Frayed: Tis me again! Anyway, I've felt a renewed wave of affection for Jean...sure, she comes off as being a preppy bitch, but perhaps I made her a little too shallow. I'll give her some depth now. Anyway, this chapter beckons!
(o0)
Chapter Three: Release
"You found me."
Those words reverberated with immeasurable regret and sadness- yet, at the same time, there was a tiny flicker of hope now; a longing for acknowledgement, that someone would help, someone would once more put faith in her and recognise her as being human. In truth, she had been recognised as something more than human – mutant.
"Y'don't deserve help, y'filthy traitor," a voice echoed in her mind; it was Bella's voice, Julien's voice- her own voice.
'Heed not the voices of the mind,' Storm ordered- her voice authorative and soothing. 'For what crime you punish yourself thus, child, you have yet a lifetime of redemption.'
'Who says I want redemption?' Celeste replied, her presence and awareness withdrawing from the weather witch's mind, as gentle as an evening breeze, drawing a cloak of misty darkness to cover herself. 'Not everyone deserves a second chance…'
Storm found herself once more, deluged by dark, brooding thoughts. However, these were all of her own making. Charles' presence was still there, silently observing the girl's withdrawal. And now he, too, retained a small fragment of awareness with her, a tentative, telepathic tendril that stretched across the abyss. Not much to go by, but just enough that the man could amplify his powers and Cerebro could locate her. Charles followed suit, his presence retreating and returning to his crippled, physical body.
"Ororo," he said sharply, opening keen, blue eyes and seeing the woman still lost in her thoughts, normally serene brow furrowed by concern. Storm's eyes opened and she finally breathed.
"She's real," she murmured, casting her eyes to the steel floor of the Medilab. "All this time, she's been real. I don't understand how we could have missed her in New Orleans."
"Oh, she's very real," Charles mused, a new note in his voice, as if the location of the girl had renewed some well of hope within him too. "But if we can assume her powers are elemental, then she may not have had corporeal form at the time. It wouldn't be so unusual, especially if she can't deactivate her powers."
"I think the trouble may be that she chooses not to...or that she's made no effort to," Storm replied gravely. "What shall we do? She is obviously deeply troubled and wanders aimlessly, entrenched in her own powers…she desires the oblivion of her powers."
Somewhere in the link, Celeste's awareness swelled and there was a reverberation in the link. There was a slight twinge, which caused Storm to flinch in surprise. The bitterness there virtually held the words, "I'll say!" And the African woman's heart bled that a girl – no, a young woman – could feel so little joy in life, in living.
Charles grimaced in sympathy.
"I could, with your consent, block her presence from your mind. If her thoughts continue to intrude, she may cause further problems. A mental block, perhaps- like Rogue's. Your mind will remain your own. The girl shows no inclination to assist in her own rescue and, if she does not want help, her presence in your thoughts may indeed be a blockade to our efforts."
Storm gazed at Xavier, aghast. He would encourage her to block the presence of a child- a child in need- from her mind. Rogue had spoken of that block- how the psyches riled at their imprisonment and begged for release. Though the subject of their discussion was certainly in no mind for company, it seemed almost cruel to even harbour that thought.
"Perhaps," she said demurely, a touch of frost to her voice, "after we rescue her. But not until then."
There was an unspoken decision in those words and Charles felt it. Of course, he'd send the team out to try to locate her. But Ororo's poltergeist would be difficult enough to find, let alone adopt. He would not see his team, their home, torn asunder once more. Too many things had happened – the destruction of the mansion, Apocalypse...the burgeoning threat of the sentinels. But, while he feared for his children, his faith held firm.
"Will you accompany me to Cerebro?" Xavier said, lightly. "I believe Jean and I will have some work to do."
(0o)
Jean closed the text book...after a day at the college in Bayville's outskirts, she could feel a headache coming on, a swelling wave that she wished she could block. She collapsed onto her bed, wincing as her back twinged uncomfortably. Ouch. She needed a break...maybe she'd go stalk about and ensure the younger students were focussing on their homework. A little hypocritical, but it'd make her feel better.
'Jean,' a voice quietly spoke from beyond her mind and the auburn-haired beauty quickly sat up. 'Jean, there's a mission. The mutant from New Orleans has been located. Her situation...it's unique. The whole team will not be involved in this rescue mission…only you, Kurt, Robert, Logan and Storm are to come to the briefing. They've already been informed.'
'Isn't Bobby a little inexperienced to be going on missions?' Jean queried. Bobby was hard to handle, even without bringing his icy powers into the picture.
'He has proved himself,' was the guarded reply.
'Of course, Professor,' Jean replied quickly, voice dripping with unquestioning respect, quickly quashing any ill feelings. She supposed Bobby would be fully inducted to the team any day now.
She shook her head, raising a hand and coaxing her hairbrush from its dresser to her. The X-Men were getting younger and younger these days...next thing they'd have Jubilee running around in spandex. She'd like that... Jean ran the brush through her silken fall of crimson hair, tilting her head in such a way that she knew the light would catch its burnished highlights and set them aglow. Hey- if you were off saving the world, one mutant and a time, you had to look your best!
She changed into her uniform, cursing the spandex, which clung, almost stickily, to her skin, while admiring the way it held to her curves, emphasising her willowy form. Stepping out into the empty hall, she turned out of the teachers' wing (where she and Scott now claimed a spot) and headed through the students' corridors.
"Scott!" she called out, catching a glimpse of him, as he paused outside one of the student's rooms; a brief scan revealed it to be Rogue's room and she quickly withdrew her mind, meeting the firm blockade of the other girl's shields.
"Jean? Do we have a mission?" Scott quickly bit out, straightening his body, going into his Mighty Leader mode that made Jean struggle between laughter and snapping her feet together and executing a sharp salute.
"The Professor didn't inform you?" Jean said in slight surprise, a small, pleased smile touching the corner of her lips. "Don't worry- it's only a rescue mission…that mutant, who we were looking for in New Orleans…nothing huge."
"New Orleans...." Scott echoed, wondering why he hadn't been informed, but deciding not to probe. 'The Professor knows best,' he told himself loyally.
'Of course he does,' Jean sent with a dazzling smile, before sidling past the brunette, as he stepped out her path.
As she walked down the hall, she paused and turned her head slightly, flicking her auburn locks over her shoulder and catching Scott's hidden gaze.
"Oh, sorry Scott; you'll have to take a raincheque on helping the kids with that little study-group of theirs tonight. See ya."
"See ya, Jeanie," he said, turning in the opposite direction.
"Kurt and Bobby are headed out too…" a voice drawled from the doorway he has just left.
"Huh?" Scott said in confusion, turning back.
"Kurt and Bobby are going on the mission too," Rogue drawled, raising an eyebrow at Scott's lack of guile. "Ya knocked?"
Rogue was standing in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe. In her gloved hands she held a third glove. It was a strange one: specially-tailored for a large, three fingered hand. Of course, before Jean had called out to him, he had been going to tell Rogue something. And, of course, Rogue would have heard the whole conversation, through no fault of her own.
"Yeah," Scott said, face colouring slightly, as he ran his hand through his short hair embarrassedly, "Ummm…I was just coming up to let you know that you didn't have to help with the New Recruits' study group tonight, but, seeing as we've had a late pullout, I guess it's still on."
"Sure, Cyc…" she said, with a hint of a mocking smile. "Ah guess."
She made as if to shut the door, but Scott quickly planted his hand on the door.
"How do you know that they're going on the mission?" he asked curiously.
The answer was made clear- when a cloud of sulphur-reeking smoke manifested itself, with a loud 'bamf'. Kurt's trademark entrance. He shook his head, clearing a space of less-clouded air.
"Mein freur, have you seen a uniform glove?" he said, waggling large blue (bare) fingers in Rogue's direction and ignoring Scott. "Mees Perfect Redhead vill kill me if I'm late."
"Sure, sugah," Rogue said, brandishing the glove she held in her hand, a rare, gentle smile touching her lips. "Y'all be careful now, 'kay?"
"Da," Kurt agreed, bamfing to the underground hangar, now in full uniform.
Scott looked mutely at the spot, where Kurt has been. He knew that Rogue, perhaps, had been a little jealous- even resentful- of Jean, but he didn't know that there seemed to be an Anti-Jean streak in the X-Men.
"Jeez, Cyc- relax," Rogue said, rolling her eyes and slamming the door shut.
Scott stood a moment, staring at the closed door. He'd always known Rogue (well, since she'd joined the X-Men) to almost go out of her way to avoid him- let alone talk like that to him. He scowled to himself. He wondered where she'd gone in February- other than to New Orleans with Gambit…what had happened there? Not that he could fault the new, bolder Rogue.
"Wow!" came a voice, from around his feet.
Scott looked down, seeing Kitty Pryde's body phase through the ground at his feet. She grinned sheepishly at him, as her feet pulled through the carpet, but she still stood a good two heads below him in height.
"Hey Scott!" she greeted him perkily, then ran straight through him and the door.
Scott stared at the door for a moment, almost jealously, knowing he wasn't welcome there. Sure, he hadn't reciprocated Rogue's attentions, when she'd obviously been crushing on him, but now, he was almost jealous of Kitty's familiarity with her. Suddenly, he felt very lonely, standing in that dark hallway. There was a murmured comment in the room, followed by a loud, husky laugh.
"Yeah, Kit, Jean walked past him and Cyc didn't know what hit'm!"
Scott sighed heavily; maybe he should give up on Jean…sure, she wasn't with Duncan anymore, but she hadn't shown much interest in him lately. His thoughts were interrupted, as the pounding of footsteps thundered towards him. Jubilee and Jaime, New Recruits, ran to the window at the end of the hall.
"Man, that's totally crazy!" Jubilee exclaimed.
"Yeah- we were just playing basketball down there!" young Jaime agreed.
Past their heads, Scott saw the Blackbird flicker in and out of sight, as it moved into stealth mode and disappeared into the darkening sky. It was surprisingly soundless.
Inside, on the other hand, it was surprisingly loud.
"Iceman calling Nightcrawler. Repeat: Iceman calling Nightcrawler. Out."
"Nightcrawler in. Vhat's up, Iceman? Out."
Yes, it was Bobby's first, official mission and he was excited. His partner in pranking crime, Kurt, was equally thrilled at the prospect. Jean, Storm and Wolverine, didn't seem to share their animation, especially since Xavier's novel idea of providing each member of the team with a head piece, so that all messages were sent, direct-feed, straight to everyone's ears. No, it didn't seem to matter that they had a telepath, who could fulfil that exact same function- but, still, the younger mutants seem to enjoy them. Said telepath seethed silently.
Wolverine ground his teeth and Storm, sitting right next to him and recognising the signs, thanked the gods that the man hadn't had adamantium grafted to his teeth. Wolverine, however, was still perfectly capable of tearing out the kids' throats, if they didn't shut up- he had long since 'removed' his own head piece, which- now a disconsolate piece of crushed metal and wiring- now lay somewhere outside the ship.
"Nightcrawler calling Storm. Nightcrawler calling Storm. Distance to target requested. Out."
"Kurt, we are almost there and I would ask that you remain silent. The new mutant is extremely unstable and we do not want to do anything to further aggravate her," Storm said rather briskly, to Jean's gratitude. "Storm out," she finished, with a helpless smile, almost tolerantly.
Despite the softening of their remonstration, the two teenage mutants were instantly silent; they may have goofed off when they should have been studying, they occasionally feigned illness and injury to get out of Danger Room, but they would never do anything to put their mission in jeopardy. Such was the sigma that was attached to the X-Men; it was a sign of belonging and purpose. It was that, which drew and held loners, like Wolverine, and those, who feared closeness, like Rogue, to the Institute. It was that same purpose that had captured Storm's spirit and bound the weather goddess to that place. Storm only hoped that the mutant they sought would assume that dream too…if they could indeed coax her back into the real world.
Her eyes drifted to the scanner, whose technology (courtesy of Forge) had been altered, so that it could follow co-ordinates provided by Cerebro. They weren't far. Apparently, the almost astral body of the girl was caught in a cyclone circle, which was threatening to break, just offshore of a remote north-western shore. The Blackbird shot past the coastline and shook slightly, bouncing in the turbulent winds. Far below them, the water formed huge peaks, which clashed against one another, sending salt spray into the sky. It was dusk now, and the last of the light captured the scene in dramatic shades of grey and ever-deepening, living greens and blues.
"Stormy weather," Logan observed ironically, looking sidelong at Storm. "Sure ya know what ya doing, 'Ro?"
"Should I be worrying about the weather?" Storm countered. She directed her next statement to Bobby. "I'm sorry, Bobby, but you will have to remain in the plane; this is too dangerous. Jean, you will accompany me."
Storm's eyes reflected the clouded sky outside the jet, and the turbulence that affected the aircraft somewhat lessened as the winds were averted. The cyclone was too large to simply banish without consequence.
"I'll circle 'round," Wolverine offered. "If you or Red got a problem, I'll send Elf here to haul ya outta there."
A hatch opened in the roof of the Blackbird and Jean levitated herself out, as Storm flew out. In the cold air, above the rushing sea, Jean began to shake, before erecting a telekinetic ball around her, to hold out the wind and cold. This adverse weather, of course, did not affect Storm in the slightest. Her white mane became a dazzling halo in the twilight scenery, as she dropped altitude, to hover some ten metres above the sea. Jean joined her.
'I was briefed by the Professor,' Jean sent to Storm, 'but I am still not exactly sure, where this mutant is.'
'She is here,' Storm replied simply.
'M'here…' a thought floated through Storm's mind, which was further connected to Jean's telepathic link. A gasp escaped Jean's lips, as she felt a shifting presence wrap around Storm's figure, then curling around her telekinetic ball. The presence did that a couple of times, as if searching for a breach and finding none.
'Who's da beach ball?' Celeste asked, almost scornfully, location dissipating as a heavy gust of wind tore her presence into a million air particles that swirled effortlessly to brush the surface of the water and whirl around them.
"She- she's everywhere!" Jean yelled out, turning in the air, somewhat put off by the beach ball comment. Her eyes could not detect a trace of the stray mutant, but her powers told her that the girl was currently in the strong eddies of air above the waves.
"She's in the air! She's the wind! Find her with your powers!" Storm called out, as lightning burnt across the clouds, flashing violently.
Jean scanned the sky, with her telepathy. There- no there! There was the presence, which whipped around. Its physical form was ever-moving and insubstantial, but there was no doubt that there was a presence there. Jean had to still her.
'Stop moving,' she ordered, tracing the link between Storm and the girl.
'Oui…tell me how, beach ball?' was the retorted thought, not directed at Jean, but picked up nonetheless.
Well, Storm had told her to use her powers.
Concentrating on the frenzied wisp of air, which was the girl, Jean tried to force it into a shape. Celeste didn't like that. She didn't like being crushed in the fist of some invisible power, which sought to mould you into a more desirable shape. No, Celeste did not like that at all.
She struggled and Jean gave a panicked cry as her concentration was broken as the force of a hurricane broke out from that fistful of air. As Celeste felt the iron grip loosen, she lashed out. The speed was incredible; the power, admirable. Jean felt the presence rushing towards her and, as it neared, a line- like a thin, white razor, appeared in the air. It struck Jean's telekinetic bubble, pushing at it, as Jean sought to reinforce it. Fear overcame Jean and the walls fell and the wind hit her, cutting through the spandex at her midriff and cutting shallowly into her skin, before fading past her to battle the force of the high winds as her telekinesis wavered and she fell.
'Mon Dieu…m'sorry, m'sorry, m'sorry…' the frenzied voice of the girl cried out in Storm's mind, distress touching Storm, too.
"Jean!" she cried, swooping low to catch her, before she hit the water.
Before she reached her, however, a column of air rose, straight into the air, catching and cradling the swooning redhead. It was almost eerie. The unconscious Jean couldn't hold herself steady and the wind seemed to rock her gently, as the pillar of wind, rushing upwards, sought to keep her safe.
'M'sorry, m'sorry…' the voice still murmured, drowned out by Celeste's own concentration.
To Celeste's immense surprise, her burden became heavy then entirely disappeared; somewhere, within the scope of her powers, she felt a rush of heated air, which rapidly disappeared, as molecules of some substance petered away. In Storm's eyes, Kurt had just teleported onto that cradle of stillness then ported Jean back to the ship.
It was just her and the weather witch alone now and Storm threw out a hand, her own powers calling out to Celeste. The winds changed and she felt an inexorable pull. Somewhere in her mind, a young Celeste closed grey eyes as she took her mother's hand and smiled. Abruptly, she was torn back into reality and the woman's voice was terrible as the storm.
'Change back now! Remember your body and what it was like to be human!' Storm cried, as the wind was whipped to a frenzy; the cyclone was becoming worse.
Celeste's mind paused and, for a moment, she was still. Now was her chance. Would she take it?
--Flashback--
Two teenagers stood on a bridge. They didn't know each other; or, perhaps, they simply ignored one another. Each seemed to be focussed on the water that rushed under that stone bridge, bringing the dirty, wet, magical and spicy scent of the New Orleans' waterfront with it. Celeste watched the water flowing, imagining that the water drew her reflection along with it to meet her secret lover's.
"Bonjour, Celeste," the boy murmured, as if to himself, but Celeste was listening.
" 'Lo, Eti," Celeste murmured back, focussing on the water below her.
"Ya didn't come to da park, last night…" Etienne whispered, questions unasked, but not unheard.
"I had a job," Celeste replied, uncomfortably- she didn't like speaking about Guild matters; neither of them did.
"…and?" Etienne queried, a hint of a sad smile playing on his face. "What else?"
Celeste stiffened and didn't reply immediately. A rather distressed-seeming woman crossed the bridge, dragging a yelling and wailing toddler by the hand and pausing, now and then, to readjust her hold on his hand and try to coax the young boy into silence. She had no attention to spare for the young man on one side of the bridge, or the silent girl on the other.
"Do dey know 'bout me?" Celeste asked suddenly.
Etienne knew that she meant the Thieves Guild. He turned his head slightly to the side, the corner of his eyes catching the barest glimpse of her back...straight as a blade, hands tight-gripped on the side of the bridge.
"They know dat I'm seeing a belle fille…Tante Mattie says dat I go all silent, when I'm tinking about her and says dat da girl is a Godsend. They tink that the girl is a thief, but…or a ghost. Jean-Luc still wonders how she got in t'da Thieves Guild t'drop off mon birthday present…Theo tinks dat she doesn't exist; that ya just one of my dreams…and ya are. But I like them t'think that it's just a think dat it's a thief…"
Celeste now had a smile on her face, as Etienne has spoken so sweetly.
"Why?" she purred in reply.
"Because I still think dat she might come over one day…"
These words bit Celeste as sharply as glass and something inside her clenched tight in bitter pain, knowing that – no matter what she felt for him – such a future was not one for them. There was no happy ending for the thief and the assassin girl...but Etienne, for all his cool demeanour, was a great believer of fairytales.
"And I wanted t'ask again…will ya?" Etienne continued, voice hopeful.
"It's not that easy…not f'you and me, Etienne."
"Everyone d'serves a secon' chance," Etienne protested.
Celeste turned casually, as if observing the distant buildings on the bayou.
"It will be easier soon," she conceded.
"Y' actually think dat Belle and y'Prince of Thieves're gonna work?" Etienne said, voice sceptical, but still, for him, hope prevailed.
"Y' think we're gonna work out?" Celeste's said simply, now looking directly at Etienne.
Etienne stood and stretched casually, as if heading home. Instead, he turned to meet Celeste's gaze directly and then walked to stand before her. He touched her hair gently and reassuringly, as her eyes widened in panic, lest someone spot the two together.
"Course we are. Adieu, mon ange, Celeste."
Celeste had stayed at the bridge until the sun had set, fingering that lock of hair Etienne had playfully tugged, before he bid her adieu. Finding resolve, she smiled and headed back to the Assassins Guild. Maybe things would be better…after the alliance, anyway.
--End Flashback--
Etienne was dead, but Celeste wasn't. Etienne had not saved her, to fade into obscurity. She couldn't let herself fade, when she had that much to live for. She was offered a second chance at life outside the guilds and she would seize it. Etienne would have wanted that…
Fuelled by this new rush of heat, Celeste seized the flagging particles of air that was her body and held them together. Recapturing the feeling of cold, of heat, of windy days in the Big Easy and humid days on the streets, of warm arms wrapping around her body and pulling her close…she changed. For a moment, she did feel the cold and a sensation of falling…she was unconscious before she hit the water, which dragged at her with a hungry grip…she never registered the strong hands that seized her wrist and ported her from the water…
Bleary eyes opened to glaring white light as she coughed brine from water-logged lungs, her throat burning. Before she could thank the person, who breathed for her, blissful darkness claimed her. Her last conscious thought was registered by Jean and Storm.
'Êtes-vous heureux maintenant, Etienne ?'
(/\)
Frayed: There ya go. Enjoy!
Translations:
Êtes-vous heureux maintenant, Etienne ? "Are you happy now, Etienne?"