Chapter 13: Not nothing

Despite my heart-to-heart with Bobby, I started volunteering to run errands in town at nearly every opportunity. This served the dual purpose of avoiding both Storm's moods and the younger mutants, who had taken to loitering in or around my bedroom for stories, homework help, hair styling services, etc., regardless of how many locks I put on the door.

The mansion was dark by the time I made it back on the Wednesday after the Professor's funeral. There had been an accident a few miles from school that had effectively trapped me behind a bus for an hour. The radio in Scott's car was still busted from the time Jones and Doug had tried (and failed) to hotwire it with Jones' abilities, and I'd wound up so bored that I called Jubilee, put her on speaker, and asked her what had happened on Riverdale that week.

My feet dragged as I walked the dark hallways toward the kitchen. It was unlikely anyone other than the older students was still up. There were a few lights still on—the TV in the living room of course (Jones still hadn't figured out how to sleep nor did he seem particularly motivated to)—and the kitchen was lit.

Just outside of it, I almost ran straight into Rogue.

"Hey," I said, voice as weary as I sounded.

Her face was blatantly annoyed, but not with me, I found out quickly.

"I swear," she said in an exasperated breath, "If he wants her so bad, why doesn't he just make out with her already and call it a day!?"

I caught a glimpse of two figures ice-skating on the frozen pond out of the window behind her and winced. Really, Bobby?

"I'm sorry," I said, for lack of anything better.

She was genuinely upset, more so than she'd been over the past few weeks even. After the three of us had made a plan for getting her the 'cure' if she decided to take it, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement between us not to bring it up again unless she did. But the rest of the school hadn't been in that room with Jubilee and I, didn't see how her face lit up at the possibility of regaining some control over her life, and now it was like all of those casual digs at her inability to touch had finally gathered to be more than she could bear. Her eyes shined but she seemed determined to be angry instead.

"At least you and John could touch!" she snapped. And then a moment later, catching herself but still too fuming to do anything but wave her hands helplessly, flustered: "Oh god, I'm sorr—goodnight…"

She tore away in frustration when her voice broke, but I had already seen the tears on her face. Still, my stomach dropped.

At least John and I could touch. Past tense. Even if neither of us was big on public displays, we'd been inseparable when we were alone. His arms wrapped around me suddenly, one smooth motion as he ducked us into a less crowded hallway and I turned to find his face already brushing mine, the familiar smile blooming on a face used to frowning.

It had been…so long. I should be over it by now.

Still, I was standing in the hallway alone, the New England chill adding a dismal effect to the empty hallway. Trying to calm myself down, I entered the kitchen to find some food, anything to chill me out. What I found was the newest stranger sitting at the table.

Funny, I thought that was Logan's thing.

"Hey," he said. He looked too happy to see me, like he'd been waiting for someone to have time for him all day, and just a touch smug, like he was happy to see someone openly frustrated in this picturesque place.

Even in the Professor's absence, there was a careful, diplomatic manner about the staff and older students—the ones who wanted to be X-men, at least. It was like a silent rule, one I'd once thought was funny, but at times made my teeth grind.

"Sit," He said, "Take a load off."

I nodded. He smiled politely and I thought about how strange it was that I'd just watched this man jump out a window on the news just hours before.

"Right," I said, stomach still sinking but Rogue long gone.

He was wearing a plain blue shirt and jeans, the expensive-looking jacket apparently abandoned. Everything looked tailored. If there had been other options in the room I would have chosen them out of instinct, if nothing else. He was drinking a beer in what seemed like a dutiful if not slightly depressed way, and as I sat in the stool next to him, he held it toward me thoughtfully.

"You look like you could use a drink."

I laughed sharply and he looked taken aback.

"Sorry," I said, even though I was still laughing a little. Maybe it some hysterical leftover grief, still sweeping through me. "I really could."

He smiled at me again and pulled a silver flask out of his jean pocket. The hair on the backs of his fingers brushed my skin as he handed it to me. It was nice to be touched again. It wasn't quite sinking in, even as it was happening, that I was drinking in the kitchen with a man years older than me and clearly spawned from a class worlds away from mine.

I sniffed at the mouth of the flask and he laughed softly. It was a nice sound but a tentative one, like it hadn't happened in a while.

"Honey whiskey," he said, "You'll like it, it's sweet."

He seemed pretty sure of himself for someone who hadn't asked how old I was, but there wasn't anything left in me to be bothered.

"At least you and John could touch."

I tipped it back towards my mouth. It burned all the way down, but he was right. I liked it anyway. I held my breath to swallow and came up for air gulps later, placing the flask back down on the table.

"Your day looks worse than mine," the man said, looking at me thoughtfully.

I nodded, my face glowing from the warmth burning its way down.

"I'm Celia."

He nodded. I realized how nice it was to be meeting someone for the first time. No expectations of the mediocre mutant, good student, remnant granddaughter, middling-at-best friend.

"Warren," he said, reaching a hand out to shake my hand.

I couldn't remember ever having shaken anyone's hand before, other than the Professor's. It seemed a very Real World thing to do. His grip was practiced and I mostly hoped mine didn't suck.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said as I let go.

When he smiled, his teeth was immaculate. He had a nice face. It wasn't my fault that my mind had already drifted back to the tears on Rogue's face, to the grocery list, to how I could eventually leave this conversation. Alarmed, I jumped up to search the cabinets for food, what I'd originally come in here for.

"I'm sorry about what happened with your dad," I said, trying to cover my haste, "We just saw the story on the news, but I can imagine it's not easy."

If I were any more unoriginal I would punch myself in the face. Warren kindly ignored my lack of eloquence.

"Thanks. I'm glad to be somewhere to...recover, honestly."

I almost smiled, it felt so familiar. I found a bag of chips and some salsa from the fridge and walked back toward the table.

"What was your friend mad about?"

I started eating before I answered.

"Boyfriend troubles."

He raised an eyebrow, obviously curious but too polite to ask.

"She can't touch anyone because of her power, and her boyfriend's maybe flirting with a girl who can."

"Ah..." he said. "Who's John?"

By this point, the whiskey seemed to have poured its way through my nerves. So as jumpy as my heart became at that name, I was physically too numb to react otherwise.

"Sorry, couldn't help but hear," he said, when the pause must have lasted too long.

I laughed. It sounded empty.

"My ex," I said. I'd never said it out loud before. It stung about as much as I'd expected. "Left to join Magneto just before graduation."

Second eyebrow was raised now. Warren pulled the chips toward him and, hesitating slightly, pushed the flask back at me. I decided this day was probably the exception to a rule-following norm. It was like he'd hesitated out of instinct and then remembered that he'd already jumped out a window.

"So what's your power?" I said, even though I already knew.

I was sick of talking about John. Thinking about John. Tired of spending every waking moment wondering why I was so easy to leave behind. Exhausted from hoping I hadn't been.

He shrugged. He had nice shoulders, toned muscle all the way down his arms. You could tell even though he was dressed plainly that he was an expensive kind of good-looking. He had that clean-cut look of someone who's always had someone else clean their house. He was attractive. I tried to find the feeling of being attracted.

"Well, as the entire world now knows, I just have wings," He said.

I laughed again. It wasn't that funny.

"They're calling me 'Angel' on the news," he said, looking at me sideways like he was hoping someone else would tell him how to react.

A shiver ran down my spine at the nickname but the irony was so fresh and the fact that we were sitting in a boarding school's kitchen so bizarre that I couldn't do anything but shake my head.

For whatever reason, this seemed to break enough of the ice that we settled into a rhythm of conversation. I told him something about my powers, he asked about my parents. I told him about something else instead, every time he started to ask: the school and what it was like to be there, some of the younger kids' hijinks, the X-Men, the minor melodramas.

Time blurred by. It wasn't quite comfortable, but it was a relief. It was still dark outside, my face and body warmed with whiskey, my heart relieved by how easy it was to keep control of the conversation, to tell only so much, to be a person I controlled.

The alcohol had made me feel powerful but distant. Rogue's reminder of John still stung, but I was warm enough from drinking to escape it in a foggy sense of distance.

I could picture his quiet smirk whenever I agreed to sneak out with him, as though pleased that I would only break the rules for him. But I was proving that I could be dangerous when he wasn't looking, too.

At least I think that's what I was telling myself. Why when Warren leaned forward, I didn't lean away.

It was nice, at first, Warren's kiss. A little too neat, a little too polite, but the physical contact like a brand of something that I remembered I'd missed with my entire body. I wasn't a particularly touchy person, and being touched felt like a reminder that I existed: jaw against mine, smooth lips, long arms. His mouth tasted like alcohol and nothing. Some part of my traitor heart was going off like an alarm even as I tried to ignore it, relax, want this, find a way to be satisfied with this, to make it feel less wrong.

When I pulled away only seconds later, Warren pulled back to a respectable distance.

"Are you alright?"

I didn't say anything, taking inventory. My heartbeat was even, my skin not flushed, my breathing not ragged. It was like nothing had happened at all. Like I'd not even been touched.

The easy assurance of the whiskey was already loosening on me. In its place, waiting, was the hollow certainty that this was wrong. These weren't the arms I missed. This wasn't the warmth I wanted on stormy nights. The eyes I could still feel on me, noticing too much.

This man didn't know me.

Warren nodded with half a smile, as though already politely resigned. At least there was that. At least he didn't seem likely to make this a worse kind of mistake. Still, I wondered if the look on his face was pity, for the woman he didn't know who would accept a drink from a stranger but not cheat on a man who'd already left her.

It annoyed me, even as my throat felt like it was closing up with memories again.

"I'm sorry," I said, clearing my throat. "That shouldn't have happened."

My heart was so heavy.

"It was worth a shot," he said, his expression already resigned, already retreating.

I felt another sting of annoyance. What kind of man was so accustomed to women he'd just met letting him kiss them that he was just as unbothered with letting them go?

He touched my arm once, like I was fragile, which only made me more irritated. I didn't bother looking at him as he left.

Instead I sat there for a moment longer, coming to terms as the rest of the warm haze ebbed from me. Somewhere there were other women who had just missed the contact, just needed to be kissed, were happy to move on with a handsome stranger, wipe the slate and move along.

The problem, as I'd known all along, was that I was not one of them. It had been an unproven suspicion before, the kind of intuition you put off until you absolutely can't because everything is easier if it isn't true.

Now I was faced with two things that were true. This new guy had been happy to kiss me and I had hated it. And I was still in love with John, who—no matter what Bobby believed—had clearly not felt the same about me.

With a deeply aggravated sigh, I stole the chips and stalked toward my room. Because if you can only cry alone, you should at least have snacks.

Storm did her best to smile patiently at me.

"it's about working with what you have. Otherwise you're just…"

"A crazy guy flooding people's bodies with adamantium?" I offered.

She grimaced. Apparently we weren't in the mood today.

"I was going to say not living up to your potential," Storm said crisply.

She'd been like this for the past few days.

We were running low on teachers. With Xavier, Scott, and Jean gone and "cooperative" hardly being a word one could use to describe Logan, Storm had evidently taken on a bit more than anyone had assumed she'd ever have to chew. Piotr and I had been taking turns tutoring the younger kids (Piotr was terrible at this and kept just doodling while the kids did their math homework incorrectly) to make up for the lack of faculty support. It wasn't exactly hugely effective, and to make matters worse, we still had to take privates with Storm. Only now, she had less patience for us than ever. I found it hard to tell who the sessions were for anymore.

Storm sighed and waved me out as Jubilee ran in with a message from Hank, nearly breaking several dioramas on her way to the desk. Only too happy to leave, I practically ran into Rogue in the hallway when I swept around a corner.

"Oh god, sorry. I wasn't looking—coming from a Storm Sesh," I said, accidentally dropping into Jubilee's latest lingo.

Rogue grimaced.

"Did you also get a 'you know how fast the weather can change?'"

I scoffed.

"No, just a forecast for overcast skies and several disappointed faces."

She smiled, then sobered a little. "Listen I'm sorry about last night."

She looked more upset about it than I'd felt, even at the time. Honestly, I'd forgotten it had even been last night. Which couldn't have been much of a compliment to Warren.

"Don't worry about it," I said, shaking my head. "Men are idiots."

When she failed to look particularly comforted by this, I sighed and said, "Would it make you feel better if I told you Warren kissed me and I told him it was a mistake?"

Her jaw dropped open. "Hot rich Warren?" she said, grinning, the answer obviously yes. "What the hell, Cel?"

I scowled at her but it was halfway a smile.

"You told him it was a mistake?" she said, catching up. "What—why?"

"He's just… I don't know. He's so polite. It's unbearable."

She gaped at me for a beat, shaking her head.

"You understand that's a positive, right? Please tell me you aren't wired exclusively for criminals."

I shoved her arm lightly. "Hey."

She smiled.

"Seriously though, how was it?"

I shrugged. "It was fine, I guess."

"Fine?" she repeated.

I just nodded slowly, the two of us looking at each other, almost laughing.

"Oh my god, you are only wired for criminals."

"I am not," I said, rolling my eyes. "At least stop saying it in the plural. As far as we know, it's just the one."

"As far as we know!?" Rogue exclaimed, so loudly that the Cuckoos, passing us in their little trio, giggled at us as they passed.

I congratulated myself on at least succeeding in turning her mood around as we continued. The younger classes (well, class—Kitty was holding a Philosophy review group) were letting out, and she poked fun at me all the way down the hallway. Until Bobby emerged from the classroom as well, holding a stack of books and smiling good-naturedly.

Rogue tensed automatically. I don't think it was something that would've made her jealous if it hadn't been for all the weeks before, for all of the little things that she couldn't do. We both watched as Kitty dropped a book (to be fair to her, completely on accident—and she appeared genuinely thrown off by it) and Bobby picked it up for her, carefully placing it on his own smaller stack. It was a friendly, very Bobby thing to do. It was the wrong day for it.

I heard Rogue take breath just before he glanced up and spotted us there, immediately smiling at the sight of her, oblivious to the tension.

"I'll catch up with you later," Rogue mumbled to me, glowering at the rest of hallway. I wondered how it always seemed to be me in this role.

"I'll have the chocolate."

Kitty, looking deeply unhappy and even more deeply awkward, fled via wall.

"What did I do?" Bobby said incredulously to the hallway, now filled with younger mutants who did nothing but blink at him and scramble past, freed for the afternoon.

I kept walking.

"What didn't you," I said.

He followed me down the hallway.

"Wait seriously, help me," he said, sounding desperate. "Celia, please?"

I scowled at him but slowed down so there was room to walk beside me.

"Go on any ice skating dates lately, Bobby? Hold anyone's hand for comfort? Show off for anyone in the Danger Room?"

His mouth dropped and I watched his eyes clear.

"Oh." He stopped walking.

"Yes, oh." I said darkly, turning away down the hallway. "Jesus Bobby. I thought you were supposed to be the good one."

He gaped at me. We both knew what I'd meant. It wasn't a new concept. Most people weren't fond of John here, even before he'd left. Still, something about the hurt in Bobby's eyes told me he'd never expected to hear it from me.

Guilt welled up in my throat even as I grimaced and walked away. I hadn't so much as mentioned John's name out loud since he'd left us to join the Brotherhood.

Sometimes I wondered what my mother would say to me.

How do you know when to close a door like that? How to do it? And was there an intermediate option? A grey area? Maybe a screen door—a tarp I could borrow while the construction was underway?

In the past, I'd always drawn a line from the beginning. It was the only way to stay alive: limit the universe, make rules, stand by them. I was afraid of forgetting why I'd done it. I was more afraid of doing it forever. I stepped away from my entire childhood, walked away from my father by leaving him in my old last name, isolated myself from the how and why of my mother's death by refusing to tell anyone, and most recently, alienated myself from the only friends I had left in a misguided attempt to protect the scarred remains of my dignity, leaving them to figure out their personal dramas without me as a sounding board.

Giselle, of course, was always full of advice.

"The sooner you realize not everything is all good or all bad, the sooner you will see the world more clearly," she had said on a previous visit, "and as a mutant and a woman, the world will fill in the blanks for you if you cannot learn to see things for yourself. I recommend a speedy learning curve."

She'd fixed me with those deceivingly lovely blue eyes, so remarkably clear on a face written with age.

"It helps sometimes to remember that as often as you feel like you don't know what you're doing—like you need the hard and fast rules of right and wrong to make sense of the world—most people are doing the same thing. Sometimes they make mistakes. It helps to find a way to forgive others and forgive yourself for making them…" She paused. "Unless they're a lunatic flooding people's veins with adamantium."

Then she'd given me a look that I interpreted to mean Storm had taken up my comments in her session to Giselle, who had not in the least shared her disapproval but disliked being expected to.

It would have been easier if I were only upset because I thought it was my fault that John had left. That he'd left the jet that day and walked off into the mountain because of me. Something I'd done, something I'd said, something I hadn't done or said. But I knew it wasn't. I might've been a factor, but it hadn't really been about me at all, why he'd walked away at Alkali Lake. It never had been. It had always been about something bigger for John and I had understood that from the beginning.

But that was the part that cut the deepest. The thing that each time I remembered it stole my breath away. It had never been about me. Sure. But I also hadn't been a good enough reason to stay.

I couldn't set aside that knife in my chest.

Maybe in another universe I was a nice girl with a normal love life, minimally interfered with by politics and government-mutant warfare. Somewhere there was a normal nearly-21-year-old with a boyfriend she'd probably argued with, but probably not after they'd evacuated their own home and never with a custom jet and helicopter in the background while a team of semi-pro operatives freed kidnapped children somewhere nearby. Or maybe that Celia was dating some other guy or was at university. Or at least proper therapy.

My shoulder struck the edge of a doorframe hard and I realized I'd tuned things out. I swallowed and rubbed my fingers under my eyes as Lydia approached, already holding hair ties in one hand and a rather beat-up looking stuffed animal from home that Storm had been trying to talk her out of in the other.

"She won't let go of it," said Doug, one of the older kids, shaking his head at her from the couch. Doug was another who had been kidnapped and held at Alkali Lake. He hadn't had much to defend himself—his ability to learn languages fluently was incredible but not of much obvious use in physical combat—but when he'd returned, the Professor had assigned him private reading sessions so he could help Hank with his diplomatic efforts. I think it was mostly to help him get back on his feet after a traumatic kidnapping, but whatever the intent, he'd emerged from it a fifteen-year-old with an expanded sense of responsibility.

Lydia frowned at him and held the animal closer. It looked like some kind of badger. Or a very faded Sonic the hedgehog. It was hard to tell.

"Let her," I said, shrugging at Doug.

I led her to the comfier of the loveseats by the window to sit.

"We're all hanging on to something," I whispered, slightly embarrassed to do it, into her ear.

She giggled but didn't say anything, like she knew it was a little bit of a secret and was pleased it was being shared just with her.

It was true that we were not and would never really be normal...after all, normal teenagers weren't helping raise other kids at a secret boarding school and mutant training facility. But it was the state of things and if anything was to be done to improve it than we'd just have to keep trying.

Across the room, some of the younger boys were arguing over a video game.

"You blinked! I saw you!"

"I doubt blinking is against the rules."

"But your car went faster than everyone else's at exactly the same time we all veered off track!"

"Yeah no powers, Jones!"

My chest felt a little lighter as I glanced over the spiky-haired head of one of the speedsters to see that, sure enough, Jones' character was inexplicably far ahead on the first lap of a racing circuit. For a moment I just watched them even things out with elbows and yelling before finally settling again, neck and neck for the last lap.

I heard myself laugh before I realized what was happening and the shock of it actually made my eyes warm with tears.

Lydia was settling in with a very professional air, looking up at me curiously.

"You don't even know how weird this is, do you?" I asked, parting her hair. "You'll end up just as strange as the rest of us."

She snorted.

"I already have purple hair. I think I knew that," she said, voice quiet but a little triumphant, and then burst into giggles when I smiled.

Nothing was normal. But this was not nothing.