Walking On Broken Glass

Part Seven: Checkmate

   The infirmary is quiet, even with so many people in it – Rebecca is lying in one bed, with Tom and myself sat next to her (Warren is on an errand for her at the moment, so he's not around), and Jenny is lying in the next one across, with Rogue holding her hand and chatting quietly to her. Rebecca had been brought down here the moment she returned from Lady Mortis' demonic realm, and Jenny has been recovering from whatever that winged creature did to her when it kidnapped Tom. Right now, the two of them are making good progress, and have obviously been allowed visitors by the slightly overzealous Dr McCoy, who now exits his small office area and comes over to check on Rebecca, a clipboard and pen clutched in his paws. "Good morning, everybody," he says cheerfully. "And how are my two favourite patients this fine day?"

   "We're your only patients, Doc," Jenny retorts, before coughing a little and wiping her mouth with her handkerchief. "That sort of makes us your favourites by default, doesn't it?"

   "There's always one, isn't there?" Hank rolls his eyes. "Very well, Ms Franklin, how are you today?"

   "Still a little woozy, but pretty good otherwise," Jenny says, coughing slightly. She starts stretching a little, almost like a cat waking up from a nap, and grins. "I think that fried breakfast you made us was a great start to the day. Thanks, Doc."

   Hurriedly, Hank puts a finger to his lips. "Quiet, young lady, or you'll have the whole mansion demanding I cook them breakfast every morning. That was a special treat for today only, all right? Don't expect me to be dishing them out every time you get a hangnail…" Rolling his eyes, he turns his attention to Rebecca, who is sitting up in her bed and clutching the box of chocolates that I'd brought down for her (seeing as she'll probably get released today, I thought it was appropriate to treat her a little bit). "And how are you, young lady? Spry as always, I hope?"

   "I feel better than I did yesterday," Rebecca replies, with a tired smile. "I really want to sleep in my own bed tonight, though."

   Hank smiles. "I thought you might. As I said the last time you were here, I shall miss our little chats. They do brighten up my day a great deal, after all." Putting a clawed hand to his chin for a moment, he continues "Do you know, Rebecca, between your mother and yourself, I think I have grounds to give the female half of your family the option of permanent residence here in the med-lab. What do you think?"

   Giggling bashfully, Rebecca returns Hank's toothy grin. "I don't think Sam, Dad or Tom would be very happy about that, Hank," she replies, laughing. "But thanks for the offer, anyway."

   Hank sighs, and rubs his brows in disappointment, before checking off a few more things on his clipboard and chuckling to himself. "I suppose so. I also suppose I shall see you around above stairs, as it were, so please be sure to stop me and give me a reason to have you carted back down here as soon as possible. Now then... I have to go get ready for a biochemists' conference in New York, so I shall have to leave you in your mother's capable hands. Do try and keep yourself out of trouble while I'm away, won't you?" He gives Rebecca his best, most flamboyant bow and kisses her bandaged hand. "Adieu, maiden most fair. Take care." After having made Rebecca blush bright purple, he winks at her and retreats back into his office with his notes.

   "Oh my," Rogue says. "Hank never did that for any of us. I think you got yourself an admirer there, girl."

   "I agree," Jenny adds, mischievously. "He must like your eyes."

   "Oh, shut up," Rebecca retorts, her face still flushed with blood. "Hank's just my friend. Friends can talk to each other like that, can't they?"

   "Yes, Rebecca, you're right – they can," I say, doing my best to back my daughter up against the two other women. "You two should know better," I say, pointing a scolding finger at Rogue and Jenny. "Hank has nothing but good intentions for her."

   "You're the telepath," Jenny replies, holding her hands up and raising her eyebrows. "I'll have to take your word for it."

   Just then, a suited Warren enters through the main door of the med-lab. To my surprise, he is carrying a violin and bow in his hands, carefully making sure he doesn't accidentally drop them or jar them against something. "Hey, Rebecca," he says cheerfully. "Brought you what you asked for." Rebecca puts a hand to her brow, shaking her head slightly.

   "Dad… do you have any idea how to follow simple instructions?" she says, exasperated. "I asked you not to bring me that when Mum was here, didn't I?" She gestures at me in frustration. "Well, what do you call that?"

   "You know, I am still right in front of you, Rebecca," I say, indignantly. "Why on earth would you want to keep something like this from me? I really doubt I'd be angry about you wanting to learn the violin, after all."

   Rebecca sighs. "I wanted to get a little bit of practice in while I was down here. It was going to be a surprise for your next birthday," she says quietly. "I wanted to show you that I could learn something properly, and not just rely on everything Sinister put into my head, so I thought I'd teach myself to play the violin." She shrugs. "I thought I'd be able to play something for you at the party… but it turns out I'm a really bad teacher. I haven't been able to do much more than a few scales at this point." Sighing, she runs her hands through her long blonde hair, fluffing it out around her shoulders and tugging a little on the braid that Jean put into it. "Some superior scientific achievement I turned out to be, right?"

   "Well, I could teach you, if you like," Jenny says, swinging her legs down over the side of her bed so that she is facing Rebecca more completely. "Lou will tell you I'm a pretty good violinist – I'm not great, but I can still play Flight Of The Bumblebee pretty well. Would you like me to give you a hand?" She offers Rebecca a smile, as if to bolster my daughter's apparently flagging confidence. "Really, it's no trouble."

   "Yes, please," Rebecca says, gratefully. "You have no idea how much that would help me."

   "Great!" Jenny exclaims, sounding delighted. "You know, maybe this could be good for both of us – maybe you can teach me something, as well?"

   Rebecca rolls her eyes. "Somehow I doubt it, but we'll see." Her face lights up then, inspiration flashing across her pretty, sculptured features in an instant, and she continues "Hey, maybe I could teach you karate instead? All we'd need is a couple of hours a week in the Danger Room's dojo programme, and I could have you as a black belt in no time. How does that sound?"

   "That's my girl," Warren says encouragingly, ruffling his daughter's hair a little. "Go with what you know, right?"

   Jenny raises her eyebrows, and puts a hand to her chin in order to ponder Rebecca's suggestion for a moment or two. "Sounds good to me," she says eventually. "Just be gentle with me, all right? I don't think Lou would forgive you if you broke me, after all."

   "Damn straight," Rogue laughs, slipping her hand into Jenny's as she does so. "I don't want to have to put her back together every time she has a lesson, okay?"

   "Don't worry, Rogue, I won't hurt her," Rebecca assures Rogue confidently, before adding a mischievous coda. "Much." She winks at the two women as Rogue helps Jenny out of bed into a dressing gown and a wheelchair, so that they can leave the infirmary for a little while, before looking over at her father. "Could you put that down here, please, Dad?" She indicates her bedside table, and Warren obligingly lays the violin down on the table's surface, moving Rebecca's glass of water and box of aspirin tablets to one side so that they don't get knocked off onto the floor.

   "There you go, honey," he says, before his face takes on a slightly more serious aspect. "It's… it's good to know you're going to be okay. Had us all really worried there for a while."

   "Thanks… thanks, Dad," Rebecca replies, a little taken aback by his honesty. "Not just for this – for everything; you could have left me in that other place, but you came and found me." She rubs her bandaged hands over her face for a moment or two, as if to compose herself for what she is going to say next. "You and Mum risked your lives to save me – again. I don't know what I'm supposed to do to pay you back for all of this. What can I do?"

   Warren enfolds her in his strong arms then, pressing her head to his chest gently. "Hey, hey… shh," he reassures her. "You don't have to do anything, Rebecca. You already repaid us, just by being you." He draws back a little and smiles at her, his pearl-white teeth bright against his blue lips. "I know it sounds pretty corny, honey, but it's true. You're our special little girl, and nothing's worth more to me and your mom than that, I promise." He kisses her on the forehead gently, and then winks at her. "Although if you wanted to get me that DVD surround-sound system I'd wanted for Christmas… be my guest. I hate spending more than I have to, after all…"

   Rebecca hits him then, slapping his arm with her hand. "I hate you," she says sourly, before hugging him again, a little more tightly this time. "Don't ever change."

   Just then, Tom (who has been remarkably quiet up to this point, since it often doesn't take that much to wake him up from one of his naps) opens his eyes and gurgles a little, wriggling sleepily in my arms. "I think he'd like you to hold him," I say, standing up from my chair and easing Tom into Rebecca's hands. Using Tom like this is a pretty transparent ploy, I know, but it seems to work, as Rebecca's already brightening expression begins to sparkle with her usual joie de vivre once again. "There you are," I tell her, with an encouraging smile. "He really likes having his big sister home."

   "It's nice to be home," Rebecca asserts quietly, gazing down at her little brother in slightly bewildered awe. "Hi there, sleepyhead," she says, her voice little more than a hushed whisper, as Tom turns his innocent blue-eyed gaze towards her. "Bet you're as glad to back home as I am, right?" As a way of answering, Tom blows a bubble and gurgles quietly, which makes Rebecca's face break into a broad, happy grin. "I'll take that as a 'yes', then," she says, brushing Tom's face clear of some wispy blond hair.

   Just then, the doors to the med-lab hiss open quietly, causing us all to look round to see who's arrived. Logan pads quietly through the open doorway, clad in his battered leather jacket and jeans, with a bunch of roses clutched in one hand. "Logan!" Rebecca exclaims, excitedly, her face lighting up as the squat little man approaches her bedside. Handing Tom back to me hurriedly, she holds her arms out for him so that she can give him a hug, which he gladly accepts.

   "Hey, punkin," Logan says in an uncharacteristically kindly tone, touching her chin with his knuckles. "Thought you could use somethin' to brighten up your stay here, so I brought you these." Looking around the cards and get-well presents scattered around the bed where Rebecca is lying, he continues "Say… where's the hayseed? Would've thought he'd be the first in line to be here."

   Rebecca smiles. "Sam saw me earlier today," she explains. "He's out buying me a present right now. He promised he'd get me something really special for when I left here."

   "Is that right?" Logan says, thoughtfully. "Guess I'll have to make sure he keeps his word, then, won't I?" He winks at Rebecca then, a smile crossing his rough face. It's very strange to see this side of him so shortly after his display of animalistic rage in Lady Mortis' dimension – but then again, I suppose that very duality is what makes Logan who he is, and the reason why I'm proud to call him my best friend. "Say, pup… I was wondering if you'd like to finish that drink we were havin' before you got kidnapped. It was my round, so I guess owe you a Coke." Reaching into a pocket, he takes out his wallet and extracts from it a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. "So whaddya say? You want to go get that drink tonight, or what?"

   "Um… thanks, Uncle Logan," Rebecca begins, somewhat guiltily, "but I was kind of hoping that Dad would take me out tonight. There's a new film out I'd been wanting to go and see, and –" She stops, all too aware that she's not explaining herself well. "I'm sorry, Uncle Logan," she continues, hesitantly. "Maybe next week?"

   Logan's smile wilts somewhat, like a dying flower, but he tries very hard not to show his obvious disappointment. "Yeah – maybe next week." Clearing his throat and attempting to change the subject, he says "So how you gettin' on down here, kid? You feelin' any better?"

   "Definitely, now that you're here," Rebecca replies, taking one of his hands in hers and squeezing gently (obviously, she sensed the same thing I did, and is trying her hardest to fix it). "Hey, do you want to play some Tekken later? I bet Bobby would let you if I asked him nicely."

   "Thanks, kid, but I like gettin' into fights I can actually win," Logan says, his smile returning with a vengeance. "I've seen you and the ice cube kick each other's tails for hours – and by my count, you're always the one who comes out on top." He laughs affectionately, his gruff voice filling with good humour once again. "It'd be like me tryin' to fight Galactus, or somethin'." Then, he gestures towards the violin on Rebecca's bedside table. "Hey… you never told me you played the violin."

   "You never asked," Rebecca retorts, with a grin. "It was supposed to be a surprise for Mum, but Dad kind of ruined it." She rolls her eyes. "Isn't he wonderful?"

   "Yeah, I noticed," Logan says, watching Warren's cheerful expression change to one of irritation. "Never mind, punkin – your daddy's a good guy, really, an' I'm sure he meant well. Don't be too hard on him, 'kay?" Getting up from his seat, he brushes his lips across Rebecca's brow gently, and then turns to go. "Anyway, I gotta see a guy about a bike later, so I guess I better go get ready. I'll see you later, darlin'." Then, looking down at where Warren is seated, he nods to my husband. "She made the right choice, Wings. You're her daddy – that's as it should be. Don't waste it." And then he is gone, as quietly and quickly as he arrived.

   "Wow," Warren says, obviously very taken aback. "He must be getting soft in his old age."

   "I wouldn't bet on that, Warren," I tell him, as I move Tom a little so that I can settle him against my bosom again. "Just take his advice."

*

   After half an hour or so, I leave Warren with Rebecca so that I can find somewhere quiet to breastfeed Tom. It's a chore I've come to love and resent in equal measure – while it has helped Tom and me to establish a really close bond, it often makes my breasts sore and tender, even with the nipple shields Warren bought me. Too, there is a part of me that still yearns for the thrill of battle, that hungers for combat. It's still very strange for me to actually want to play the happy mother – ten years ago I never would have envisaged myself being in this position, not in a million years. When I was a little girl, all I ever wanted was to jump from one adventure to the next – and that, I think, is probably one of the reasons I ended up getting blinded.

   Now, though… I wouldn't give this up for anybody, not for any price. I fought Mortis to get my children back, and I would have died to protect them – I would have sold my soul to make everything all right again. They're my flesh and blood, and I will not have them taken away from me again.

   Walking out onto the veranda of the mansion, I walk over to a spot on the steps where I can sit down and feed Tom in relative privacy – but apparently I was so wrapped up in thinking about him and his big sister that I didn't notice Bishop. He is sitting on the steps looking out over the garden, dismantling and reassembling one of his plasma pistols piece by piece. He rubs every component down with a scrap of cloth until the metal shines, and then slots the piece back into the skeletal framework of the gun with well-practiced efficiency.

   It takes him a few moments to notice me, and then he simply nods at me, saying "Hello, Elisabeth." Then he says "Should I go elsewhere? You usually come out here to feed your son, don't you?"

   Raising an eyebrow, I say "And here I thought I was the telepath. Very astute of you, Bishop – although if I didn't know better, I'd say you'd been spying on me."

   Bishop shrugs as I sit down on the step beside him, watching me settle Tom gently in my arms before speaking again. "You all have your routines. With a little detective work, it's easy to figure out where you all are at certain times of the day. It's mid-morning now, so you yourself will usually come out here for your son's second feed of the day. You will usually spend twenty minutes to half an hour out here, and then will go back indoors for a training session in the Danger Room, which can last for anything up to an hour." He pauses. "Every good soldier needs to know where his comrades are – Malcolm and Randall used to tease me about it, but it saved their lives more than once." His face twists upwards into an uncharacteristic smile, giving his usually dour and morose face a much more pleasant, good-humoured appearance. "I suppose I've scared you now, haven't I?"

   I nod. "Just a little, yes."

   "Then I apologise," Bishop says, putting down his half-assembled pistol and throwing one leg over the other before pointing up at the sky. "I come out here to look at the sky, as well as do weapons maintenance. Do you know, in my time, the sky is sometimes painful to look at? When the rad-storms used to hit, it would seem as if it was bleeding." He gestures to the clear blue of the sky again. "But this, on the other hand… I still haven't gotten used to this kind of blue sky yet. You'd have thought I might, after so long in this time, but…" His voice tails off. "I'm sorry, Elisabeth. I'm not making much sense, am I?"

   "On the contrary, I think you're making perfect sense," I say, before something that's been niggling at me since we got back decides that now would be a perfect time to emerge. "Tell me something, Bishop… you've never liked Rebecca, have you?"

   "No," Bishop replies, honestly. "I think she's a security risk, no matter how much you think she's changed. Anybody with that deep a connection to Sinister needs to be watched."

   "Precisely," I say. "So tell me this, then – why did you save her, when we were in that hell-dimension? You could have let her die."

   Bishop sighs, and picks up his half-assembled plasma pistol again, glancing over its grip and barrel briefly before answering. "I know what it's like to lose family to monsters," he says quietly. "I didn't want to see you go through the same thing." Then he turns back towards me, raising a hand to point in my direction. "Don't think this means I trust her any more than I did before. I simply didn't want a brother X-Man to suffer the way I did when I lost Shard."

   "Of course," I reply, before leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. "Thank you, Bishop. You're a good man."

   Looking a little shocked, Bishop raises his free hand to his cheek, brushing his fingers against the place where I kissed him. "Thank… thank you, Elisabeth," he says, sounding dumbfounded (which, for him, is something of a first).

   "Don't mention it," I tell him, before pointing towards the group of birds flitting here and there across the lawn in front of us. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind us watching them for a little while. Shall we?"

   Bishop smiles again then (twice in short succession must be something of a record for him, I suspect), and says "Mrs Worthington, I would be honoured."

Fin.