Chapter Seven: Woman's Intuition
P.O.V: Hank McCoy / Beast
"Technically, he's a wanted criminal," I pointed out diplomatically as I sat down with Logan and Ororo in the Professor's old office.
"Technically, he's dead," Logan replied, sitting down and sprawling back on the sofa at the side of the room.
"He's too dangerous!" I insisted.
"He's just a kid, Hank," Ororo sighed heavily, wandering over to the professor's desk. Unlocking a small cupboard behind, she pulled three beers out of the small fridge inside and held them out for Logan to open.
"I didn't have the professor down for this kind of carry on," Logan arched an eyebrow as he handed Ororo back two open bottles, taking a swift swig from his own.
"It wasn't his," Ororo replied, taking a drink herself and handing me mine. "It was the safest place Scott could think of. Certain students...a certain student...seemed to have a nose for booze stores."
Apparently, no matter where Scott hid his small drink supply, John Allerdyce would find it. Ororo and Jean used to joke that he had a second mutation – some kind of alcohol homing device. Half the time he wouldn't even bother to drink it – he just stole it to prove he could. Just to keep everyone on their toes. Just because he was John. The last time he stole it however, he did drink it. And Bobby drank it. And John and Bobby's bedroom curtains were set alight at two in the morning. That was when Scott decided the Professor's office was the only safe haven left. It never got much of a test though – John was gone less than a month later...
"Just a kid?" I shook my head. "He doesn't act like he's just a kid."
"Maybe not," Ororo conceded. "But with the right guidance..."
"Ororo! We barely have the resources as it is! We can not play psychiatrist to a hyperactive, temperamental and plain damn dangerous pyromaniac!"
"But Hank..." Ororo began, but he continued:
"We have to think of the other children Ororo. I doubt they'd be very happy to see him back. He hasn't exactly been grateful of our hospitality so far either."
Ororo sighed heavily and collapsed onto the sofa next to Logan. She knew I was right. She was letting her guilt over letting him leave first time around cloud her judgement. The kid had been awake for just under a week, and so far I'd had to sedate him everyday. He even set fire to Logan when he foolishly walked in still smoking a cigar.
"So, what do you propose we do with him then?" she asked quietly. "Turn him in? Let him go back out on the streets?"
I paused and looked at her thoughtfully.
"I don't know," I eventually admitted.
"Everyone deserves a second chance, Hank," Ororo said softly. "Is that not the whole point of this mansion? A safe haven for all mutants?"
"I'm sure there are exceptions," I raised an eyebrow pointedly, but I knew she was right. I sighed heavily. "But, of course he is still quite ill. We should certainly keep an eye on him at least until he's better."
"Here's a thought," Logan spoke up. "Who says the fireball would even want to stay?"
"He wants to stay," Ororo replied firmly, shrugging at the questioning glances of myself and Logan. "Call it woman's intuition."
I looked at her sceptically. Logan smirked. Do they know something I don't?
"We'll try and speak with him tomorrow then," I conceded.
"I'll speak with him," Ororo held up her hands to my objections. "Hank – you've been drugging and sedating him. He's not going to respond well with you there. And Logan – you'll just wind him up."
Logan laughed and nodded, finishing his beer.
"I'd rather someone was with you," I insisted. "How about Bobby Drake..."
"Absolutely not!" Ororo shook her head resolutely. "Fuel to the fire. You saw how wound up John got before – and Bobby didn't do anything!"
"But he knows how to calm the fireball down," Logan pointed out.
"He used to. No – I'll talk to John alone. He's still strapped down, and without a lighter or a cigar, he's harmless..."