Awakening – 1
TWO WEEKS LATER
Professor Charles Xavier considered it horrific, through the numbness of shock, that he hadn't heard of their deaths first hand, but rather had to rely on the announcement from the breaking news the evening after.
Now, seated at his desk, forever seated, he notes with a distant sense of loss outweighed by the shock of his dear friends death, he stared at the newspaper spread out below him.
The three page article reported the death of John Howlett Jnr, his wife Elisabeth and his two children John and James. It was both a memorial and a tribute, a report and an account. The accompanying picture of the family, smiling and laughing, had been taken at his school's gates the year before. The picture of the wreck of the car that had been John's second pride of joy, other than his family, was two days old.
Staring blindly, he looked up at the sound of the door opening, and noted through an almost hazy vision the blue furred man that stood in the path of the door. "Hank," he heard himself say distantly.
"Charles," Dr. Henry McCoy, otherwise known as the Beast, an affectionate nickname from the students, stepped inside and cleared his throat, his voice hoarse, "may I... have a word?"
Numbly, Charles nodded, reaching for a his now cold cup of tea and taking a sip. "Of course Henry."
The Beast lowered himself into a chair opposite the Professor, his feral grace even evident through grief. His blue gaze fell to the newspaper, and his mouth thinned into a snarl of hatred. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice tainted with an animals growl. "If I ever find the coward who ran from the deaths he cause I'll skin him alive." His shoulders vibrated. "J-James, he... they, they didn't deserve that."
"I know Henry." Charles's voice was steel. "And believe me when I say that you won't be the only one out for revenge." His voice faltered. "H-How are the students taking it?"
Hank sighed and closed his eyes. "They are grieving."
Nodding jerkily, Charles inhaled deeply. "I couldn't expect less."
Hank slumped in his chair, gaze drifting to the photo of a happy family that until two weeks ago was heading off for a much needed break. "It's – It's just hard to believe they're gone."
Charles closed his eyes, nodding, before clearing his throat and placing the cold cup of tea he had been cradling onto the desk. "We should go. The memorial... Hank?"
Hank had frozen, his gaze on the window past Charles's shoulder. Turning, Charles saw what he saw.
An army green Jeep had pulled up on the verge, the rear half visible even at the distance his office was away. Pausing, Charles shared a look with Hank, who swallowed, nodding. "Memorial guests," he said softly, sorrow and determination flickering over his face, "we should greet them."
The Jeep turned out to have wheels encrusted with mud, dirt and sand, with Canadian plates, and it was no one Hank or Charles had met who stepped out of the car to greet them when they moved in.
The man was tall, well built, with dark hair and brown eyes, eyes that were dark with exhaustion and some nameless emotion. "Charles Xavier?" he asked, his deep voice sounding as exhausted as he looked.
Blinking, Charles nodded. "Yes, and... you are?"
The man's shoulders sagged, in relief, Charles suspected. "James Hudson. I was one of the medics on hand up at the..." Both he and Charles simultaneously swallowed, "...the crash."
Picking his words with caution, Charles inhaled. "Are you here for the memorial then?"
Hudson jumped. "M-Memorial?" He rubbed the back of his neck, voice catching on the word. "I... no... we're – that's me and my wife, Heather, we're here because..." He trailed off, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "The boy... in the crash... we found him."
Hank bowed his head, and an uncomfortable silence fell before Charles broke it. "I... see."
His eyes wide, Hudson stared at him. "No, no, you don't get it... God... um, Heather?" He turned away, approaching the Jeep, walking to the back, his voice reaching them from afar. "Heather, give him here..."
Charles's heart caught in his throat, and Hank's hand – complete with image inducer – slapped onto his shoulder and his nails dug in, a hiss resounding through his friends throat. "Henry?" he questioned, looking up, only to see Hank's narrowed golden eyes.
He turned his attention back to Hudson, who was now walking towards them, carrying -
Stunned into silence, he stared at the familiar boy Hudson held.
The boy in Hudson's arms twisted and hissed, teeth flashing as he continually struggled against an iron grip, one hand coming up to grip Hudson's shoulder, as his head turned in Charles's direction, sharp teeth snapping at Hudson's hand.
A red headed woman walked up besides Hudson, evidently Heather, his wife, and her hand rested on the boy's head of ruffled dark hair.
Hudson stopped in front of them, and with some conferring with his wife, lowered the boy to the ground, one hand tight around a slim wrist. Almost as soon as the boy's feet touched the ground, Hudson's grip tightened and yanked backwards, causing the boy – who had immediately tensed as if ready to flee – to crash into the pavement, landing on against Heather's legs, teeth bared.
And then, the boy looked into his eyes, and Charles Xavier looked into the wild, golden, feral eyes of James Logan Howlett.
Well, Chapter 1.
Would have gone for a longer introduction but couldn't think of how to word it. Am making it up as I go along anyway. So, watcha think? Review and receive an automatic batch of freshly baked cookies!
