( Volume: 4 Arc: "Searching" Issue: 1/1)

Chapter 158 : dead ends

"I'm ready," Julian said quietly.

He was standing in the middle of Scott's office, at night, uninvited, and the headmaster was opposite him, his arms folded.

"You are," Scott Summers repeated.

"I've been thinking," Julian said, his eyes glowing slightly. "I've been thinking, that the piece of shit I killed wasn't the big gun. She might have been leading the battle…but she wasn't in charge of the war."

"No," Scott agreed.

"Tell me. Tell me who to kill," Julian hissed. "I'm through playing nice."

Scott nodded slowly.

"You still have the outfit?" he asked. "Because I don't want the X-men associated with what you're going to do."

Julian stared at the headmaster, the colors of his suit changing, morphing, the symbols disappearing till it was no longer recognizable.

Scott nodded. "That'll do. And Laura…"

"Will never know," Julian said. He'd never, ever, tell Laura a single thing again. He'd failed her—beyond failure—beyond hope that she could ever forgive him—by letting her take that dart for him.

No, he'd never, ever, tell her a single word again.

…

Laura lay, on her side, on the bed, staring at the wall. She'd been released from the infirmary and made to leave; she'd crawled into bed here a week ago, and not gotten up, in a catatonic state. They'd had to assist her with even her bodily functions, so uncaring was she.

And even the Shrimps had failed to rouse her.

Julian stared at her without speaking, then placed the tray on the bed beside her, and sat down on the edge. He dipped the spoon in the cereal and brought it to her lips; she parted them, after a moment.

This went on.

…

Please see Mr. Summers in the ready room in five minutes, came a voice in his head. The Cuckoos. Be dressed.

Julian sat up in bed. He'd been watching Laura in the dark, her figure still except for the shallow rise and fall of her ribcage. He'd better wake James, he thought, and make sure she wasn't left alone right now.

If he was doing this…there was no telling what she might do, if unsupervised.

He reached out in the darkness, calling his clothing, and felt the soft wumpf! as they answered. Silently, he unzipped the front, and slid a leg out of the bed.

"Jim," he grumbled a minute later, rapping on his brother's door, then opening it. His brother stirred, looking grumpy; James had always been a light sleeper.

"Wha?" James asked groggily, one eye slitted open.

"Get up. You're watching Laura. I'm needed."

James scowled. "It's three-o-fuckin—PUT ME DOWN!"

Julian had lifted him out of the bed and slammed him into the wall. "Just do it!" he snarled, his hand a glowing fist. "I don't have time to argue!"

"Jeez," James said, pale. Something about his brother's face wasn't quite right. He didn't look angry…this predicament wasn't unusual—James was used to being lifted up and thrown around—but Julian's expression was empty.

That wasn't the worst of it. James had recently become used to reading moods—emotions—just by standing near people. Living with his brother had installed in him familiar tones, usual feelings—his style of anger, of happiness, et cetera.

But he'd never sensed this mood before. It was a kind of devouring, hungering black cloud; the sense that something was going to die to feed a thirst.

He slid down the wall as Julian turned away, no longer holding him up.

"Jules—" James said, moved beyond his usual uncaring attitude.

"Let it go," Julian said, not turning around. He was gone, and James heard a loud crack! outside.

He rubbed his eyes, groaning, and therefore didn't see the figure of the girl creep by the door, her stringy, matted hair concealing her face.

…

Wolverine turned at the sound of footsteps approaching, and was staring at the door when the boy entered. He scowled under his mask, curling his upper lip slightly in a sneer. The kid shouldn't be involved in stuff like this. Summers was wrong to bring him in—to wait until the boy was vulnerable, then bring him in.

Like a soldier.

"Who's the target?" Julian asked, his voice thick with exhaustion. Despite the late hour, however, Logan doubted that the boy had been sleeping.

"Target's none-of-yer-damn-business, kid," Logan tried menacingly. "Run along home to my clone now, and leave the janitorial work to th' grown-ups."

He expected the boy to puff up in anger, to start telling him to mind his business, but none of that happened. Instead Julian seemed to deflate, his still-unmasked face paler, if possible, and his eyes duller.

"I would, if there was a clone of you to go home to," the boy answered quietly.

Logan folded his arms. "You ain't in this fer revenge?"

"Sure," Julian said, and there was a little of the expression he'd expected to see. "But mostly, I want to make sure that the world is safe for the kids I have left. I want to make sure the world I give them isn't full of vermin like—"

"The world's always full o' vermin," Logan interrupted. "Always has been, always will be. Just th' way it is, kid."

"You done trying to talk my soldier out of the army, Logan?" Scott asked, appearing in the doorway. He was not holding his ever-present clipboard now; nor was he dressed in a grey and black uniform.

Julian realized that whatever he was having them take care of, he wasn't getting his hands dirty. He'd give them instructions, then pretend he had nothing to do with it.

Works for me, he thought without further contemplation. He wanted to be a tool, to be used in the fight for good without having to think anymore, because he was tired of thinking, tired of trying to sort right from wrong. After ions of pondering, he'd come down to the fact that life wasn't black and white—just a million ugly shades of gray.

He folded his arms, then stiffened as a hand gripped his shoulder. Small, feminine, but extremely firm—because the bones were coated with indestructible metal. The metal he'd failed to prevent.

One of his many great failures.

"Where?" Laura asked him, her voice thick with disuse. More of a hissing sound.

"No." Julian didn't turn around, then he did, because she was forcing him to. She possessed deceptive quantities of strength.

"WHERE?" Laura persisted.

"Go home," Logan snapped at her, his expression disgruntled. "Might not be able to convince you, Keller, but I sure as hell have a say in what you do, Laura."

Laura glared at her mentor through her unmaintained bangs. She looked like a wild thing. "Coming with you."

"Absolutely not!" Logan said. "Laura, march out of here and—"

"Blood feud," Laura said, her expression sour, her eyes now on Logan. "Honor."

Logan paused. "What?"

"Things you understand," she rasped. "This…this thing you're going after…this piece of human shit…it killed my child. My child, Logan. If it was Daken…"

"Logan…it's her choice," Cyclops's voice cut from the doorway. He'd known this would happen—nay, he'd counted on it.

"No it isn't!" Logan said. "Laura's out of her mind right now. I understand it's been a rough time, kid, but this ain't you. Go home."

"Make me," Laura whispered, spreading her fingers as her claws glided out with a silvery-sounding snikt! Even the sound of her claws ejecting had been altered by the adamantium implants.

Logan stared at her for a moment.

"You'll be exactly what they wanted you to be," he said.

"I don't care." Laura.

"Fine. But you…you don't come to me when yer nothin' but a weapon, and yer all used up. I won't help you out of it this time, Laura. I did it when you were a kid…coz you didn't have a choice. But now—"

"This is my choice," Laura said in a closed voice.

"I wash my hands of yah, then," Logan said, then turned away, disgust evident in his face.

Julian looked at the floor.

…

Suited in grey and black, the four members of whatever menagerie this was crouched by a brick wall, waiting for Logan's signal to move in.

The older man was silent for a while. Then to no one in particular: "The Hellfire Club's located nearby."

Julian's ears pricked to attention. The Hellfire Club? He'd forgotten all about the elite membership that his mother had once held with the establishment in all the chaos that was his life lately. The only correspondence he'd received from them was a dream (oddly enough) soon after his mother's alleged death, regarding the inheritance of his title. He had been told—by a woman with shining black hair—that the title must be claimed within a year, or it would become null and void. He'd approached Emma about the dream, who informed him that it had indeed been a genuine Hellfire Club notification.

At the time, he'd had no interest in such an inheritance. Now…

"They've got at least a dozen psi," their companion said. She was a pale-faced woman with a black patch over one eye that had been introduced as Domino. "No one really powerful though. Odds are fifty-fifty."

"Better hope yer luck holds—" Logan started.

Laura's slanted eyes tilted over to Julian. "I have a better plan." She'd been thinking exactly what he'd been thinking.

…

Julian burst through the doors with more bravado than he actually possessed, concentrating on the matter at hand. He actually had business with them—that wasn't a lie—he had a title to claim; if he focused on that thought alone, perhaps the psychics wouldn't smell his other purposes right off the bat.

He'd had some practice at concealing private information; classes with Jean Grey-Summers and Emma Frost, as well as practical experience at concealing information, aided by the Cuckoos.

He was in the main room; an elegantly furnished banquet area with thick red carpets, stylish wood chairs and tables, as well as sculpted and painted walls and ceilings. The room was half-full of glamorously dressed people, many holding glasses in their hands as they spoke.

On platforms and in various cages around the room danced scantily clad women.

For a moment he stood, surveying the room, catching his breath, and trying not to chicken out. He'd changed his clothes—he was wearing some sort of suit he remembered vaguely from his closet—but compared to these people, he was certainly under dressed.

His mother, however, would have fit in just fine here.

"And how may we help you this fine evening, sir?" a woman—little more than a girl—asked from his side. He turned; she was dressed in a crisp white shirt, black waistcoat, and slacks. Some sort of hostess, no doubt.

"I'm here to claim my title," Julian said, almost unable to believe it was his voice that had spoken the words out loud. Behind him, Laura gazed at the girl with stony eyes, her face devoid of make-up, although he had cleaned it for her and rearranged her hair along with her clothes.

The girl eyed them skeptically, as did the guests within earshot.

"Do you have a reservation, or an invitation?" she asked.

"No…" Julian said.

"You'll have to come back, then," the girl said. "No one gets in without some form of correspondence."

Julian thought for a second, then decided to go about things how he usually did…how he usually got his way.

"I want to see the manager," he snapped.

…

The man turned as the door opened, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood by the fireplace in a typical pose. His eyebrows arched in question at the girl peering in; then he saw (behind her) the boy.

"Ah," he said in a deep voice. "Mr. Keller. Do come in."

The girl stepped aside, gesturing for Julian to pass her; which he did, hesitantly.

Laura slipped in but remained at the door.

"And you are?" Julian asked after a moment, a little angrier than he'd intended to be. He was tired of people always knowing more than him about his own life.

"My name is Sebastian," the man said affably, reaching up to the mantle and picking up a half-full wine glass. "I am a friend of Madelyne's."

Julian noticed he didn't say was.

"What an exceptional woman," the man continued, reminiscing. "Such power…such grace and beauty. And brains, yes. Are you her son then?" In a tone that suggested Julian couldn't be related to the aforementioned Madelyne.

"Yeah," Julian said, with distaste. "I am."

Sebastian appraised him coolly. "Do you share her formidable gifts, boy?"

"I—" he began, but Laura spoke up, her voice husky. "He has enough," she said.

The man's eyes shifted to the girl standing behind the boy. "I'm surprised you let your staff speak their minds like that, Mr. Keller. Your mother would be most disappointed to see you allowing such behavior."

Julian might have found this funny before, but felt nothing of the sort now. "That's my wife," he said, his tone flat. "Laura."

"Oh," said Sebastian, but he was given the impression that the man was not actually surprised. He had probably known already, but had been trying to make some sort of point. "How quaint." He gestured to a girl beside him, who was holding a tray with a champagne bottle and several glasses on it. "Dom Perignon?" he offered.

"I'm here to claim my title," Julian said.

Sebastian raised his eyebrows. "My dear boy…are you certain you're ready?"

"Would I approach you if I wasn't?" Julian countered.

Sebastian smiled. "You're here to see if I'm running this little gong show," he said. "Causing all this death, and destruction. The answer is no, I am not. I have better things to do with my time, Mr. Keller. Feel free to return for your title when that is the true purpose of your visit."

Julian and Laura traded glances.

"Oh yes, I know all about Scotty's lead," Sebastian said. "And my advice as to that…" he paused and smiled. "Don't go so far from home, little X-men."

The pair were shown out, trying to understand what he'd said.