Disclaimer: you know the drill…same as the other 5 parts. They own them…I own her. End of the matter…
Author's Foreword:
I had intended on ending this story after 5 chapters, and that is still my intention. This will serve as a sort of epilogue…to give some closure to the series, and it is told from Hank's perspective.
I wondered, during the course of this writing, as this story began to unfold, if this was a bit of a self-insertion fic. Well, the character I created isn't much of an avatar, or mighty extension of myself, but this story deals heavily with grief, and that is something I am all too aware of. I watched my father die a horrible death from lung cancer some 2 ½ years ago, and I wish now that I had had someone to talk to about it…guilt is a powerful motivator for self-analysis. I was, however, a stubborn ass, and I thought I could deal with things on my own…let it go, it'll take care of itself, that sort of thing. There are, in retrospect, a lot of things that I wish I had said to him, a lot of things that I was sorry for. One of the things that I wished I had done before my father died was actually tell him that I loved him. I'd like to think that he knew, deep down, but the nagging guilt remains. It fuels my angst, and I tried to bring a bit of that into this story.
I wondered, when I came up with this character, what I would have done if I had had Maya's ability. Different situation, I guess…my Dad fought to live until the end, when he got so sick and tired of the pain that he only wished for peace. Analyzing it now, at this moment, I think I would have saved him. I think he would have wanted to be saved. Now all I have left of him are memories, precious things that they are…
I think I wrote myself into a bit of a corner by setting this mainly in the Evolution verse, but there was a method to my madness. I wanted to write the story without the added pressure of adding the FoH, AoA, Sinister, the Phalanx, the Legacy Virus, not to mention with all of the plot twists (you all can think of a few, I'm sure) that have occurred in the 4 years since I stopped reading the comics (everybody give me a swift cyber-kick in the ass! Now!). Actually, I would love to add the FoH element…they're kind of like the Nazi's of the X-Universe…nasty, bloody, bastards! Maybe I will, if I write another fic…until then, I sincerely hope (for those of you who took the time to read this story, and especially those who reviewed it) that even if there were some possible faults (let's see…I inserted a character, inserted a lot of personal viewpoint, set it outside the comicverse…sort of…need I go on?), that it was, at the very least an interesting premise for a story. That's the one thing we all have in common here, despite differences in gender, race, ethnic background, age, and writing experience, story content and style, among other things…we are all, without a doubt… storytellers. And with that in mind, here is the last (I swear) chapter in the End of the Matter…Arin, February 5th, 2001
The end of the matter: epilogue
Hank McCoy stood at the one
of the many windows at the Xavier Institute, and looked outside. It was late
February, and a fresh snow had fallen, giving the grounds a pristine purity
that you could usually only find on a greeting card or a painting. He looked at
the table that he had been sitting at, which held a tall glass of water and his
trusty laptop, and back outside at the children playing outdoors.
They were engaged in a
massive snowball fight, and Bobby in particular was taking full advantage of
his powers. Hank grinned as he saw Kitty Pryde and Michelle Chen collapse on
the ground in a flurry of snow missiles. The girls weren't hurt by any stretch
of the means. Actually, they were laughing so hard they were crying. Hank
touched the dusty pane of glass, as if to reach out and capture some of that
youthful joy, and he watched Michelle and Kitty help each other up.
It is good to see her
smiling…to see her laughing. He
thought, as he stole another glance at "Maya" Chen. The petite, dark haired
girl was still grieving, he knew, from her grandmother's death, but she was
recovering, however slowly. He turned back toward the waiting laptop and began
to write:
PERSONAL JOURNAL: February 25th…
It has been nearly 2 months since Michelle's grandmother died, and this is the first that I have written about it. Why did I wait so long? It was not out of some deep desire to procrastinate; rather it was out of a need for clarity. The scientist gains knowledge through observation, and I am, without a doubt a man of science…
I went to the funeral, of course. Almost all of us did.
Logan was, as usual, conspicuously absent, but it was not out of disrespect. He
just hates funerals...
The service was beautiful. Michelle gave a touching
eulogy, as did Jareth, the Rom baro. There were many people there to pay their
respects, and Michelle held up admirably through the whole ordeal. She cried of
course, but she was not the only one…
The legal issues are nearly settled. I have the utmost
respect for Saril Villovich: she was a brilliant woman. She rewrote her will
shortly before her illness, and it made things so much easier for Michelle as
far as messy legalities go. She named Charles as Maya's legal guardian until
her 18th birthday, so that she would not be placed in foster care,
or become a ward of the state. Michelle just recently celebrated her 17th
birthday; so legally, Charles will only be playing the part for another
year…brilliant woman, I wish I had gotten to know her when I had the chance…
Michelle was worried about her Grandmother's cats, Felix
and Oscar, being that they are quite old. However, the landlady, a woman named
Nadia Rossini, has taken them in, and they are being well taken care of.
Michelle travels to the city to visit them whenever she gets the chance…
She is holding up well, even though she is not so
occupied with legal and estate issues now as she was immediately after Saril's
death. Having time on her hands has been difficult, but the other students, as
well as the adults at the Institute have kept an open and friendly dialogue
going with her. She has her good days…and she has her bad days, which is common
and a healthy part of the grief process. She has come to me several times now,
and talked to me about her grandmother: her life, the things she did, and the stories
she told. I have encouraged Michelle to write these stories down, to catalog
them, so that they will serve as a history for others…she is thinking about it,
mulling the idea over. I suspect that it will serve as an emotional catharsis
for her, and will help to give her some closure.
As I mentioned before, her 17th birthday was
earlier this month. Among the gifts she received was a blank journal from, of
all people, Logan. They spoke for a great deal that day and later I saw her in
the library, curled up in a chair, writing. She doesn't talk about what she's
writing, and I suspect that the purpose is similar to my own journal: to gain
clarity of thought, and a measure of peace…
She finished cleaning out her Grandmother's apartment
last Saturday…boxed up all of the things that she intended to keep, things that
were deeded to her in the will. Among these items were several photo albums, a
set of first edition books (apparently Saril Villovich shared her
granddaughter's love of reading), and 17 handwritten journals. They are all
written in Romany or in Romanian (there's a difference, I've discovered), and
Michelle is currently hard at work in the library transcribing them on one of
the Institute computers. She has promised to share the details if there is
anything worth revealing as far as a historical perspective goes. Some of them
are quite old…
I am watching her now, and for once the shadow of grief
does not weigh heavily on her face. She is smiling, laughing, acting her age
for once…
It is good to see her laugh. I hope to see her smile more
often…
I have a song stuck in my head; predictably enough, given
my current train of thought, it deals with death. It also deals with hope.
Perhaps I will pass it on to Michelle when the moment is right. In particular,
one line that strikes my fancy reads something like this:
"How easily I forget,
How beautiful
To see it once
again…
In my darkest hour
I will be freed…"
I will close now, as it is getting late, and I need to
catalog the Med Lab. Also…I hear a Twinkie calling my name. Till then…
End
The song lyrics written in
this epilogue are from the song "Darkest Hour", and are solely the property of
Glen Phillips © 2000, Umami Music (ASCAP), and can be found on the CD Abulum,
© 2000, People's Musical Recording Cooperative and © 2000, Inhale Music
Exhale Entertainment.