all over again! And…and I couldn’t do anything about it. We couldn’t save her,” she sniffled. “I hate that we couldn’t save her. We have these awesome, amazing powers, and we can’t even save one of our own? How could that happen? How could we let that happen?”
“Don’t say that, Katya,” he chided her, but his hand stroked her hair, massaging her scalp very, very tenderly. “When all was said and done, Jean had to want to be saved; nothing we could do to help her mattered a bit if she wouldn’t accept our help.”
“Have you told Scott, about what happened, and what Logan had to do yet?”
“Hank briefed him this morning.” He paused a moment to loosen his embrace and let her back out of it, his hands lingering on her upper arms. She straightened and scrubbed the stains from her cheeks with the hem of her sleeve, trying to regain her composure, but truth be told, his hug felt so good… “It didn’t go well.”
“Of course it didn’t,” she agreed, then tsked under her breath. “Sorry about your shirt.”
“My shirts have seen worse. Grew up on a farm, remember?” She pulled a face, and he read her mind, silently answering her with crinkling eyes: No, not this shirt! He passed her a stack of plates and a silverware caddy. “Now, getting back to doing something constructive; how about setting the table for me while I finish this up?”
“Not a problem, Piotr.” Peter found a smile drifting across his lips at her retreating back. During simpler times, when things between them had been less complicated, she always called him by his birth name, and he always called her by the Russian equivalent of hers. A lot had happened, a lot of their previous illusions had turned to dust, but he felt a familiar warmth sweep through him as he savored the mild, flowery scent of her shampoo that clung to his shirt, along with the lingering feel of her embrace. His morning had been rough after standing by in the infirmary as Hank delivered the horrible news to Scott, but at least there was a bright spot now that he could take with him through the rest of the day.
Peter was just setting out the fried ham and sausages alongside the eggs and tossing orange wedges into the automatic juicer when the students began to troop downstairs. Kitty took up Ororo’s customary duty of serving everyone’s plate and doling out injunctions not to spill or horse around at the table.
“Hey Pete, what time’s our Danger Room session today?” Sam yawned as he made his way into the kitchen, hunting around in the refrigerator for the milk. He was just about to take a hearty swig out of the jug when Dani poked him sharply in the ribs. He met her nonplussed expression with a shy grin as he realized what he’d been about to do, in clear view of everyone at the breakfast table.
“That your own personal gallon of milk, Guthrie? Don’t bogart it, we don’t want your cooties.” She reached into the cupboard and handed him the Spongebob glass; it still tickled him that she kept tabs on little details like that.
“Nothin’ like a little somethin’ extra on your cornflakes, Dani.”
“Like what, backwash?”
“Ew,” Kitty grimaced, wrinkling her nose. “You guys are gross.”
“We aim to please,” Dani grinned. She reached for the Honey Nut Cheerios and a bowl and beckoned for the milk jug once Sam poured his fill.
“Don’t s’pose ya made any grits?” Sam looked hopefully at the spread of food on the table.
“Instant stuff in the cupboard,” Peter nodded.
“Ain’t the same. But it’ll do,” he shrugged, filching a couple of sausages for himself and searching for the grits. Marie and Bobby eventually made their way down and scrounged the leftovers. Peter did a head count and decided to make more food to accommodate any late risers. He set a place for Hank and made a note to himself to take a tray down for Scott; he had to be starving after sleeping sedated for ten hours. Ororo had asked to be moved out of the infirmary to recuperate instead in her own loft, pleading that it wasn’t as claustrophobic as the laboratory-sterile environment and steel walls downstairs. Hank released her with the injunction that she wouldn’t lift a finger or overtax herself, and he recruited Marie to grade test papers and photocopy syllabuses and test papers in the interim until they could get a replacement teacher for a few weeks. Dr. Mactaggert had recommended her colleague, Sean Cassidy, very highly. Hank had finished running a background check, noting that his work history included a lengthy stint working with Interpol.
Warren and Jubilee trotted downstairs next, eyeing the fresh batch of bacon and eggs possessively, promising that they’d save Sage some, but Peter didn’t believe them for a second.
While Peter brought Hank and his patient some sustenance, Ororo studiously disobeyed Hank’s orders and went to work in Scott and Jean’s old suite, cleaning it and airing out the space. She washed the bedding, except for the pillowcases; if there was a chance that even the faintest scent of Jean remained in them, she wouldn’t rob Scott of that comfort. The floors were mopped to a shine, and she polished every surface, taking steadfast care to replace the objects in their exact places to keep it the way Scott was accustomed to having it. It was the least she could do, she thought miserably.
She hated that she couldn’t do anything else to set things right. She didn’t have the patent on bringing those she loved and lost back to life, despite what transpired on Alkali’s shores. She couldn’t repeat it if she tried.
The experience left her feeling raw and on edge, and she still wasn’t one hundred percent. She considered brightening the space with some of her plants, but decided that Scott might not be in the mood to accept anything from her yet, even simple words. She craved and dreaded the inevitable confrontation with equal fervor. The mansion had to be big enough for the two of them, or she didn’t know how they would manage.
Ororo reached for the framed photo of the two of them, taken for their engagement announcement in the Daily Bugle. The black and white four-by-six glossy stared out at her from a “shabby chic” tarnished silver frame that she and Jean had picked out at Pier One and felt cold and heavy in her hands.
“I felt you, Jean. Goddess knows how, but I felt you working through me.” She set the frame back down, swiping the dust rag over it one last time. “I wish you’d tell me where you are. I can’t…can’t keep losing you like this. It hurts too much.”
“Beating yourself up won’t help matters any. Nor will disobeying an old friend who confined you to your bed until you were back up to snuff.” Hank leaned his heavy bulk casually against the door frame. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”
“This hurts too much,” she confessed. She needn’t have bothered; as soon as he saw her look of anguish, he’d already hurried forward, wrapping his burly arm around her shoulders and nudging her out of Scott’s suite.
“Of course it does, Ororo. It’s just too soon,” he crooned. “Up to bed with you now. Gray hair mingled in with all this blue will look ridiculous, don’t you think?”
“Distinguished, Henry, not ridiculous.” She didn’t refuse his help as he assisted her up to her loft.
“You’re still not back up to full strength. My aunt Mathilda would have made you take a spoonful of cod liver oil, gargle with salt water, and sleep with onions in your socks; I’m a much softer touch.” He let her collapse onto the foot of the bed, and she was surprised at how relieved she felt as she landed on the springy mattress. Hank rearranged her pillows and fluffed them up as she settled herself.
“What would that have accomplished, other than giving me stinky breath and feet?”
“It would have scared the sickness right out of you. That’s how the old-fashioned home remedies worked, they encouraged you to take better care of yourself in the first place. Speaking of which, look at your bare feet, young lady. You’ll catch your death.”
“Colds are caused by viruses,” she corrected him.
“You lose body heat through your extremities,” he retorted. “Humor me. Put these on.” He brandished her slippers at her before inserting her feet into them with a great deal of pomp and chivalry. “Stay put. I’m going downstairs for some coffee. I’m making you some tea, and you’re going to down every drop.”
“Yes, Mom.” Hank reached out and tweaked the pert tip of her nose between his finger and thumb. “Hank, how is Scott?”
“Coping,” he rumbled. “Only time will tell. He’s coherent. A good night’s sleep helped with that. He’s not in pain, but he’s still very weak and off-balance. Physical therapy and a few sessions with a wonderful psychiatric colleague of Charles’ might help him make the adjustment…” his words trailed off as he bowed his face into his hand, massaging his temples.
“Do you think he can adjust, Henry? Do you think he’ll want to stay, after everything that’s happened?” Ororo wasn’t so sure anymore. He’d been so quick to leave before, so willing to part from the only family he had, as though he couldn’t look at them anymore, and after last night’s revelations, it would be harder to face him now.
“Scott will have to find his own reasons to want to stay, Ororo. We won’t make up his mind for him.” Beast knew how hollow his own words sounded, even to his ears. With the Professor gone, he might not cling so steadfast to his dream the way he once had. And with Jean gone, he might place as much importance on his own life.
“Henry…I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t know how to convince him he should stay.” Her hands twisted the blanket in her hands, wringing it anxiously, and Hank knelt by the bed with concern in his eyes.
“Ororo…will you blame yourself if he leaves again?”
“Yes!” Darkening clouds rolled across the sky, washing away the glow of the mid-morning sun streaming in through the window. “You heard him last night. He blames me, Henry.”
“Charles related the details of the retrieval at Alkali, Ororo. You were in the cockpit. Scott attempted to bring Jean Back inside the cabin of the Blackbird, and he drove him back with her teke.” His furry hand covered her and stroked it in an effort to ease the tension from her body. “Didn’t she?”
“Yes, Henry, she did.” Her eyes were still haunted and smudged with dark circles. He heard the disbelief in her voice and pressed on.
“Jean was a stubborn, determined girl, Ororo; couple those qualities with the immense power she harnessed that day at the lake, and I will tell you right now that you never stood a chance of bringing her back inside. Kurt tried, according to Charles. She teleported him back inside, Ororo! She manipulated his powers in the interest of keeping him safe. What would you have done if you were outside the jet? You focused your powers on lifting the jet, Ororo. You were responsible for the lives of everyone in that cabin, exerting unimaginable levels of wind. You don’t know that your power would have held back that wall of water. Jean wouldn’t have let you fly her free any sooner than she let Kurt ‘port her back to the bloody plane.” Hank forced Ororo to look him in the eye, lightly gripping her jaw to still her adamant shake of her head at his logic. “There was nothing else that you could do, Ororo. I miss her, too! Don’t you think I wish I could have been there? It killed me to see her like that, raging out of control, as if we didn’t matter to her anymore.” Ororo’s shoulders shook, but she held his gaze. “The cure was based on my research, and I couldn’t use it to stop one of my closest friends from destroying herself.” Ororo bit her lip, struggling against the cries that clawed their way out of her throat, but sagged against her old friend in defeat when he asked her, his tone smooth as honey, “Ain’t we a pair?”
Thunder rolled and boomed overhead, reverberating like a chorus of timpani drums, and Henry murmured platitudes into her hair as she clutched at him.
“Ororo, when you blame yourself, and beat yourself up for something that was beyond your control, you’re hurting someone I care about very much. It frustrates me to witness that. And when I get frustrated, I do foolish things, such as holing up in my lab, gorging on Twinkies, dreaming up genetic research that falls into the wrong hands…you get the general idea.” She lifted her face long enough to favor him with a quivering smile.
“Right. Blaming myself equals overindulgence in Twinkies and potentially disastrous research. And if I don’t obey your injunction to stay in bed, you’ll stuff onions into my socks?”
“Glad you took that away from this discussion.”
“I love you, Henry!” She cuddled him close for one last hug before releasing him.
“Stinker. You’re just saying that so I’ll ignore that you got out of bed.”
“Did it work?”
“Of course not. And I love you, too.” He nodded to her slippers. “Keep those feet covered, young lady.”
“I’ll try to behave myself,” she promised. Well, she’d try, anyway.
Alkali Lake, Weapon X compound catacombs, two days later:
Logan mopped his sweaty brow with his tattered flannel sleeve, cursing at himself to bring more water with him on his next trip inside. He knew that his work was just about done here. His knuckles throbbed mercilessly as they healed from the last round of “excavating” that he’d done working his way inside, slicing through airlocks and doors as he navigated through each tunnel and hangar.
Stryker’s scent was stone cold here; this wasn’t where he was hiding himself, that much Logan knew. He might have taken temporary refuge, but he hadn’t lingered. There were no rations, no supplies; no one had even so much as used the toilet in the tiny lavatory off to the side of the control center. The facility was abandoned, much the way that his team had left it.
Except that two bodies were missing.
He was inside the mildewy, moss-covered walls of the duplicate Cerebro unit, sitting on the end of the ramp and pedestal. He smelled old blood “ he knew it was Stryker’s son’s, he saw the mangled metal of his wheelchair buried beneath the rubble, but there was no body, not so much as a severed limb. Bloody fragments of a hospital gown were his only clues that yes, he’d been injured during the collapse, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake again in assuming that the mind-bending invalid was out of the picture. After all, he’d had help.
Deathstrike’s scent was cold, too, but it led him in here, once he’d finished his walkabout through the control room and discovered the adamantium tank. Algae and noxious bacteria floated on the mildewy yellow nutrient fluid, and the metal mesh net was rusted just like everything else was from submersion under tons of water, but again, the tank held no body, no physical sign of the woman he’d left there, incapacitated and staring up at him with blank eyes. More old blood spattered a trail of gruesome stains through the complex. He eventually found wider marks, streaked across the floor as though someone had been dragged away.
Logan grunted to himself. Well, this stinks.
Back at Westchester, Scott Summers’ suite:
Scott stared blankly at the furnishings and draperies in his room, absorbing the colors and textures slowly, scarcely believing they were real. Color. He ground his knuckles against his eyes, squinting at the low-grade headache that seemed to linger ever since he came back upstairs from the infirmary. The get-well cards from the students lay in a small pile on the bureau, still unopened.
The past two days found Hank giving him a clean enough bill of health to leave the sub-level and get some much needed daylight. He could walk well enough on crutches for the time being, but he occasionally still lost his balance and tired easily. His equilibrium was still off, and his depth perception couldn’t be fully trusted yet, either. His entire spatial awareness changed once his powers were pronounced inactive. Hank warned him that they may indeed be only “dormant,” as opposed to “gone.” Scott tucked his goggles into his bedside drawer out of long established habit, following Hank’s suggestion that he wear a pair of them looped around his neck on a lanyard, “just in case.” Scott joked dryly about looking like a librarian with glasses on a chain, and Hank felt a flare of hope that he was on his way back to them that was quickly extinguished when Scott announced that he just wanted to be left alone.
Scott took his meals in the kitchen after normal mealtimes for the students were over, clinging possessively to his solitude and shrugging off questions about how he was. He still didn’t know how he was, if anyone wanted the honest truth. Every now and again, curious eyes would peek around the edge of his door, but he waved them away with a limp smile, doing nothing to convince anyone that he was all right.
Ororo had taken alternative routes around Scott’s room for a while, but she reached the decision that she couldn’t “ refused to “ do that indefinitely. Scott was her teammate and fellow teacher. More importantly, he was her friend, once. She wanted him back, even if she risked widening the rift between them for her efforts.
She knocked lightly on his door, which was only slightly ajar.
“Go away, please. Not in the mood for company.”
“Then I’m truly sorry, Scott. But I’m not in the mood to cooperate.” She swung the door wide, letting in the cooler air of the hall with her.
“I could just throw you out,” he muttered, staring her in the face for the first time since his retrieval and giving her a weighty stare with his cobalt blue eyes. It still unnerved her to see those eyes out from under the obstructive ruby quartz lenses. They were intelligent, intense eyes, deep-set and widely spaced with enviably long lashes and tapered dark brows. And right now, they were full of barely suppressed rage and resentment. This, she realized, could easily become ugly.
“Ten minutes of your time, Scott. Then you can have the rest of the day to wallow up here undisturbed.”
“I’ll give you five.” He glanced at the tiny brass clock on the dresser. “Four minutes and fifty seconds.”
“Fine. I’ll be brief. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”
“You can be a little more specific.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save Jean.”
“On second thought, let’s skip this altogether. Go back to your plants. Or your classes, or your desk in the headmistress’ office, but just don’t come here and open a new wound. I’m already bleeding, ‘Ro. I don’t need this.”
“What do you need?”
“I need Jean. That’s all I ever needed in the first place.”
“Scott, she’s gone.” She admitted it without hesitation, even though her own heart cried out that it couldn’t be true; she’d felt her presence, felt her wielding her lightning, guiding her hands…
“You don’t really believe that.” And there it was. “She came back once…” His voice trailed off.
“What does that mean then, Scott? That you just drag your whole life to a screeching halt, waiting for her to come back again?”
“Fuck you,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. She saw the tightening around his lips, his nostrils flaring like an agitated animal. “You call this a life? I have no life without her. What I had before I met her was a steaming pile of dogshit. I lost my parents, Ororo. I lost my brother, I lost my home, and I woke up with powers that won’t even let me look anyone in the eye…until now, but in the meantime, what the fuck am I doing at a school for ‘gifted youngsters’ when I don’t have that gift anymore, huh?”
“You should leave that up to Cerebro to decide, and let Henry run some tests.”
“Who’ll run Cerebro, Ororo? Answer that one, genius. We don’t have any psychics on campus anymore to even operate it anymore. What do you suggest next? A metal detector? Litmus paper? Divining rod? I’m open to suggestions.”
“I could go one better than that. Why don’t I drop you off the roof to see if you can teach yourself how to fly?”
“Cute. That’s three minutes down, Ororo. Round this up, ‘kay?”
“Henry told me something a couple of days ago that really opened my eyes, Scott. He said that if Jean made her choice, and that if she really thought we could have saved her without jeopardizing everything, without being buried under that water, then she wouldn’t have fought us so hard. She did what she did because she felt she was the only one who had a chance at buying us the time to break free and get airborne.” Scott looked away, stubbornly gluing his eyes to the shuttered window. Seeing him avoid her gaze, Ororo planted herself in his line of vision, angrily yanking open the blinds in his window to let in some sunlight.
“Close that damned thing, now!”
“No.” Her tone was blunt. “I won’t let you rot away in this dungeon and wallow in the dark.”
“It’s my dungeon, and no one invited you.”
“I’ll be sure to tell that to the children the next time they ask me or Henry if it was their fault that you don’t want to come back and spend time with them. Sure, they’ve lost Jean, whom they loved as much you did, and they lost the Professor, the one man on the planet who wanted to help them live normal, worthwhile lives after society and their families abandoned them, but hey, they’ve learned to live with disappointment. They’ve gotten pretty good at grieving, too, Scott, let’s give them some more practice. Better yet, why don’t go out back, into that damned memorial garden that I spent so much time tending and caring for over the past few months,” her voice broke, but she didn’t pause, “and dig a hole in front of your headstone, so we can finish the job! We can kiss your ass goodbye!” The words flew out before she could stop them. Ororo was out of reasons, and the truth defied sympathy as she vented the anger and helplessness that she’d locked away these past few months. “I’ve mourned you once, Scott,” she moaned, “I can do it again…if I have to.”
“Maybe…you’d be doing me…a favor,” he hissed, and his face crumpled before he rolled to a sitting position, planting his bare feet on the floor and supporting himself against his knees. “Because I can’t live without her. And I can’t…can’t live knowing that I didn’t do enough to bring her back.”
“Jean took you away from us, Scott. You realize that? You were dead. Or at the very least, not of this world anymore. Henry never gave up. He believed he could bring you back.”
“I wish he hadn’t.”
“Please don’t say that!”
“What d’you want me to say?” Tears rolled hotly down his cheeks, and he scrubbed them away. Ororo resisted the urge to go to him; his posture was still too stiff, his anger still rolling off of him in waves, thick enough to cut with a knife. His wounds were still too raw. “Wherever I was, wherever she sent me, I didn’t want to leave. I was safe. Nothing could hurt me. She put me away where nothing could touch me, Ororo, and for the only time in my life, I felt peace.” He trained his bloodshot stare on her, forcing himself to look at her, to really see her. She was trembling again, hugging herself and leaning against the edge of his bureau. That’s when he heard the first crack of lightning. “Do you have any idea of what it’s like to lose that?”
“Yes, Scott. I do. In the space of a week, I lost you. I lost Charles, and saw my best friend kill him.” He bowed his head into his hands and shook it, trying to dispel it, but it was out in the open. He couldn’t shut it out. “You don’t just get over something like that, Scott. How much worse was it for me when we discovered that Jean killed you? How do you think that affected us, Scott? Don’t you know…don’t you have any clue what you mean to us?”
“Stop. Stop this. I don’t want to hear anymore.”
“I’m not finished. You will listen to what I have to say. I won’t keep this bottled up, because it’s killing me, and I hate seeing you like this. I died that day, Scott, when we buried Jean. You haven’t been downstairs yet, to the garden. Her headstone’s right next to yours.” A yelping groan of anguish escaped him, dripping with sorrow, and she couldn’t stand it anymore. “I know. I know. It’s too much to swallow, but it’s true. We lost you. And you haven’t truly come back if you won’t embrace your life again, among us, your family.” Ororo thought back to her parting shot to Logan when he left the school to go after Magneto: If you’re with us, then be with us. That sentiment haunted her now, but held the same impact and meaning.
She sighed heavily and glanced at the clock. “That’s six minutes. I won’t keep you…”
“No! Don’t…don’t leave. Please.” More tears slipped free. “I need you. Don’t go. I can’t do this alone.”
“I won’t let you.” Three steps and she was at his side, kneeling up into his arms. Her tears mingled with his as she kissed his cheeks soundly, burying her face in his neck as they held onto each other for dear life. It had been too long, and it felt so good to have her brother back. “So help me, I would have killed you if you made me get that shovel from the garage and dig that hole, Summers.” They remained like that for some time, while a steady rain drummed against the mansion’s roof. Scott’s heartbeat was strong and even, comforting as his sobs ebbed away and she reassured him that yes, he still had a family and a place in the school, and that he was still loved, mutant or not.
“Jean’s out there somewhere,” he finished at last, wiping away the last of her tears as before she straightened up. “She’s in here,” he indicated, pointing to his temple.
“She’s also in here,” she said, indicating her own head, “and here,” she said, placing a fist over her heart. There was little left to say. Ororo called down to Peter to fix Scott a lunch tray and to bring it up to her loft before she helped him upstairs. She stopped long enough to grab a pair of socks for his chilled, bare feet, threatening him with Henry’s onion remedy if he didn’t cover them properly. It was good to finally hear him laugh.
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