Psy-lock: Bonjour, mon amis! New Chapter everyone- Celeste and Storm are linked by their weather-controlling abilities, Xavier finds her and...well, basically, it's just that, but expanded very nicely. Enjoy!

-+-

Chapter Two: Y'can have it

Professor Charles Xavier furrowed his brow in concentration. He may have been the world's greatest telepath, but he by no means considered himself its greatest thinker. And, indeed, this would appear to be a conundrum to stump any great detective. Xavier had first detected the mutant's signal over a week ago. The freak winds that had rattled New Orleans during that very same hour had been no coincidence.

He had, at first, believed that the mutant, having no control over his or her newly-manifested powers, had no control over them. Ever the optimistic recruiter, he had sent his X-Men on a mission to the Southern city (much to Rogue's delight, but Scott, the team leader, was quick to quell that). It was what had been dubbed a big 'R' mission: rescue or recruitment.

There had been no scared mutants to rescue, flocked by angry anti-mutant supporters or trapped by their lack of control over their own powers. No scared teenager nor worried family to consult. There was no-one there. Ne rescue and no recruitment. Instead, what they'd found had lead to the mystery that continued to plague Xavier's mind. He steepled his hands, going over the evidence in his mind.

An outfit in leather: combat boots, jeans, top and many-pocketed duster. Canvas gloves, light and breathable. A belt with an empty gun holster. A row of neat, little throwing knives and a lethal looking dagger in one boot. Three bullets: one coated with the blood of a mutant.

Jean, who was considered the best at human-mutant relations, had asked the thick-accented citizens of the area whether they'd heard of any shootings. She'd been met with thin-lipped silences, outright rejections and no few people, who had gabbled away apologetically in French before turning to share a laugh with friends.

"D'you mean da ones last night in da alley or da ones in da museums real early dis mornin'? Or was it da shootout ya were after?" one had queried her in a conversant tone; there would be no answers there.

The clothes and the weapons found had been strewn by the wind on the bridge. The same scent that Logan had picked up on the clothes, seemed to pervade the whole city, preventing any form of physical tracking. However, Cerebro was still able to locate a mutant, if that mutant was to use his or her powers.

And, most confusing of all, the fact that the signal had not died out. The same mutant was now using her powers constantly, so that, since her powers had first manifested, she had yet to stop using that power. At times, she had ripped across the country and at others she had sluggishly circled certain areas. She was inconstant and untraceable.

"Where are you? What are you doing?" he said, both aloud and telepathically. "I intend no harm. Reveal yourself."

There was the same empty silence- not that it was ever truly silent for the Professor. There was always the roaring undertone of millions of individual thinking, always thinking. He sighed heavily, before wheeling himself out of the room. He needed a break. A cup of tea, perhaps. The door opened, machinated by unseen forces, and Xavier nearly ran into his colleague, Ororo Monroe: Storm.

"My apologies, Ororo. I've been distracted," he explained. "Perhaps you might join me for tea?"

"Of course, Charles. I'm glad that you summoned me, for I have matters I wish to discuss with you," Storm said, a slight expression of puzzlement on her face. 'Surely he didn't summon me for a cup of tea…'

Xavier sighed.

"I'm afraid that I must have projected that particular thought across the mansion. Undoubtedly, I shall have all the students revealing themselves to me this afternoon."

"Then perhaps I will discuss it with you after," Storm conceded, a little distracted.

"It would be better. Scott and Jean are probably in their uniforms by now," Charles said, with a ghost of a chuckle.

Ororo laughed too, a rich, melodic sound as soothing as the first sounds of rain on the roof. They parted.

'X-Men, please disregard my last command,' Xavier projected across the mansion.

Some floors above him, he heard a dull thump. Sam Guthrie had yet to adjust to other presences in his mind. He pretty much dropped whatever he was holding or fell over his own feet whenever his or Jean's mind reached out.

'Why? Why didn't I hear it before?' he questioned himself. 'Why only Storm?'

So many questions. There were always so many questions.

Flashback >

Carried. She was being carried. Not gently cradled, or even half-dragged, but slung over someone's shoulder and being jostled about like a sack of potatoes. She remained still and relaxed, but opened one eye slightly. No wonder she couldn't hear footsteps- her captor tread softly on red, thick and luxurious. Voices- voices raised in alarm.

"Merde, Belle, what happened?"

"Dis fool 'ttacked Julien-"

"S'he alright?" the man said in a tone of a command, that demanded the right answers and respect; Celeste could feel eyes burning into her form, but, with an effort, she kept from stiffening.

"Da boy's fine-" another man's voice now "-just a little scratch to da chest. He be at da doctor's now."

"So he knocked de fille out?"

"Non, pere," I did," the girl's voice again, scornful and proud. "Julien busy bein' polite."

There was a loud chuckle.

"And at what point did ya get dat belle shiner?"

"She hit me," she murmured back.

"She landed a hit on ya Belle- m'own femme fatale. I tought dat ya trainers said ya could fight hand-to-hand?"

"Non pere! Dis girl- she's a thief- she is! She was afta his money!"

"A thief?"

The tone had changed now and the tension was high. The silence was ominous.

"You dere, fille. Get up. You a thief?"

Caught out. Celeste stood unsteadily, swaying slightly. Red spots danced across her vision.

"No sir- not a thief. Never stolen a thing in my life."

She could barely see; she swayed on her feet.

"If y'ain't a thief, why'd ya attack my fils?"

"To take his wallet," Celeste said honestly, with a frown- this wasn't sounding right in her fevered mind.

Silence.

"But I didn't- did I?"

The man laughed again.

"Ya a brave child! Like dat- ya attacked a boy three times ya senior and twice ya weight. Who's ya pere?"

Celeste pressed her lips together slightly.

"No pere? Ya gotta place to stay? No 'un but a thief 'ttacks people for dere money if dey gotta home. No home, heh?"

The slightest shake of a head. There was a contemplative silence. 'Just kick me out,' Belle begged with the voice of her mind, 'Don't you dare call the cops…'

"Belle, ya put this girl on of da guest rooms. No good ta us if she passes out again."

There was a whispered complaint.

"We always need new blood Belle. 'Sides, if dat Jean-Luc can pick a potential off the streets, so can I."

"Ya follow the girl with da pretty blue and black eyes. We talk later, heh?" he addressed her again.

"Yes sir," she said obediently, but still not entirely cognisant of what had just occurred..

As she followed the blonde girl, around her own age, out of the room, Storm mouthed 'Merci' to the man, who would give her everything in life.

End Flashback >

'Merci' Storm mouther into the emptiness of her lofty, attic greenhouse. She was remembering when he had first met Marius Boudreaux, who would eventually commission someone to kill her. But Storm had never met these people: Julien; Belladonna; Marius.

'That's not my memory,' she said to herself. 'Whose is it?'

It was like a chill breeze on the back of one's neck. It was not telepathy, but nor was it spoken aloud. Just a whisper, borne on the wind.

'No it's not,' the voice sighed. 'It's a good memory though- y'should keep it.'

'Who are you?' Storm projected wildly, seeking that ghostly presence.

Flashback >

"Who're you?" the dark-haired boy asked her suspiciously, edging along the wall that separated the French from the rest of New Orleans.

"Celeste," she replied, flashing him a genuine smile. "And you are most certainly one the Le Beaus, heh?"

The boy grinned back.

"Oui- da good looks run in da family, don't dey? Etienne."

"One of Tante Mattie's brood. She says you're all th'same. Such handsome boys dey are- with such great big heads. Merde, dey'll be the death'f me!" she imitated the healer, who travelled often between the guilds.

"Dat's her alright. How d'you know her?"

"She comes t'the guild sometimes."

There had been a silence, and Celeste sent a sly look at him and smiled in amusement. Etienne's eyes were alive with fear and apprehension.

"R'lax. I'm not gonna kill ya."

Etienne had immediately relaxed and sent her a charming grin, revealing a mischievous set of dimples.

"Ya wanna walk?"

"Ya gonna buy me an ice cream?"

Etienne's grin had widened and he offered her a hand.

"Oui."

"Merci, Monsieur Le Beau," Celeste had replied with a giggle, practicing her French.

Etienne's eyes once more lit with shared mirth, then glazed over.

"Belle," he wheezed, before slumping forward, blood pooling at his feet.

"Etienne…"

Etienne dead. Benoit dead. A gun in her right hand and a dagger in her left.

There was no going back.

End Flashback >

'No going back…'the voice murmured sadly, receding slowly.

The link broken, Storm cast wildly about. She didn't know the girl, but it was only a child- lost and confused.

'Where are you?' she pleaded.

'Ororo! Are you alright?'

'Don't worry Ms Munroe- Mr McCoy is on his way up. Who were you calling to?'

Her desperate call had not gone unheard. Jean and Xavier, both telepaths, had answered. Storm came back to herself. The small rain cloud she had conjured to water her precious plants was now a small, raging storm, confined within the attic. With a shaking hand, she swept it away and it dispersed, just as Jean ran in, closely trailed by Hank.

The blue doctor took one look at Storm and whisked her off her feet to the Medilab. Storm, regaining her regal and serene manner, if a bit sharp, demanded to be released. But Hank, official monarch of the Medilab, had a rule: if you can't walk into the Medilab, then you certainly can't walk out.

"Shall I demonstrate my good health by flying out, Beast? I'd secure the beds and all the machinery down, since I am not allowed to walk out. Must I remind you that I am not one of the children?" Storm had countered, perhaps a little scathingly; she did need to see the Professor, after all.

The hulking doctor observed the indignant African queen mildly. Storm immediately regretted her outburst.

"I am sorry, Hank. I really must see Charles. This hurt is not my own and no physic will heal it."

Hank smiled empathically.

"Well it is fortunate that Charles has just now entered the room, is it not?"

Storm reddened and turned to face Xavier.

"I believe now is the right time to discuss those problems," Charles Xavier stated gravely.

"I am sorry," Storm said, hanging her head down, so that her long white hair hung down. "I should have consulted you earlier."

"Now is not the time for regrets, Ororo. Something is wrong. Tell me."

"I've been getting the oddest feeling lately…my emotions will dip and soar for no reasons. And I have…thoughts- thoughts of things I know not."

Xavier was silent. Storm stared at the floor, eyes wide.

"And memories. Memories so vivid that it is like a moving picture. And I am in them."

Storm's tone intensified.

"But these thought and memories. They don't belong to me. I did not manifest, nor did I manifest the voice who speaks from outside my body to me."

She laughed suddenly, more desperate than melodic.

"You must think me touched, Charles!"

Charles cocked his head, honing in on one particular thought of his own devising.

"Touched, yes…but not by madness, but another mutant," he said conclusively.

"A telepath?" Storm asked, speculatively.

"No. When did these problems start?"

"Not last week," Storm said, puzzled.

"Indeed. In fact, I would hazard a guess that they began on Sunday evening, when we returned from New Orleans."

Something in Xavier's mind clicked. He began to mutter under his breath.

"The freak winds…the message I sent to the girl. Of course…"

His eyes widened in sudden understanding.

"A conduit."

He wheeled over to Storm's side.

"I communicated to her and found you. You are acting as a conduit, somehow bonded by your akin powers. The control of the very forces of nature. And, if I can reach you through her, I can reach her through you."

Storm understood now. She closed her eyes and bowed her head.

"You may do it," she said quietly.

Xavier was shocked by her trust. Storm was an exceedingly private woman and to allow him to invade her mind was really quite a large thing.

"Are you sure?" he said, preparing his barriers and testing Storm's own.

'Yes,' she thought, so the Professor could hear.

'Relax…' he said, merging into her mind.

It was dark, so dark. But, somehow, the sky was beautiful and held the promise of rain and sunshine and moonlight and gale at the same time. Storm's mind, like her powers, was of nature. He floated there, bereft of the confines of his own crippled body.

"Where are you?" he called out. "Please come out…"

The voice echoed and faded.

"No…" the merest breath of thought, so quiet that it seemed to disappear the moment it began.

It served to strengthen the bond.

"You are there," Professor Xavier said, forcing her into being.

"No, I'm not," Celeste stated, but it was too late.

His voice called to her and her response brought her there. She materialised before him and looked up into the sky, then back at him.

"You found me," she said sadly.

-+-

There y'all go. Next chapter? Rescuing Celeste from her own powers...Jean's a bitch, Scott's an idiot and I'm a person. Hmm...I might be away for a couple of weeks, because I'm on a private vendetta to go attack Steve Irwin...stupid idiot.