AN: This story begins before the movie X-3, will cross through it obliquely and then move beyond to new beginnings, very likely an alternate universe to the rest of the movieverse. It is another tale of my own creation, the mutant telepath Ariel Waters… you may want to read Still Waters first. I hope you enjoy.
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The Cure For Anything
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The cure for anything is salt water –
sweat, tears, or the sea.
-Isak Dinesen
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Dr. Ariel Waters, PhD., appeared to be in a sound sleep as she sat in the comfortable chair next to the hospital bed. Rather abruptly her shoulders lifted as she straightened up and gave a little shudder, her eyes opening. She looked at her hand, which rested on the arm of the man lying in the bed - known technically only as "him", although the head of the lab often affectionately called him their "charge". Taking a deep breath, she squeezed his arm gently. Monitors beeped their soft symphony as she carefully removed two sticky leads from her temples, smiling with sad resignation at the man.
The door of the room opened a crack, and a dark-haired woman peeked in. She spoke very softly.
"Ariel?"
"It's all right, Moira. You can come in."
"Anything?"
The psychologist telepath sighed. "Nothing. I'd like one more go at it tomorrow, though. If it's just me not being able to make contact -"
"I'm sure you're doing your best. Charles was positive that if there was anything to feel, you'd be the one to know."
Ariel smiled, pulling her hair back with a clip from her lab coat. "Charles has a lot of confidence. I may be having trouble with the 'permission' aspect, but I don't think so. His mind, Moira… It's as if –"
Moira MacTaggert watched quietly as Dr. Waters distractedly flipped open the stainless steel chart and read over the patient's current day of existence. She couldn't bring herself to call it 'life'. Born without higher brain function, the man was as good as an empty vessel… or at least that's what they assumed. And that rather weighty assumption was why MacTaggert brought Dr. Waters to the island. With her ability to reach into the subconscious, Moira hoped that Ariel would be able to find out if there was a possibility, any possibility at all, that there was 'someone home'. The human factor made all the difference for her in this situation, no matter what the most advanced machinery on the planet might say. And so, for the last month, Ariel had been trying diligently to make contact, find some shred of personality, with no success. The pressure was beginning to wear on her, and the head of the project was afraid it showed.
"Ariel?"
"Mmm?" Dr. Waters turned from her examination of the chart and seemed to see Moira for the first time. "Oh, sorry. It's just…"
"I know, Ariel. Listen, love. I have a feeling that if there's something to know, you know by now." The gentle lilt in her voice as she relaxed spoke of the highlands that Muir Island sat near. The telepath sighed, shaking her head uncertainly as Moira put a hand on her shoulder. "All right. Let's get some lunch, then, anyway. You're looking a bit peaked."
Ariel grinned in spite of herself. "Sounds good." She replaced the chart and stood watching the man for a moment more – then shrugged. "Yeah. Lunch."
They walked in companionable silence to the commissary, grabbed a pair of salads, tea, and sat down at a corner table. Halfway through her salad, Ariel started talking as if they had never paused.
"There are some memories. Well, I don't know if I'd call them that, but I've got no vocabulary for this."
"What do you mean?"
"Well… his eyes open, his ears work, he has all his senses. And that information is there, kind of… but there's no context. And they're all recent, as if there's no storage. There's no one there to pick out what to save. There are images of the hospital room, of you and even me… but they're empty."
"Empty."
Ariel stabbed a defenseless cherry tomato and waved it vaguely with her fork. "It's like… okay. It's like opening a box of pictures that you found at an estate sale. Interesting pictures… that mean absolutely nothing."
"Ah." Moira sipped her tea and looked across the table. "I know this is hard. You know how much I appreciate it, yes?"
Ariel grinned. "I-"
The door of the commissary suddenly burst open, and a young man with a worried expression flew in, looking around until he found the table where MacTaggert sat. He called from across the room, not even attempting to hide his concern. "Hey, Boss? There's something on TV that you should see." He turned to leave as quickly as he came.
The women looked at each other and followed him without a word into the media room nearby.
Ariel frowned as she listened to the announcement from the lab on Alcatraz, as a cure for the mutant strain was praised. She couldn't help her astonished exclamation.
"A cure? But - this isn't a disease."
Moira sighed as she continued watching the screen. "No, but there are some who would benefit none the less. Ones who aren't able to live as they are, no matter what can be done to help." She gave Ariel a tight smile. "There's only a few, though, that I know of. Largely this is bullyin'. With all this going on, I should be checkin' at the school." With a bare pause, she continued. "Would you like to…?"
"No, Moira. I don't think there's anyone there I need to talk to. Find out what's going on, and if we can help at all. And please give the Professor my best."
"Of course." The older woman left for her office, leaving Ariel standing in the media room, looking blankly at the big screen as she thought back to when she'd taken her leave from Xavier's school.
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Two Months Previous
It was well past midnight. The big kitchen in the mansion was dark except for one light over the sink, and deserted except for two figures standing in the dim light. One was highlighted briefly as he took a beer from the fridge.
"Why shouldn't you use it, if you can?"
"Logan. You know I don't walk in without permission –" The argument had an awfully used sound to it, as if they'd been through it before.
"I'm serious, Ariel. I'm talking about survival. We could use you. –"
"Use me? I'm not useful now?" Her green eyes glittered in the dim light, with just a touch of mischief behind the affronted stare.
He took a swig of the beer and thumped the bottle down on the counter. "You know what I mean." The Wolverine clenched his fists as he stared into her eyes. "I'm just saying that the team was…" he paused, broke eye contact. "The team-"
"I can't replace her, Logan."
His eyes snapped back to where she stood leaning against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed over her chest. "I can't replace her, and I have no desire to. Anywhere."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She exhaled quietly. "You know exactly what I mean."
The Wolverine stalked across the room and nearly snarled in her face. "You saying that I'm only in this for… a replacement?"
Ariel watched him in silence. The psychologist in her was observing his aggressive stance with professional interest, while the woman who knew him found herself strangely unfazed by it. She bit off her first few responses and took a deep breath. Sometimes being a counselor is no fun at all. Consciously uncrossing her arms and resting her elbows on the counter behind her so that he had nothing to be aggressive against, she gave him a grim little smile.
"What I'm saying, Logan, is that we have had something very special, very unique. I don't want to make it fit into some other desire you may have."
"Had?" His frown didn't budge. "Ariel –"
"Logan." She stepped forward unexpectedly, getting inside his guard and placing a hand on his chest. Her green eyes looked deep into his hazel, and he felt his anger fading in spite of himself. He whispered as he rapped his knuckles on the table. "Damn it, Ariel. I'm not trying to make you into Jean." Her eyes narrowed slightly as she acknowledged his attempt to be straightforward. "I mean it. You can come in and look for yourself, if you want to."
She cocked her head and watched him for a moment. "I don't think that would be the best idea right now." She reached to stroke his cheek. "I care a great deal for you, Logan."
He lifted his hand to cover hers and turned his head, his lips brushing her palm. "You know how I feel."
Her grin was sincere. "Yeah." Pulling herself away, she walked over to the big oak table and sat down. "And I don't think you're done grieving."
"You can't lose something you never –"
Her raised hand stopped him. "We're not talking about what you had. We're talking about what you're in mourning for."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"No? Why is Rogue fighting depression? She's never had an intimate relationship. Yet she grieves that lack."
Logan stared off toward the door for a moment, then flopped into another chair at the table. "So what are you saying?"
She reached over and put her hand on his, brushing her thumb gently over his knuckles in a gesture that had become a fond intimacy between them. "Just that maybe, we need to give you a little more time. Give this a little more time. Just… to be fair."
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"Dr. Waters?"
Ariel shook her head, and came back to the present, looking at the young man who had summoned them. "Yes?"
"The boss needs to see you. She said it was –"
Ariel's eyes widened as she felt a familiar but unusually distressed mind. Without waiting for the young man to finish, she turned and ran down the hallways toward Moira's office. She hadn't quite reached it when she stopped, feeling the person mentally across half a planet - a distance she couldn't span alone.
Professor?
She felt an abrupt warmth as their minds touched. Charles Xavier's thoughts were diamond sharp, yet the contact was as welcoming as a voyage home.
Ariel. Sorry to intrude this way, but this is important. I'm afraid it's Jean.
There was a tense pause as she struggled to keep up her end of the contact with her old teacher, even though she knew he could probably find her mind anywhere on the planet. He had shared, professionally, some of his fears for the class five mutant that had been crushed in the waters of Alkaline Lake.
Jean? But she's…
A strange sensation thrilled through her, even from half a world away.
Yes. She's alive.
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