Ooh, an actually almost timely chapter! Yay! (Even if it was only because I was home sick today. Shh!) A million times THANK YOU to berneynator, my awesome beta--she woke me up from my sneezy stupor with an "um, stargirl? The first half of this chapter sounds like Bella at the beginning of New Moon!" Not what I was going for at all, so thanks for that, darling. :D Thanks also to all my awesome reviewers this time around, including Courtney Summers--welcome aboard! Anyhoo, this one is kinda long, because I couldn't find a good place to stop. :) But without further ado, I give you the next chapter of Only a Tool!
Disclaimer: Not mine. Except Aimee and Seth. Hands off.
Even when it seems impossible, life goes on. Even when your heart feels like it's holding together by a handful of frayed threads, you eventually start trudging forward again. So it happened with me.
Kitty and Bobby were lifesavers those first few weeks. I hadn't spoken to Logan nearly the whole flight back, providing monosyllabic answers when absolutely necessary. He seemed to understand my need for silence, and had respected it for the most part. But the day I'd returned, Kitty had allowed me to be "mopey" for all of ten minutes before she'd dragged me to her room, insisting on a girl's night in, so relentlessly cheerful I'd normally have been ticked off. But now, I appreciated it for what it was—genuine concern for my well-being. Kitty was a truly sweet person, and honestly did her best to keep me distracted. Initially, I was frustrated, thinking why can't you leave me alone? But I eventually cherished the fact that she didn't let me become a hermit—it was because of her, in the large part, that I transferred into life as a mutant so well.
Bobby was less overt in his concern, but I felt it just the same. He would watch Kitty babbling about something, then look over at me and simply shrug a little. She is what she is, he seemed to say. Wasn't that the truth.
You know that saying, "Time heals all wounds?" It's not really true, but time does dull the pain till you can think of what you had fondly, without the sting of regret.
I settled into life at Xavier's, falling into a routine not unlike the one I'd had P.M. (Pre-Mutation). I looked back at the younger, more boisterous Aimee—naive and shallow were my words of choice when I was feeling cynical— and I understood the reason for the change. Because I had changed. I was quieter, though I tried to stay friendly and happy. My original easy sarcasm had morphed into a sardonic wit. It wasn't for better or for worse, it just…was. I wasn't even sure it was a product of my experiences. Maybe the powers had been the first manifestation, but I was growing up. Sometimes I would catch myself wondering what my life would have been like if all this—this being my "condition," as stuffy government doctors on TV called it—hadn't happened. But if I caught myself at it, I'd give myself a mental shake and strike up a conversation with whoever happened to be sitting near.
Apparently my awesome new talent was unprecedented in the mutant world. I refused to allow Dr. McCoy—our resident physician—to "study" me, as he put it. When he tried to push, Logan growled at him. While apparently their mutations were similar—both were so-called "feral" mutants, even though McCoy was blue—Logan was obviously the more dominant of the two, because the good doctor had backed off quick and had never bothered me about it again. As for me? I attempted to ignore it most of the time, very rarely even using it, and dove into anatomy textbooks. Before I tried healing anything else, I needed to know everything there was to know about what I was attempting to fix. McCoy quizzed me when I wanted it—apparently he harbored no hard feelings about my lack of cooperation.
Having managed to cut the empathic links I had with someone once, it became surprisingly easy to repeat it. I was soon able to manipulate the links, paring them down until I received only the strongest emotions or, if necessary, cutting them off completely. Once I figured out how, it became a routine matter—out of respect for others' privacy, but also to protect my sanity. My own emotions coupled with those of a dozen others left me frazzled—at least usually. There was one memorable occasion on which I came into contact with a mutant who was apparently a very happy drunk. Kitty assures me that that the results were quite entertaining.
Nearly two months passed, every day my control getting better, every day feeling more at home. I made friends, slogged through classwork, played pranks. Warren became the perfect foil for my nearly insatiable desire for debate, Kassandra my pyrogenic partner-in-crime, if a little shallow for my tastes. I found my niche at Xavier's. We got along (mostly) because we were all a little different—even in a school full of mutants. Warren's father had been the spearhead of the mutant-neutralizing movement. Kassandra had managed to start two major fires before making it to Xavier's, thankfully killing no one but seriously injuring several people. Her control was still shaky, which is why Bobby shared nearly all of her classes—he'd become quite adept at using his cryogenic powers to put out smoldering carpets and such.
I didn't really understand why Bobby and Kitty were part of our group. They had been my friends since the beginning, but seemed surprisingly…normal, for lack of a better word…compared to the rest of the group. All of us were "dangerous" in some way—except them. They were treated almost as celebrities by most of the kids at Xavier's, especially the ones who'd been there longer than I had. They were automatically deferred to as the leaders of the school, though they never abused—or even really took advantage of—that clout. Warren received a similar sort of respect, but his influence was more tinged with fear. The three of them also would be taken out of class at random intervals, and all three had extra class after the regular school day, and often would walk into class with bruises and cuts the next day. I watched this go on for several months before asking Kassandra about it one day when the trio had been pulled out of class.
She looked at me like I was nuts. "What? You don't know?"
I sighed. "If I knew, would I be asking?"
"…I guess not."
She frowned. "It's just…it's, like, an open secret. Nobody's supposed to know, but everyone does."
I raised my eyebrows inquiringly, reaching out tentatively with my empathy. Her aura was colored with the glee of good gossip, but nothing more.
She leaned closer. "They're X-Men."
"X-Men?"
"Shhh! Not so loud."
I lowered my voice obligingly, though it hadn't been loud to begin with—especially not in the crowded dining hall. "X-Men?"
She giggled. "They're, like, superheroes. They go around protecting humans—and picking up dangerous mutants. Like you," she added.
"What?"
"They picked you up, I mean. The day your mom died, right?"
Eyes narrowing, I reached out again. This time, I thought I saw a glint of malice, but it disappeared too fast for me to tell.
"Yeah…with the tight leather suits?"
"Yup. Almost all of the teachers are in it, apparently—Logan, Storm, Dr. McCoy, Bobby, and Kitty. Warren too, I think, and I'm pretty sure Mr. Summers and Dr. Grey were in it too."
"So…a secret society?"
"Not exactly, more like an emergency response team." Her face soured. "Of course, there's something special about them. I'm surprised they haven't asked you yet." Definitely some anger this time, but not directed at me, and tinged more with…jealousy? "You're a healer—no one's ever been able to do that."
"…Yeah."
She said something else, but I wasn't listening.
"I gotta go."
I stood and mechanically tossed my trash and left the room, heading for the one person I knew would give me a straight answer.
As I walked down the hall towards the gym, I wondered what it could mean. The X-Men…maybe they could help me find the people who sent Flat Man and Fidget. I could find out why they'd come. Abruptly, I was angry. They didn't trust me enough to tell me this? That they could help me find out if Marian's death was an accident or not? Did it just "slip their minds?" A little voice in the back of my head told me that I was overreacting, but I ignored it. I stopped in front of Logan's office door. I reached for the doorknob, intending to barge right in, then thought better of it and knocked twice. No answer. I turned the knob and entered.
The room was small and Spartan. A door that I guessed led to his bedroom was on the left.
Feeling a little like a peeping tom, but firmly squashing the insistent little voice screaming what the heck are you doing, get out of here now!, I walked toward the extremely messy desk. Slowly running my fingers over the papers—mostly old gradebooks and newspapers—I looked for something useful.
I found it underneath a coffee mug: a white button with a simple black X. There you are.
I reached out with a finger and pressed it lightly.
A wall slid open behind me, making me jump. A small elevator was there, large enough to hold maybe three comfortably. I stepped inside, and the doors slid shut behind me. Looking at the walls, I saw no buttons. Apparently the elevator knew where it was going. Abruptly, I was nervous. Logan's going to be so mad. But I hurriedly quashed the nervousness and, as the doors opened again, stepped out into a stainless-steel-plated hallway. My footsteps echoed in the empty hall, despite my sneaker-clad feet. There were round doors spaced along each wall, each marked neatly. I passed two doors marked CLINIC and HANGAR, then moved to another door at the end. It slid open without prompting. That was when things got interesting.
Glass cases were clustered together past that door. Most were empty, but two retained leather suits similar to the ones I fuzzily remembered seeing on Logan the first day I'd met him. I stepped closer. Neatly on the doors were the names JEAN and—oddly enough—CYCLOPS.
I closed my eyes. Cyclops? I moved on to the other, currently empty cases. Neatly printed on them were STORM, ICEMAN, SHADOWCAT, ANGEL, BEAST, and WOLVERINE. Storm—Ororo. So that part was true. But who were the others? Iceman and Angel were easy—Bobby and Warren. Shadowcat, though more cryptic, followed—Kitty. But "Beast"? "Wolverine"? "Cyclops"? Who were they? If one was McCoy and one was Logan, who was the third? And why were they nearly all empty? Filing that away as another thing to interrogate Logan about later, I kept walking, down to the second-to-last door.
DANGER ROOM.
O-kaaaaaaaaaay…definitely worth checking out. I'll come back to that one.
But first, I moved to the last door—for some reason, it held some sort of special fascination for me. This one was blank, and didn't open when I neared it as the other had. A small green beam bleeped into existence, scanning my rib cage.
"Access denied."
I stepped back, frowning. Getting into the last two rooms would take a little more thought. I turned, planning to leave, then froze as the door labeled HANGAR opened and Dr. McCoy—in his leather suit—stepped through, looking behind him through the open door.
"Get her to the clinic! Move, move, move!"
Cliffie. Mwahaha. No worries, the next chapter will be up soon--there just really wasn't another place to end it!
