Chapter 11: Progress or what should be
Having decided to finally deal with my powers head-on, I now periodically considered whether to go back to ignoring them.
The healing bit was easy enough. It took some estimation by eye for more severe wounds, but overall was my steadiest ground. It was the part of my mutation that had appeared earliest, when I was eight or so, and I was least scared of it, having made quite a bit of use of it ever since. I didn't know how it worked. When I mentioned it felt a little like gardening, Xavier warned me not to get too bogged down in the mechanics of things. Giselle, brushing him off, said that to her, it had always felt like sewing. Then she had me embroider her some tea towels an hour a day for a week.
The light part was more complicated. It was turning out to have little to do with light at all, but energy. Whatever it was scared me more, because I could feel it like a well inside of me that yawned on forever. I didn't know where it ended. It felt too boundless, too much like anger, like whatever I had done to pour memories into my father's mind, to drown him in them. Xavier gave me no helpful answers, and said cryptically that while we did not choose our mutation, we might shape the form it took more than we think. Giselle rolled her eyes at him and said it was time to face my demons and if I didn't do something with it, my demons would.
I was not awesome at dealing with stormy nights still, but the shape of so much else shifted it was hard to feel cheated. When the power went out one night and a few of us crowded onto the couches in the living room, I spent hours casting little animal-shaped light patterns on the floor because Celeste, one of the Cuckoos, was scared of the dark. Now I mostly just had to deal with her and a small gang of others charging into my room on occasion to demand encores.
It stopped feeling scary and started feeling useful. Scott made me do target practice in plain sight of everyone in the backyard, scowling at me when I half-heartedly threw a ball of energy at one of the soda cans that barely nudged it. He very nearly let me quit (it was hard to get Scott to care about much anymore, to be fair) but Giselle was arriving for one of her visits at the time and said "don't let her fool you so easily, Laserface. Celia, behave yourself."
For someone who I'd known for barely any time at all, she had alarmingly natural authority over me. Every word out of her mouth made it clear she expected that I listen, and it never occurred to me to do anything but. That first day of target practice still took hours to show any success, but Scott made me redo it every day for the next week. Until the soda cans became rocks and the rocks became cinderblocks. It became easy, like I had strengthened the muscles.
One night I had started for the back deck again with tea, found myself still unable to step foot on that path, and headed instead straight for the basement target range. I was there until six in the morning, when Logan found me spearing now-headless targets with energy discs while hanging from the ceiling.
He was still looking at me sideways months later.
Storm suggested that I try to project energy discs wide enough to hold my body weight so I could move around in combat. We experimented with the size and shape of them for a while. Then Giselle arrived and made me stand on them and hover over one of the backyard fountains. I was shaking when we were done, but I was doing laps on them around the backyard the next day.
My heart still hurt when I let my mind wander. And the air was still tense as the violence built up in the news. But I had shed some of that old bristling fear. I couldn't help but feel like that was something.
Even when, the first time I'd completed a Danger Room game by myself, flying through the air and hurling discs of energy at giant robots, I'd thought "I can't wait to tell John," and then remembered. It was a bruise I loved to press. I kept thinking about the sideways looks, his laugh in the dark of the backyard, the careful grip of his hands, the space he'd always made for me without looking. I had to remind myself every time that he'd walked away. Every time I missed him, there was a beat before my stomach dropped into nausea and self-loathing again. It was hard to sleep without exhausting myself first.
My progress was not necessarily even on all fronts.
Historically, the Danger Room had always pissed me off. Months later, even with skills honed to newly terrifying edges, I found this was…still true.
Flames hurtled overhead, charging through the air over their heads in the simulation—some graphics developers' idea of a really great joke. And why was it always a giant robot?
"Bobby!" Kitty yelled.
From my crouch behind a large rock formation (and when would we be fighting in a dormant volcano, exactly?) I caught a glimpse of the small girl latching onto the boy's arm and pulling him toward her, the two of them phasing through the giant projectile that threatened to take their heads off.
True to form, a glimpse of white-streaked hair in the corner of my eye meant Rogue had seen too.
Great, so that's coming.
To be honest, it had always seemed like a blatant oversight that Rogue was required to participate in the same simulations. I mean, seriously, what combat-oriented aspect of her power was this supposed to be testing? She spent all of her time resenting her physically isolating genes, and in return they stuck her in a simulated combat zone with kids who had powers they could actively use to protect themselves.
I caught her eye and rolled my eyes. Rogue made a face that signaled a forthcoming rant over chocolate and then ran off in another direction to avoid the flames.
"...tin man," I heard Wolverine say somewhere in the Danger Room.
Then Storm was yelling and Logan was flying and the robot's head was hurtling to the floor.
"Cool, great, not a waste of time at all," I said under my breath as the holographic images I'd been only irritably acknowledging anyway began to fade around me.
Rogue caught up with me as we both headed single-mindedly towards the door, different speeds of over it clearly in full swing.
"This is so stupid," I said as we stepped into the hallway, mostly to Rogue but for once making no effort to hide it from anyone else.
The others were standing outside, waiting politely to be dismissed. Logan and Storm were already in a pissing match up ahead as though the rest of us had disappeared. Bobby turned, eyebrows up in shock, and I pushed back the hysterical urge to laugh. John leaving had hit Bobby hard too, to be fair. If I'd been unclear on how many people Bobby had to rely on in the universe, his family's reception that sunny and violent afternoon had certainly cleared things up. But between the messy love triangle-esque situation with Kitty and Rogue that he appeared to have accidentally invited and the day-to-day DIY project my life seemed to be, the two of us hadn't been done a ton of friendly chatting.
Rogue laughed out loud beside me, her expression sharper than usual.
"You're telling me," she said, eyes straight ahead, ignoring her boyfriend trailing behind her, already lost.
I snorted. If I'd been less buried in frustration, I might've felt a little bad for him.
Logan and Storm continued bickering all the way down the hallway, the class following in the uncertainly muted silence that had become kind of an Xavier's norm. Rogue and I, without discussion, strode purposefully around them toward the open hallway.
"Coffee?" Rogue asked, voice the same fake cheer that I had reserved for our early mornings as roommates.
"Chocolate?" I replied in the same.
For a brief second, we caught each other smiling as though neither of us was being crushed by the weight of things we wouldn't talk about, and then we walked briskly, without discussion, in the direction of the kitchen.
There was only so much use to locks in this mansion.
"Cel did you hear?" Rogue practically yelled, crashing into the room just as I finished a braid for one of the Cuckoo sisters.
It had been easier to open up more to Rogue once I'd admitted I needed to. And I needed more adult company anyway, since I appeared to have become the mansion's one-woman (two stars max, if we were being honest) hair service.
She'd knocked over a pile of books I'd taken from the library upon entering. Jubilee, who had been lounging on my bed and wondering out loud whether monster truck rallies offered summer internships, was for once not the entropy in the room and looked absolutely appalled at the thought.
"About what? Whatever fire you're running from?" I asked, eyebrow raised.
Jubilee whipped her head toward me, a smirk ready. I scowled.
"Do not. Say it."
The blond head in my lap squirmed as Mindee turned to see what was happening and I held a palm to her cheek to keep her from unraveling my work. The Cuckoos were dedicated hair clients of mine these days. After the incident with Lydia, it seemed I was now forever trying to avoid the omnipresent line of girls requesting that I do their hair. It was hard to be mad at. In the solemn attitude that had reigned after Alkali Lake, everyone needed the comfort of home where they could get it. Which apparently, impossibly, now included me.
Still, I had replaced the lock on my bedroom door after the third time I'd woken up to find a small crowd of children beaming up at me. Maybe I was a lot of things, too, like my mother. But none of those things was good with mornings.
"There's a cure. They can cure us," Rogue said. Her voice was loud with excitement.
Both Jubilee and I looked at her sharply.
"They just announced on TV."
I gaped at her for a moment. It couldn't be that straightforward. It never was.
"What do you—"
I shot Jubilee a pointed look and hastily tied off Mindee's braid. We were not about to have more insane conversations with an audience under twelve.
"All done, birdy. Say hi to the rest of the radio channel for me," I said, hands sweeping her shoulders, sure the other two of her telepathic set had already heard.
She raised an eyebrow at us, left the room with a telling smile on her face. Jubilee laughed as the door closed behind her.
"What about a what now?" She said, turning to Rogue. "A cure for what?"
Rogue looked like she'd just run a mile, eyes a little wild with excitement, pacing between the end of my bed and the dresser like she was stuck in an animation loop.
"A cure for mutations. Well not really a 'cure' but something that suppresses it," she said, hands flying in a chaos I'd never seen on her. Though I guessed she'd been out of character for quite a while now. "They're sayin' it's permanent. No one knows for sure so maybe it's not, but it could be—"
She didn't stop pacing and neither I nor Jubilee moved to interrupt her. No one who had been friends with her for any amount of time could pretend not to know the weight her powers put on her day to day life. It was like our mutations in that we also had these terrifying, exhilarating abilities that had to be dealt with if we ever wanted to feel as in control of our lives as non-mutant young adults (which wasn't saying much). But Rogue was different. Rogue, whose bare hands I hadn't seen since that afternoon at Bobby's parents' house, who was constantly on the verge of a breakdown that no physical touch could safely help soothe, who was so clearly someone who had related to people via touch in her Before life and now couldn't risking their lives, had it worse in a different way.
"—I'm not sayin' I think it's a good idea for everyone and I know we're not a disease to be cured or whatever—Storm was so mad at me but god easy for her to say—"
Jubilee and I exchanged knowing looks, both of us frozen where we'd been sitting before. Me, crouched stiffly at the end of my own bed. Jubilee, sprawled over the rest of it.
"But what if I—" Rogue froze finally, her back to my dresser, bracing herself with her hands behind her on it. She swallowed and I realized her expression was equally stuck between terror and joy.
"What if I could touch people," she whispered, like a secret.
She stared at us as though, after Storm's reaction, she was expecting us to also be angry. Jubilee cocked her head as though confused and neither of us said anything for a moment.
Then Jubes turned to me as though it was my place to speak for some invisible council we'd found ourselves on. Stunned, I almost laughed, shook my head instead.
"It's your choice," I said, shrugging. "I don't think any of us doesn't know it's a big decision, and of the three of us, you've probably spent the most time thinking about it already."
She looked so cautiously relieved already that I felt sick. I tried to give her a comforting smile but knew that I was bad at those, so in case I was scowling, said instead, "Look, whatever you choose is yours to choose. Anyone who disagrees can help Jubes with target practice."
Jubilee, not in the least insulted, grinned big like she could imagine who that might be. Rogue let out a loose breath. Something tight below my ribs relaxed.
"Where would you go?" I asked, eager to move onto something tangible. Logistics. I could do logistics.
Rogue looked equally relieved.
"There's a clinic maybe an hour away," she said. "I thought maybe someone would give me a ride but based on how Storm reacted…"
I grimaced.
"No, I don't think we should count on them," I said lowly.
Both of them looked alarmed for a moment at me saying this out loud and some part of my brain detached in search of why it felt like I'd had this conversation before. It felt familiar but like all the characters were reading for the wrong roles. My throat tightened and my mouth went dry.
"They think I'm a monster now, Cel."
Jubilee broke the silence. "We could borrow one the cars," she said.
"Think they'd lend us the keys?" Rogue said doubtfully, and even though I'd seen the surprise on her face a moment ago, it was like the truth had settled into her fast.
"We could hotwire one of the cars," Jubilee suggested, looking entirely too hopeful.
I stared at her.
"Do you know how to hotwire a car?"
She shrugged.
"Well no, but no time like the present, right?" She said, a few sparks escaping her fingertips in her excitement.
I shook my head, turning back to Rogue.
"Bus?" She said to me, and I nodded.
"Probably your best bet. If Logan can't give you a ride."
I'd never really fully understood the bond between her and Logan but somehow, without turning into some creepy older man thing, it was there. Of all of the adults in the mansion, I was somehow sure he'd be the most likely to help. Or at least the least likely to interfere.
"Is it safe?" Jubes said suddenly, like it had just occurred to her.
Rogue took an audible breath. "I'll be careful. I haven't heard anything yet but there have been so many attacks lately, I'm sure the brotherhood will try something."
Tension stretched a beat of silence out so far my face reddened, but then Jubilee, the always reliable shatterer of all glass, cleared her throat: "Hey, if you see Pyro, can you ask him if his old stuff is up for grabs?"
I jumped. "What?"
Rogue raised her eyebrows at me, a little too knowingly for my liking.
"You don't want it, do you?" Jubilee said, fiddling with the comforter on my bed, tone entirely too casual, "He just left all his stuff here. We found the box when we were cleaning out one of the hall closets and I do in fact need target practice."
We both stared at her. The fact that all of John's belongings fit in one box thudded below my ribs.
"You just want to blow stuff up," I said flatly.
"Yes," she said, like it was insane we were clarifying, not a hint of shame in sight. "I want to blow stuff up."
We laughed and started pulling up bus schedules on Jubilee's phone (recently replaced, as she had, incidentally, blown the previous one up). I smothered the thing in my chest that had leapt to hear that John's old things were still in the mansion, buried it under plans about traffic and GPS and phone chargers.
It doesn't matter, it wasn't real. He isn't coming back. You don't care, can't care, shouldn't care.