The Picture
Summary: A disturbing piece of the past comes back to haunt one of the X-Men
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: IF I owned any of this, do you honestly think
I would be posting faniction?!
* ~ * ~ *
Jean sighed in defeat as she gazed at pile upon pile of pure and useless junk. Why, of all of the chores available, did she have to draw 'clean the attic'? Wolverine was probably just fine with his chore; after all, it's not like cutting grass was much of a pain for him. But nooooo, Jean just had to get the attic. When was the last time anyone had cleaned this place? 10? 11 years? 'Oh well might as well go ahead and get it over with' she thought to herself. With her first full step into the attic, she was positive she had died and gone to hell. As she turned to look at the boxes behind her, her sleeve brushed over the top of an old dresser and sent up a cloud of dust so thick it was impossible to breathe inwardly – only to cough so hard she thought she might break something. "I wonder if Hank has any spare lungs?" she wheezed. Still trying to draw in breaths past her raw throat, she made her way cautiously to the nearest unidentifiable mass. 'Oh boy. I really hope Scott's enjoying himself. "Make a list" he says, "Draw a random chore" he says. Don't see him pulling his sorry optic blasting butt up here, do you? I'm still wondering how he just happened to draw the 'clean uniform' chore – we have a machine that does that'.
3 hours & half a pile of useless junk later:
Jean smiled happily as she took a moment to rest, occasionally moving things around 'kenetically. "So far I've found a few hundred books, a couple of suits, and a… well there are some things I can't identify with a husband like Scott…" she murmured to herself. Glancing down at a newly uncovered box, a glint of gold caught her eye. "Hmmm… What do we have here?" she pondered, mentally lifting the object out of the box. As it hovered oddly above the floor, she was able to successfully identify it as a book of some kind, maybe a photo album. Strangely curious, she pulled the worn leather book over towards her, trying desperately to make out the fading words etched in gold across the front. "Something Daily. 19… Oh well. Let's just open it up and see what we have here, shall we?" Slowly, deliberately, Jean flipped through the near-ancient pages of the album, studying faces she had never seen before. After a few pages, she stopped for a moment, staring in shock at the newspaper clipping. Without warning she burst into a full laugh so hard she thought she might break a rib. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to contain the gut-wrenching peals of laughter.
Storm walked slowly through her rows of plants in the sub-attic, serenely admiring their botanical beauty. From the stretching green ivy that spread from one end to the other, to the brilliant tropical flowers perched every here and there, the garden was truly an awesome sight. The white-haired goddess took a deep breath, reveling in the way the mingled scents tickled her nose. Dutifully she began to focus, bringing into existence a small rain above the thirsty plants. "Drink my little ones" she cooed to them softly. And drink they did, almost as soon as the water hit the soil, it was absorbed. "I apologize for not treating you sooner" she apologized. Her slightly intimate conversation with her green friends was interrupted by the sound of a sharp thumping above her head, accompanied by something that sounded almost like screaming. Without hesitation Storm summoned the elements at her disposal, breaking a small chunk from the floor with a gale force wind, and carrying herself upward on a heavier draft. Immediately she ran towards the origin of the sounds. When she saw her friend Jean lying on the floor, curled into a fetus position with her red hair splayed across the floor, hiding her face, she feared the worst. "Jean?" she called nervously. Without a word Jean rolled over, revealing a red, tear covered face, contorted with a smile so large it seemed impossible. A small jerk of hand sent the book next to where she lay clattering at her friend's feet. Curiosity peaked, Storm bent over gracefully to retrieve the fallen book. As soon as her eyes settled on the revealed page, she lost her eternally serene front and joined Jean on the floor in her own cackles of mirth.
Wolverine stalked predatorily through the halls, hunting intently for the source of the noise that had so rudely interrupted his meditation. There – there it was again. He could tell he was closer now, the sound was almost above him. As he neared the source he could almost have sworn that the sound was something akin to laughter, or a new kind of torture he would have to learn. "Cut it out!" he yelled to the ceiling above his head where the noise was coming from. Growling in irritation he released his gleaming adamantium claws and shot then through the plaster above him. There was a little squeak, followed by more unbridled giggling. "What the hell's so darn funny?!" he yelled as bits of white powder fell on him from the holes his claws had made. A moment later he felt a familiar stirring in his mind as someone brushed it telepathically. He bristled, but relaxed as he felt the image beginning to form in his mind. Once it was fully formed, he, the mighty and ferocious Wolverine, roared out with a mighty laugh of his own, falling back against the wall for support.
Rogue stirred her coffee absently as she made her way to the entrance to the above-attic. She really did feel sorry for poor Jean and thought it might be good to lend her a hand. Her mama had always taught her that many hands made for light work, and still believed that firmly. So lost in the hypnotic swirl of the murky black liquid in her cup, she didn't even see the suave Cajun slipping gracefully from one of the rooms. They hit each other with a resounding thump and both fell back a few steps, dripping small droplets of steaming coffee from their clothing. "Oh Remy! Ah'm so sorry!" she apologized profusely, trying her best to wipe some of the drink from his dark shirt. "Now don' apologize chere. Remy understand you jus feel da need ta come runnin into his arms." Remy teased, shooting her his most charming smile. "Ah shoulda hit ya with more a' that coffee, Swamp Rat" Rogue challenged, backing away mockingly indignant. "Well what a belle like you doin runnin down dese halls like dat den?" Rogue looked a little shy, "Ah felt kinda bad 'bout leaving Jean to clean the whole attic by herself. Ah mean, Ah don't think no one's even been up there in a century". Remy laughed richly, his demonic eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well den, why don' we just help de femme out?" Together the two made their way up to the musty and dingy old above-attic. What they saw there shocked them both beyond words. It seemed that somehow both Logan and Ororo had found their way up as well and now they lay writhing on the floor, alongside Jean. "Maybe dey been possessed?" Remy offered, mystified. As she had done with Ororo before, Jean gave the book a telekinetic shove to the awaiting couple. It only took one look to put of them in the same form as their friends.
A few minutes and several missing people later:
"Professor," Scott approached his mentor with a hint of worry. "Yes Scott?" the professor asked, quickly hiding something beneath his desk. It didn't pass the field leader's eye, but he didn't comment. A much more urgent danger was present at the moment. "I can't seem to locate any of the other X-Men – they all seem to have just disappeared." The professor watched his student with concern. "I shall see if I can locate them," he offered. Reaching out with the immense telepathic ability available to him, he searched delicately for the tender minds of his students. "Ah ye, they see to be in the above-attic" he responded happily after a moment. "What are they all doing up there?" Cyclops asked skeptically. Professor X shrugged casually. "I do not no. I felt no need to probe their minds. But if you wish, we can venture to find them."
The red-haired mutant nodded his agreement and together the two men moved towards the attic. When they reached the bottom of the ladder, Scott finally realized that it might be a little difficult for the paralyzed man to make his way up. But Professor Xavier simply smiled and his chair hovered up through the opening. Scott smiled slightly and followed closely behind.
When they reached the top, Scott was far beyond shock, he was in near cardiac arrest. All around him, covering almost every square inch of the available floor space sprawled X-Men. Every single person was laughing madly, as though they had finally lost their minds. He came even closer to a fatal heart attack when he spotted the impenetrable Bishop and Cable spread out among the others. In confusion, he looked down to see a book laying at his feet. As he picked slowly up, his ruby red lenses made the images difficult at first, but after a moment they came into focus and he dropped the book, collapsing with his own laughter right on top of a hysterically giggling Shadowcat.
As mystified as his student had been, the professor hovered slowly towards the book. The moment he laid eyes on it, he paled at least three shades lighter than white. "Oh my" was all he could manage as he retrieved the worn leatherback. Staring back at him from the page of an old newspaper clipping of an anti-war riot sat a much younger looking Charles Xavier. The only recognizable difference was that the one in the paper clipping had a frizzy, full, but perfectly stylized afro almost twice the size of his head. Next to him stood a tall straggly man equally identifiable as the one and only Magneto. The only main difference was that few to no people had seen Magneto dressed in a short tie-dye shirt with wide bellbottoms, sandals, and a tie-dye bandana wrapped around greasy looking hair. This was bad indeed.
'Oh well' thought Charles remorsefully. 'I suppose shall
just have to go finish waxing my head as I had been so carefully attending to
before Scott's untimely interruption. It's hard to keep a head this bald you
know. I wonder if Eric still has that bong…'