A/N: Hello! Thank you to everyone who's favourited/followed/reviewed: it all means so much to me that people are reading and enjoying this story. :D
I really enjoyed writing this chapter, however, a relevant warning: at a later point in this chapter, the story takes a dive into the mind of someone considering suicide. They don't kill themselves, but I though a warning would be for the best.
Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men.
Chapter 4/Chapter 6
She was getting old. Nora could feel it in her bones, in the skin that stretched around her scalp. Her pale skin was creased with many a wrinkle, and her joints would not allow her to move as she once had. Grey streaked her hair in uneven stripes, making her look like the (shorter) bride of Frankenstein.
All considered, her spry nature still remained. Though these days she found it difficult to do a spinning back-kick…
When the massacre of '99 occurred, it was Nora who rallied the X-Men up from their mourning. It was Nora who'd been able to go back and change the Battle of Westchester in good's favour. It was Nora who had united the Brotherhood and X-Men when they could no longer afford to fight against each other.
Against the Sentinels.
But it was Nora who never fully recovered from the death of Scarlet Witch.
She found consolation in her husband, Pietro Maximoff. But it often seemed that even he was not enough. Still, Quicksilver was the only thing tethering Clockwork to her sanity.
After everything that had happened -all the death and pain they'd lived through- Nora and Peter had been given a new chance at their happy ending.
But nothing lasts forever.
Xavier Mansion, 2014
"Where's Peter?"
Those were the only words Nora could think to say. Not 'how are you', not 'anything interesting happen outside' (the 'outside' being outside the mansion as she was confined to the premises.) Not even to ask if them if they had managed to find any of that delicious chocolate fudge that had once been sold in New York's Central Park.
"Where's Peter?"
He had gone on a scouting mission with Erik, Kitty and Jubilee three days ago.
Two days too many…
But now, three shapes had appeared in the fog shrouding the institute.
All three of them were easily recognizable as Erik (with his silly cape), Jubilee (she was still glowing a bit), and Kitty. (No one else but Nora was that short.)
But he wasn't there.
He was always the first back, zipping into their bedroom to report and help her update the timeline.
Whatever had happened: the food count, if any Sentinels had been roaming near by, and the death toll—if there were any…
Nora pulled her leather jacket tighter around her torso as a vicious wind ripped past. She pushed her scarlet glasses back up into position—it was an old habit—then ran out to meet the trio.
They were more battered and bruised than usual, and it looked as if Jubilee had broken her leg. This had clearly been a different fight.
A few others had also run out to meet the returning three. Kitty and Jubilee were helped back into the house. But Erik stayed.
Nervously twisting her wedding ring around her finger, Nora couldn't bring herself to ask. Peter would be here any minute now; in a second he'd be by her side and they would all go in for coffee. He would be here. He had to… He'd promised.
But he wasn't. The unescapable silence filled her up with an uncomfortable feeling she'd only felt only a few times before. Nora looked up to see Erik, just standing here, clutching something in his right fist.
"I'm sorry," he said.
No.
He couldn't be. It was wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen: he was suppose to live…
Nora breathed in sharply. She could save him.
"How long?" she asked quietly.
Erik said nothing, only shook his head.
"How long?" she asked again, voice rising.
"It's been a day: over the limit."
He brushed past her, heading towards the mansion, and dropped whatever he'd been holding to the misty grass.
Now she didn't bother holding back the tears. Nora let them fall in rivets down her cheeks.
Before she could stop herself, she screamed, "I'M SORRY?!"
Erik stopped.
"That's ALL you have to say!?" Nora screeched, reverting back to her native french. She stomped up to him and shoved Erik forward.
"He was your son, for God's sake!"
As Erik spoke fluent french, he understood every word. So Nora was shocked into silence when he spun around and grabbed her by the jacket collar.
"You think I don't know that?" he growled, reeling her in until they were practically nose to nose.
Staring into his war-torn eyes, Nora watched a single tear flow down his face.
"I may not have been as close to him as you were; but I cared for him nonetheless." After a moment of intense silence, Erik threw Nora away from him and strode back towards the house.
She sat there, not bothering to move or get up. Nora curled into a ball on the ground, and let sorrow consume her.
The mansion grounds were silent as the mutants took vigil for the loss of one of their own. The only sounds were the wracking sobs of a single widow.
Feet moved across the grass towards her; someone was coming. The figure stopped when they reached Nora. He stared down at her, his usually gruff face now showing an unusual mixture of sadness and sympathy.
"Get up." It was Logan.
When she didn't make any move to do so, he sighed and hauled her up by the underarms. Once she was on her feet, Nora didn't waste any time in scooping up what Erik had dropped.
Peter's goggles. She'd always teased him about them, arguing that he looked like a silver-haired fish whenever he wore them. She clutched the grey eyepiece to her chest. Was this all there was left of him?
"Come on," Logan said in a desperate attempt to guide her back into the house.
She stepped away from him, "No."
"What?"
"No. I'm not going back in there. You. Can't. Make me."
Logan sighed, "Listen Nora, you-"
"No!" She pointed a finger to his chest. "You listen. I am not going back into that place! Not now!" She took a deep breath. "Do you have any idea of what it's like? Being cooped up in the same house? Day after day; week after week. Months… Years…" her voice trailed off.
Discretely trying to get ahold of her wrist, Logan tried to talk some sense into her. But Nora wasn't having any of it. She yanked her arm out of his grasp, and stumbled back a few feet.
"I know why you're doing it," she murmured.
"No, you don't underst-"
"Yes, I do! You keep me in there—when I could be out there!" she gestured to the world beyond the fog. "Helping people, Logan. Our people!" She ran a shaking hand through her grey-streaked hair. "You keep me back here because you 'need' me. You confine me to the institute in some desperate effort to change things! The only reason I'm still here is because just in case I end up going back… You want to control my power so you can change the past. It won't work: I've tried."
A few others had exited the mansion, but Logan waved them back.
"I get what you're trying to do… And it needs to be done. But I'm not the person to do it."
What? Now he was officially confused. "What're you talking about, Nora?" You're the only time-traveler on the radar."
"He didn't tell you, did he?" She tucked the goggles into her jacket pocket. "He doesn't tell people much nowadays…" She paused. "It's been years, Logan… It's not that I don't want to… it's just that I can't. Not- Not since-" She clamped a hand over her mouth as the thought of her friend brought tears to her eyes.
"Wanda," he said.
Nora nodded. She had begun to lose it years ago—her mind, that is. It had started with Eden, then Wanda…Until today… when she'd been pushed to her full capacity with Peter's… His death. Over these terrible years, she had retreated further and further into her broken mind. The professor had of course tried to help, but there was no remedy for her swelling insanity.
Breaking the silence, Nora giggled.
"I'm gone, Logan—have been for years now." She snorted, then giggled again. "I'm surprised it took you all this long to realize it…Though, I guess I'm not that surprised… We all live in the same house, yet hardly any of you even bother to give me the time of day!"
Logan stared at her in shock. The Professor had eluded to this, but he had never suspected it had got this bad. "Nora," he pleaded, trying to bring her back. "You know that isn't true."
"Oh do fuck off, Logan," she said in such a peppy tone, making him realize that she was beyond help. He hadn't realized how much stress she'd been pushing through all these years. How much had been put on her shoulders once the war began.
They really had been ignoring her. All of them.
And now she—and they—would have to pay the price.
She felt the sensation of liquid pooling on her upper lip, and Nora knew that only meant one thing. She haphazardly smeared the blood across her nose in an attempt to wipe it off.
Noticing this, Logan made a move towards her. But he was abruptly stopped by a knife-end in his face.
"You're all finally getting your wish!" Nora grinned—but it wasn't the happy kind. "In a few seconds, I'll be gone!"
Logan's eyes widened; "Come on then; we need to get you back to the house. So you'll be safe."
Spinning around on the steel toe of her boot, Nora let out a maniacal laugh. "Oh I won't be coming back this time, Logan-dearest. In fact, I won't be returning for a long, long while!"
She glowed, the light emitting from every pore in her body. It was so bright. Everyone had to look away.
Everyone except Logan, who shouted, "No!"
He ran forward, tried to stop her. But it was too late. In the five steps it took him to get to her, there was naught but a cloud of air to grab at.
Nora, their last hope, had disappeared. She left only a pile of clothes, two different sets of eyepieces and a wedding ring.
January 3rd, 1972. Salem, Massachusetts.
She stood on the railing, hands braced against two metal beams: balanced. So close to the edge that she could almost feel the fresh spray of the waters below. She was ready. She hadn't been for months, but she was now.
Ready to die.
She had to do this for the sake of those who would come too close, and for her own personal guilt.
Another had died today. His had been the first death since the nurse's. She had broken her vow. Another innocent person had died because of her.
It may not seem like much, but the deaths of three people within one's first sixteen years of life? Too much on one pair of shoulders.
She was dangerous; a threat to the human race. And beings that threaten the well-being of humanity need to be eliminated. That's what the man on the radio said.
She was an atom bomb, just waiting to go off. Unstable. Unpredictable: one of the enemy.
She was a murderer. A killer with tremendous power that had no hope of ever being controlled.
She was almost there. She could feel it now: the weightlessness of falling, then the cold rush of a thousand tonnes of water. Each one welcoming her soon-to-be corpse.
Nothing. She would feel nothing as the murky depths of the river pulled her down. Though, perhaps she would feel something. Maybe she'd be battered around the rocks for a while before a sharp impact to the skull finished everything off.
But she was okay with that; okay with a little bit of pain before the sweet release of death. A bit of pain was good now and then; it was natural. She had the scars to prove it.
Just one more step: that's all she needed. One more step and it would all be over.
Her toe inched forward. Nearly half of her foot was off the ledge. Another inch and she would be-
"Wait!"
"Ahh!" Nora squawked in fright at the sound of the voice. She swayed dangerously over the edge before falling back onto the concrete.
It took her a second to realize what had happened.
She was alive. She hadn't fallen; hadn't drowned; hadn't died. Once Nora became aware of this fact a surging feeling swelled up in her stomach. She tried to get up, but just fell back down as the meagre contents of her stomach chose to exit the premises. She threw up on the roadside, coughs and sobs filled up the spaces between her gagging.
She felt a comforting hand on her back, making slow, soothing circles. The same voice which had 'saved' her life now whispered small words of encouragement.
"That's it, honey," said the woman, "just let it all out…"
At this, Nora scrambled away from her (she wasn't big on physical contact), staring at her incredulously as if to say: just who do you think you are?
"Okay," the woman took a few steps backwards, raising her hands in a gesture of peace. "Just relax, all right?" She offered Nora a hand up, but was denied as the disgruntled teen shakily stood up on her own.
"Hey," the woman asked as Nora turned away. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
She rolled her eyes, "It was a rhetorical question. Nobody ready to jump off a bridge in the middle of the night is fine."
Nora scoffed, just who does this lady think she is? There's no way she's any kind of therapist. (And if she is, I'm definitely smarter than her.) Unless she's the kind of person who goes for oddly-timed walks at night near unpopulated bridges… Which, actually is not a bad thing in my case because I was about to ju- Never mind! Mind. On. Task. New Mission: evade strange, yet helpful, too-nosey-for-her-own-good woman.
"You were going to jump, weren't you?" Ugh, she was still here?
Nora grumbled and turned to face her saviour. "What's it to you?"
The woman took a step forward; "nothing, nothing at all." She grimaced, "It's just that I know exactly how you're feeling right now."
"Hah! There it is!" Nora laughed and threw her hands up in victory. "Who sent you?! Was it the school?" I swear that counsellor's been starin' at me for weeks!" Her tone changed, "Or maybe you're FBI! CIA?… Government official of any sort?"
The older woman stared at the deranged teenager with a mixture of shock and pity. What had caused her to become like this? She was too young for this. Too young to have come this close to taking her own life.
The woman had known someone like this once; someone who had tried so many times to disappear from the world.
"I'm not FBI, or any type of government agent, for that matter. I'm just like you: another human being. Just a regular person—like any other—who's made mistakes"
Nora's curly mop of hair was covering her face when the woman said this, so the twitch that crossed her face remained unseen.
"Why should I care about the mistakes you've made?"
"That's a good point," the woman chuckled, then deadpanned; "and it's really none of your business."
Nora was taken aback by her suddenly serious tone. "Umhuhumm… Sorry?"
The woman smiled; so there is something else under that rough exterior.
"Believe me Beverly, I know how you're feeling. I've been where you're at now."
"Whatever," Nora huffed.
"And the thing I found helped best was having someone to talk to."
Nora sighed, "Okay, but none of tha- Wait! How do you know my name?!"
The woman ran a hand through her equally curly—albeit less poofy—hair. "You're her, aren't you? Beverly Maise: the girl who's on all the posters. The one who's been missing for the past three weeks… You and that other boy… What was his name again? Tom-"
"Don't say it," Nora growled, tears welling back up in her eyes. "Don't say his name."
Readjusting the headband holding back her grey hair, the woman said, "You went missing, along with him, weeks ago. The whole school's in uproar… They think you two eloped or something…"
Nora laughed, "If only it had been that!"
"So you do know what happened to him!"
Ack! How did she keep doing that? Nora couldn't deny it, she was good.
"Yes," she said. "I do know what happened to him… But if you wanna talk to me about my suicidal intentions, then we don't mention Tom—him, again. All right?"
"Fair enough," the woman settled down on the curb and patted the space next to her invitingly. Nora sat down begrudgingly, pushing her glasses back up her nose.
"All right," she said. "Say your piece."