Chapter 4.
It wasn't until the angel carried her into a little private jet and strapped her into one of the seats that Mina began to slowly realize that she was not, in fact, dead. What she remembered about dying in the Muslim tradition of her childhood did not include sleek airplanes, comfy leather seats or polished walnut paneling. She knew she was still not thinking clearly, and the ability to move or speak on her own was stubborn to return to her. She had a hard time separating her mind from the concept that she must be on her way to the afterlife. She idly wondered when she would get to see the martyrs and the Prophet. She sat quietly trying to make sense of what happened to her as the angel checked her seatbelt, careful to fasten it low on her hips and not across the abraded skin on her belly. He leaned the seat back for her, then gently lifted her chin and turned it side to side. He touched her cheek and she winced in pain. His blonde hair fell around his eyes, eyes that looked concerned. It took her a moment to realize that concern was for her. He and the flying white haired woman were talking quietly, but she could not quite hear them. Her ears were ringing. There had been lightening. God had struck her enemy down and then He had sent His angels to take her to Paradise. Except one of them was a woman, not an angel, though she could fly too. And they were taking an airplane.
That couldn't be right.
The angel moved away from her, shut the door to the jet, and then settled familiarly into the pilot's seat, wings spread out behind him and settling in a white pinioned drift all over the cockpit floor. He put on a set of headphones and started running through a pre-flight checklist. Then the woman, hair almost as white as the angel's wings, came to her with a first aid kit and began to clean and bandage Mina's scrapes.
She was not dead. That was finally sinking in. For one thing being dead should not hurt so damn much. Whatever the woman was using to clean her skin stung like crazy. The leg that had gotten caught in the door was throbbing, and the bottom of her feet felt like they were on fire. She tried to figure out what she was feeling, except for the pain. She expected to feel relief or happiness or a renewed sense of purpose in finding that she was still alive. She might also have expected to feel remorse or disappointment to have blown her chance at a semi permanent legitimate job; there was no way that Scratch would take her on now after a mutant wrecked his club coming after her. Unless your patrons were "muties", people who were turned on by having sex with mutants, being known as a place where mutants hung out was generally bad for business, especially that kind of business. She had no illusions about being asked back. But she felt none of these things. Instead, after a rather fuzzy headed self check she realized that what she was feeling an upwelling of absolute, unmitigated rage.
Certainly she was angry that she had been attacked by one of Magneto's stooges. Magneto had no right, whatever his global aspirations, to involve her in his insane quest for world domination. She had had quite enough of being part of other people's schemes. How arrogant he was to just assume that she would have the same goals, the same desires that he had? His assumption that because they were both mutants they shared something in common other than genetics infuriated her. He didn't even know her! Did white people automatically get along because they share the same color of skin or socio-economic advantages? Stupid. Just like his twaddle about mutants being superior evolutionary beings.
She was furious that they found her in the first place. She had been careful, ultra careful. How did they know her? She did have a certain reputation in the activist community; she was a radical even among the radicals, but she had shown her power only to very few people, and only when it was necessary. Her parents knew, of course, but she also knew that they would hardly be talking to strangers about their eldest daughter's abilities. That meant that someone must have ratted her out. She thought she knew whom, and that just made her more furious. Equally, she was angry that she had been unable to get away. For all her training, for all her preparation she had been unable to fight off one lousy shape-changing girl, a girl for crying out loud. She had to be rescued. And most infuriating of all, when she had been swooped up into the sky by the angel, who was obviously a mutant, not a divine messenger, she instantly fell back into believing the superstitious nonsense of her childhood. If she was unable to throw off the shackles of her past, how the hell was the rest of the world going to be able to change? How dare she accuse others of hypocrisy? She felt self-loathing crawl over her skin, tasted the bitterness of shame. She turned her head away from the impossible presence and the kindness of the people who had saved her so they would not see her cry.
While Angel radioed the tower to receive permission to take off, Storm finished swabbing the worst of the woman's cuts with alcohol. It must have been hurting her, but she barely flinched except to turn her head to the side. Storm kept trying to get her to talk to her to ask her if she was hurt anywhere else, but Amina barely acknowledged her presence. Perhaps she really was in shock.
"I am going to check your arms, is it okay if I check your arms?"
No response.
Storm ran her hands down Mina's shoulders, down her arms, bent her elbows in, down her forearms and manipulated her wrists. No sign of pain. She was not as good at this as Jean was but…Storm blinked away sudden tears. Jean was dead, she reminded herself. There was no one else. She resolutely examined the woman's hands. Mina's fingernails were short, unpainted and there was dirt underneath them. Not what Storm would have expected of someone dressed as exotically as a belly dancer. And what had she been doing dressed like this in the center of a warehouse district? Storm wondered if she was one of the local ladies of the evening.
When Storm ran her hands down Mina's right shin encased in billowy maroon harem pants, the woman cried out and pulled away.
"Okay, I am going to try not to hurt you, Amina, but I need you to hold still," Storm soothed. The girl writhed. Storm took a pair of trauma sheers out of the first aid kit and cut the pants leg away. It looked like there was an enormous goose egg shoved underneath the skin of her shin. It had split and was bleeding a little from the pressure. As she pulled the rest of the fabric away she realized that there was a puddle of blood staining the dark gray carpet under the woman's feet, too much blood to have come from her shin. She gently lifted up the foot by the ankle. The bottom was a raw bloody mess with shards of glass sticking out of the bottom of her bare foot. The other foot was cut as well, but not quite as badly. Were the hell were this woman's shoes?
"Angel, I hope you have a good carpet cleaner in your Rolodex."
"No one keeps a rolodex any more, my sweet. Everything is in my PDA. Is she bleeding?"
"Rather a lot. All over your interior."
He shrugged, "That's why God invented detergent. Am I going to need to divert to a hospital before we get back to the School?"
Storm frowned; she was not qualified to make these sorts of decisions. "She has a hematoma with a possible fracture on her right leg, that can probably wait. But she has at least eight pieces of glass stuck in both her feet. That's where most of the blood is coming from."
Warren checked quickly with the tower, explaining that they had a medical emergency and that rather than canceling their flight plans, they preferred to be bumped to the top as an emergency take off. When the nice air control people questioned his basic sanity, he explained to them, rather patiently he thought, exactly who he was. There was a short, silent pause.
"Clear to taxi on runway 2. Do please wait until the 747 takes off so you don't get your nose fried off."
"Roger that, Tower. Thank you." He must remember to send them a nice fruit basket for the holidays. "Okay, if you can keep her from bleeding to death we can get back to the hospital in Westchester in an hour."
Storm noticed that Angel failed to mention the medical facility located in the basement of the mansion. The equipment there was useless without Jean to run it, Jean to wield a needle and catgut, Jean to administer the right level of pain meds. Storm closed her eyes briefly; she struggled to pull herself from the darkness of her thoughts, "If half an half an hour in your universe equals forty seven minutes, does an hour equal an hour and thirty four minutes?"
Angel grinned, "I thought you said Scott was teaching math. Fine, you caught me, an hour and fifteen minutes."
Storm sighed, "That's probably less time than it would take to get her out of this plane and into the Providence emergency room. If you can call ahead and have help waiting then let's do it."
He put the plane into gear and began to taxi the Falcon to runway 2. Storm pulled out a pair of tweezers and steeling her own nerve grabbed the girl's ankle firmly. "Hold still Amina, I'll try not to make this hurt.
*****
A call to the mansion en route confirmed that the rest of the X-Men were not yet back. According to Xavier he had lost communication with the team about twenty minutes ago.
"Engaging Magneto's forces," Xavier said tersely.
"Well they won't need to worry about Mystique," Angel replied, "That's who was chasing down our target when we rescued her."
"How is she?"
"Well Mystique said hello to about 50 thousand volts, but I am going to assume that you are referring to our lovely guest," quickly Angel brought Xavier up to speed on Amina's condition.
"Bring her
back to the mansion as soon as you land."
Angel frowned, "I already
called for an ambulance to be waiting for us when we deplane. Her mutation is
not obvious; she can pass for human in the Westchester ER. I didn't want to
take her anywhere in Providence where someone might recognize her. If Magneto
is trying to capture her I did not want to give him or his people another
opportunity to try."
"Yes of course. Angel, I think you and Storm made the right decision. But I think we have the ability to take care of her ourselves."
Angel blinked at the radio, wondering if the Professor was beginning to loose it, when another voice came across the line.
"I recommend not arguing with the Professor my feathered friend. If I can't stitch up the feet of one wayward mutant then I might as well incinerate the paper my PHD is printed on."
Relief washed through Warren so strongly that it made him laugh out loud, "Hank!"
"Hank!" squealed Ororo from the floor behind him. She sounded as relieved as he did. He was going to tease her later for sounding like a teenage girl, though.
"When did you get in?"
"About an hour ago. I wanted to come back for the memorial service, but I was giving the keynote address at the International Genetics Research Council convention in Japan. I'm sorry."
You don't need to apologize to me, big guy."
"I know."
Xavier filled in the suddenly awkward silence, "I will call the hospital and cancel the ambulance," he said, "and make sure that they never remember receiving the call."
*****
Storm had removed as much glass as she could from the other woman's feet and wrapped them loosely in bandages. Amina had endured the procedure almost silently, the only sign of pain being a near constant stream of tears pouring down her face that she did not bother to wipe away. Storm did not know if the woman was stoic or just in shock, but she was a little alarmed at her ability to handle that level of pain without complaint. Angel had lifted the girl in his arms like she weighed nothing and carried her to the school van under cover of darkness. The little airport was mostly deserted at that time in the morning, so no one saw the silhouette of an angel carry a barely dressed belly dancer in his arms, her long black braid falling over his shoulder. Storm offered to drive back to the mansion. Although he could and often did sit on his feathers, Warren preferred not to, and gratefully agreed to Storm's suggestion. He laid Amina down in the back of the van and then crawled in next to her, suddenly exhausted. Storm propped the girl's feet on the first aid kit, closed the doors, started the engine and peeled out of the parking lot.
Warren unzipped the first few inches of the Kevlar uniform. The thing fit him like a second glove and did not impede the motion of his wings at all. He would have to compliment Jones, his tailor, and the Professor when he thought about it next. But the damn thing didn't breathe very well. He supposed that temperature regulation would naturally take a back seat to bullet prevention in the design of the thing. He turned to look at the silent girl beside him.
She was lying on her back, arms straight by her side, eyes fixed on the ceiling of the van. She was silently weeping. He could see her tears gleaming by the light of the sodium lights they passed under on the freeway. He heard a queer sound, realized with surprise that he had made it. Gently, so as not to startle her, he reached out, touched her cheek, to make the wetness real on the tips of his fingers, to share it. She flinched.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, "please don't cry. There is nothing to be afraid of any more. We don't want to hurt you. You will be safe with us." He spoke to her again as he had in the air, meaningless babble, a soothing stream of words he hoped were healing. This time, she turned her head to look at him. Gravely with her green eyes she regarded the angel laying next to her, feathers all around him. He kept talking, "That's right. You can come back to yourself now. It's ok. We'll make it ok. You are safe now, Amina, you're safe." For a long time she stared into his eyes. He had no idea what he was saying now, or even if he was still talking. She held his gaze so tightly he felt dizzy. She was listening though, and he abruptly got the sense that she was going to hold him to the words that he was offering her, words he didn't even know the meaning of. He felt her accept them and then relax. She closed her eyes. Warren exhaled. He didn't even realize that he had been holding his breath. He watched the first few moments of her chest rising and falling before his own eyes began to close. He laid a wing down over them both and slept.
*****
The Blackbird settled on her landing pad with a grateful shudder. It lowered her into the subbasement and the roof closed over her head. Scott stretched and cracked his neck with a satisfying crunch. Logan was already unclipping his flight harness and standing up. He cracked his neck, his shoulder and all his fingers in quick succession. Scott raised an eyebrow, was the man actually trying to out crack him?
"You may learn to land this thing yet, bub."
Scott was un-amused, and he clenched his jaw, "The professor wants us in the map room for debriefing before we get some sleep." Logan shrugged and ambled out of the lower hatch door, Kurt and Bobby followed him wordlessly. Scott took care of settling the bird down into her nest, hearing the engine knock and rattle as it cooled. Once the pans to catch the oil leaks were set up he was able to head to the map room.
Someone had provided hot coffee. There was a mug of it steaming at his place at the table, black and rich and warm. While he was grateful for it, he hoped it was not a sign that they were going to be up all night discussing the missions.
Who was he kidding, it's not like he slept much anymore.
The blackness and the dread of going to bed alone again almost made him spill his coffee halfway to his lips, and he carefully put it down, fighting for control. Xavier looked up abruptly and tried to lock eyes with him, but Scott avoided his gaze by glancing around the room at the rest of his team. He could not...would not allow his grief to impair his ability to lead the X-Men.
As the team settled themselves into chairs around the room, Scott was conscious of the silence beginning to stretch. They were waiting for him to start. He knew that if he opened his mouth, his voice would betray him. He closed his eyes behind the visor. A mistake. Tears started to collect at the edges of his lashes. He opened them quickly, and the power of his eyes rendered them into atoms again.
Scott saw Warren watching at him. He looked like he was getting ready to speak, to save them all from their leader's silence. Scott could not allow that to happen, "Wolverine, you start." His voice sounded strangled to his own ears.
Warren frowned.
Logan looked surprised, but complied with the order; "We arrived on site at 19:00 hours. Cyclops landed the jet about a mile from the coordinates that Xavier had given us to one side of Groom Lake, and we hoofed it in on foot. I took the lead, Cyke the rear, with Nightcrawler and Iceman in the middle. When we reached the perimeter fence, Nightcrawler teleported us to the other side one at a time in order not to trip the alarms. The area on the other side is loaded with pressure sensitive triggers for about 100 feet inside of the fence, but I can hear the buzzing sound that they make, and was able to lead us through a cleared pathway without setting anything off." He stuck his unlit cigar in his mouth and then chewed it over to the other side of his jaw, "Cyke and his fancy ass vision spotted them near an outbuilding south of the hangers. When we got up close we could see that it was Magneto, Pyro and a couple of guys I'd never seen before pulling out sheets of heavy plastic."
Xavier sat up straight in his wheelchair, "Plastic?"
"Well, they couldn't have been metal or Magneto woulda levitated them away. He was having some of his goons actually carry them. They were big. The size of plywood." Xavier looked thoughtful.
Bobby took over the narrative, "John was set up as lookout while Magneto was picking and choosing the pieces he wanted the others to take. Mr Summ… Cyclops sent Nightcrawler and Wolverine to get a closer look at what was going on and who was there, while he and I went to go speak to John. We surprised him, but he listened to me instead of raising the alarm right away. I asked him to come back to the school. Told him that Marie and Peter and I missed him, and that Logan was going to start teaching combat training. I knew that was something that he really wanted while he was here. I hoped that would make a difference." Bobby looked down at his hands clasped in his lap, " For a second I really thought that I had convinced him."
There was a short silence. Voice finally under control, Scott cut through the pause, "One of the mutants with Magneto, a large man," Logan snorted in disbelief at the understatement, "literally ran into Wolverine and set up the alarm." Scott tried to keep the condemnation out of his voice and almost succeeded. "There was a fight. This attracted the attention of the base and they dispatched troops to investigate. Since we were trespassing on federal property, I decided that discretion was the better part of valor and pulled back. Magneto and his troops and most of the supplies they were looking for did the same. John went with them."
Xavier said, "Iceman, you mustn't blame yourself for John's choice. He may yet come to change his mind."
"Or regret his decision," finished Kurt somewhat ominously.
Xavier nodded, "Choices are made and accidents happen. This was not successful mission, but neither was it a disaster."
"But we did not accomplish anything we set out to do," Bobby pointed out bitterly, "They got away."
"They did," Xavier replied patiently, "But you discovered a new piece of information about Magneto's current plans, and none of you end up captured or dead or even injured."
Scott, Kurt and Bobby all turned to look at Logan, who began to bristle.
"What?" he demanded.
Xavier lifted an eyebrow and waited.
Logan pulled his cigar out of his mouth, stubbornly "My injuries don't count."
Kurt rolled his eyes.
Scott's lips thinned, "If they don't count then you won't mind cleaning the blood out of the back of the jet." Logan grinned and shrugged.
"Speaking of blood in the back of a jet," Warren interjected smoothly, "Our mission was a complete success."
Scott glared at the angel furiously, "With the exception of injuries, apparently."
"Something our guest acquired before we met her," Warren snapped, but he looked guilty as he said it, as if he was afraid he had not acted quickly enough.
Scott stiffened, afraid to ask the next question, "Where is she?"
"She's in the infirmary, Scott," Xavier answered gently, "Henry has returned from Japan. He is tending to her."
Scott felt relief, then sudden anger; they were already trying to replace Jean. Just as suddenly, he felt shame overwhelm him. It had been Henry's infirmary before it had been Jean's. There was no real intrusion. He rubbed his temples, he had to get a hold of himself, "Who is she?"
"Her name is Amina bint Abdul-Salaam," Xavier said with a strange little smile, "and she is really quite extraordinary."
Ororo shifted in her seat, "We also know why Mystique did not put in an appearance with Magneto's raiding party," Ororo interjected, "She was chasing Amina down."
"Why?" Scott demanded.
"She has not said yet," Ororo replied, "She has not said anything at all."
*****
Mina startled awake, leaping into consciousness from a nightmare of blue women with claws tearing at her feet. Before she could panic a large, homely looking man appeared and laid an enormous hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. You're safe." Mina waited until her heart stopped racing. She was lying on a cold metal slab in a gray sterile room. It reminded her uncomfortably of a mortician's office. Someone had changed her out of her costume and into a hospital gown then placed her under a light blanket. She hoped that had been the woman, and not the Grecian god with the wings. She looked around for the angel, but was disappointed not to see him. Her leg and her feet were throbbing. The man, shoulders hunched as if he felt too small for the room, or possibly his lab coat, smiled faintly, "I am sorry that Ororo or Warren could not be here. My wit, while undeniable, is a poor substitute for a handsome face. Warren wanted to be here when you woke up, but they are talking to the Professor. It's been a long night for everyone. I'm Dr. Henry McCoy. Or Hank to my friends."
Mina cleared her throat, "I'm Mina."
The smile again, "I know. Do you remember what happened?"
Mina nodded, "Some of it. I was being chased by this blue woman who could shape shift."
"Mystique."
Mina shrugged, "If you say so. She did not appeal much to me." Henry blinked and then struggled not to laugh at the strange little pun. "She was trying to…"Mina's eyes flicked to Hank's and she abruptly fell silent.
"To what?" Hank asked, she shook her head mutely, "We know you are a mutant. It's okay. You are safe here. What happened?"
Mina narrowed her eyes; this man seemed to know more about her than she was comfortable with. It was unnerving. "I don't really know," she lied, "but she grabbed for me and I bolted. We got into a fight. I made it outside, but she caught up to me. Then," Mina struggled to remember, "There was a blue flash, and I…" she shrugged again, "I woke up in the arms of an angel. I thought I had died. I was a little upset to discover that I had not." Hank frowned at that statement. Mina moved smoothly on to deflect any questions, "What permanent damage did I manage to do to myself, Doctor?"
"You have thirty seven stitches in your feet." Mina winced, "Ororo took care of the big pieces of glass in the jet and I took care of the little ones and stitching you up when you got back." He held up some x-ray film to the light. "You have a contusion on your right shin, but fortunately, it's not broken. You are going to have to stay entirely off your feet for several weeks until your feet heal. How do you feel?"
"Like I have thirty seven stitches in my feet," Mina answered tersely.
To avert the dark haired woman's renewing panic, Hank smiled gently, "Professor Xavier told me to tell you that you are welcome to partake in his hospitality until you are fully recovered."
Mina swallowed. These people had, unasked, rescued her from
assault, patched her up and then were offering to allow her to stay with
them. Where was the catch? "Thank you,"
she said awkwardly, one of her hands gestured limply towards her feet, "I don't
know if I… can repay either the favor or your hospitality."
Hank performed an elaborate
bow from the waist, making his lab coat fly up at the back, "It is always our pleasure to help a damsel
in distress, especially mutant ones as beautiful and as polite as you."
This was too much, "Who are you people? "she blurted, "How do you know about me? Why did you bother to save me?"
A door abruptly opened in the wall opposite her. An elegantly dressed, white bald man in a wheelchair came through. Behind him strode the angel. Warren, she reminded herself.
"Three very excellent questions," the angel smiled winningly down at Mina, "I was wondering when we would get to hear the sound of our lovely guest's voice."
Mina blinked, then cocked her head and squinted her eyes at the angel standing over her, "Did you get your charm at the same time you got your wings or was it issued with your uniform?"
There was a moment of shocked silence. Warren's jaw sagged. Then Hank's deep laugh rang through the infirmary. The bald man chuckled.
"Is it possible that with one midnight flight our guest may have already taken your measure, oh cherubic one", the doctor asked.
Warren attempted to retrieve his dignity, "Charm runs in my family. It's one of our more endearing assets."
Despite, or perhaps because she
owed this man her life, something in her was driving Mina to shatter the
perfection of his smile, "Does it come with an off switch?"
Instead, the angel grinned,
"It does, but it has been stuck at 'on' for years now."
She pressed her lips together, which only made him grin wider. She wondered if she had misremembered him comforting her in the van. She changed the subject, "You haven't answered my questions."
The other man broke in, "I have not, but Warren has hardly let me get a word in edgeways. May I introduce myself?" Warren had the grace to look abashed, but it didn't keep him from grinning. "My name is Professor Charles Xavier. You are right to be careful who you trust, Miss Abdul-Salaam, and to question the motivations of those who appear to have power over you. I hope that I can prove to you that I am not one of those people." She looked doubtfully at him Xavier smiled, "Let me begin by answering your questions," he laced his fingers in front of his face and assumed what Warren recognized as a teaching tone. "I run a school for young mutants, a safe, private place where children who have tested positive for the X-factor gene can complete their education. Henry, Warren and Ororo are all former students of mine. While Ororo has stayed on at the school as a teacher, the other two have integrated themselves back into the real world. Henry is a geneticist, dealing with the X-factor gene while Warren runs a business."
Amina looked around the cold, grim room, "This is a school?"
"No," the Professor replied, gently, "This is the secret underground facility of an organization that has come to be known as the X-Men. The school is above us."
Amina immediately schooled her features into blankness, "The X-Men?"
Xavier's eyes narrowed, "Yes. Where Magneto chooses to impose his will upon the rest of the world and the world's people, my X-Men try to stop him. I believe that the future of mutants on this planet is alongside its people, not as the world's new rulers."
She laughed, and the sound was bitter, "Oh boy. Someone else trying to save the world. You have your work cut out for you."
"Yes, I am afraid we do."
"That explains why you rescued me from…that…woman…"
"Mystique," Hank supplied again.
"...but that does not answer how you knew who I am. Have you been watching me?"
He shrugged, "Yes and no. I have known about you for a long time. It is hard to ignore one who has a mutation as strong as yours. Within my detecting equipment you shine like a beacon." At this Hank perked up and looked interested. Mina went absolutely still. Warren thought that she looked like she was gauging the distance between her and the door, and the number of people she would need to bypass to get there. The professor smiled gently and raised his hand, "There is no need to panic, Mina. I do not work for the government, and this is not a government plot. I assure you that my interest in you has been purely academic. I became aware of you as a side effect of looking for young mutants who might need a place to learn to develop their talents in safety. You are neither a young mutant who needs protection, nor are you endowed with a gift that is dangerous to yourself or others. You seem to have done an excellent job teaching yourself to control and use it. Until Magneto took an interest in you, I saw no reason to interfere in your life."
His assurances relaxed Mina, but she did not know why.
"What is your mutation?" Henry asked her politely.
"What's yours?" she shot back defensively.
He froze, and then shrugged his shoulders, "Strength and agility. Size 18 feet. IQ off the charts. Blue Fur, though personally I think that is more of an elaborate joke than an ability."
Mina frowned, "Blue Fur?"
Hank nodded once, stiffly. Abruptly the image of the large homely man faded away and a larger, more bestial animal took his place. He was truly enormous. His arms were as thick as Mina's waist. His eyes were brown and he was covered over every inch of his body with thick, blue fur. There were even fangs jutting up from the bottom row of teeth. He still had on a lab coat though, and the little round glasses that perched almost comically on the end of his lion's nose. Mina's eyes widened as she took this in silently. This is the second time I've seen a man turn into a blue monster in less than 8 hours, she thought, but she ruthlessly clamped down on her fear. At least this time she'd had warning.
And if the angel had gone to school with him, perhaps he was ok.
She deliberately cocked her head to one side, "Oh, I don't know, perhaps you just need a new stylist."
The blue man abruptly relaxed, and then grinned toothily at her, "It's so hard to find a good one. You should see what the last one did to my nails."
"How did you hide it like that?"
The professor cleared his throat, "That was me. Henry asked me to disguise his appearance. He did not want to frighten you unnecessarily. Waking up in a strange place is frightening enough."
"What is your mutation, Professor, disguise?"
"No. Telepathy."
Mina's mind clamped down. She hastily erected her shields, started singing loudly in her head and scooted away from Xavier as fast she could.
"Woah!" Hank and Warren both lunged for her at the same time to keep her from falling off the table. Hank grabbed her shoulders, Warren her legs. One of his hands landed on her shin. Pain shot up her leg, bringing unexpected tears to her eyes. She gasped. Warren snatched his hands away as if he had been burned.
"Sorry," he apologized.
"Someone has taught you how to shield," Xavier observed out loud. Mina regarded him silently, singing for all she was worth in her head, gritting her teeth together. "However, shouting annoying, repetitive lyrics in order to confuse a telepath is an urban legend. Henry the Eighth will not save you." Since that was in fact what she had been singing at the top of her mental lungs, she took him at his word and stopped. "Thank you." He sighed, "Amina, I am not going to go inside your head unless you ask me to. Provided that they do not endanger the school, the children or the X-Men, your secrets are yours too keep."
She didn't know whether or not to believe him. She wanted to but she did not trust that desire. She was also in pain and suddenly very tired. She didn't want to have to be on guard anymore.
"We can talk about this more tomorrow," the Professor offered. "Whether you believe it or not, while your feet heal and while you may be in any danger from Magneto, you are welcome to stay as my guest."
She winced. And that was the crux of her discomfort. She owed these people a hospitality debt, whether she wanted to or not, whether she could repay them or not. She nodded stiffly, "Thank you. I am honored to be your guest."
Xavier looked at her sharply again, but replied, "I have asked Ororo to prepare a room for you upstairs," he turned his wheelchair and motored away.
She looked down at the hands that still held her up. Hank suddenly cleared his throat and let go of her. Mina abruptly became conscious of the fact that she was wearing a hospital gown that tied with strings. She wondered who could see what. She resolutely decided that she was not going to be a prude about this, even as she settled the blanket back down over her naked legs.
Warren looked abashed, "I am sorry if I hurt you."
She shrugged, "Pain is a great teacher. This time it has taught me to run through doors faster. It has taught you not to grab wounded women by the legs."
Warren flushed. This was not the reaction he was expecting. He felt like an idiot.
Henry McCoy
checked the clock on the wall. She was
alarmed to note that it was two AM. "You have about another hour before I would
risk giving you any more medication.
Other than Warren's egregious manhandling of you, are you suffering
needlessly?"
She shrugged again, one
shoulder up to her ear and down, "I am fine.
Thank you."
There was a bit of confusion while the two men haggled over who was going to get to carry her up to her room. Too tired to be outraged, Mina was more concerned with how she was going to cover the back of herself on the way up to wherever they were going. She did not want her bare bottom to be pressed up against the arms of either the Greek god or the furry blue wrestler. She surreptitiously tried to pull the blanket around her waist.
Ororo appeared then. She had changed out of her uniform into a pair of black pajama pants and a t-shirt. She held a nightgown in her hands. She ordered both men out of the room while Mina changed.
Hank drew himself up, and peered down at Ororo over the tops of his ridiculous glasses, "May I remind you that I am a doctor. I am clinically familiar with every aspect of the female anatomy."
She poked him in the chest, "It's not your sensibilities I am worried about. Out! Besides, Scott has not seen you yet."
At that the man deflated, seeming to sink into himself, "Yes," he looked around the room as if he expected someone else to be there, or as if he was looking for a reason to stay, "Yes, of course you are right." He left the infirmary without looking behind him. Warren looked at the two women and then followed Hank at a brisker pace.
Ororo sighed, "Sorry about that. The men around here can be incredibly oblivious sometimes." She held up the gown, "I hope you don't mind wearing one of mine. With all the bandages on your legs, I thought it would be easier than pajamas."
The nightgown was white and silk and slipped over Mina's head with a liquid rustle. She rubbed her fingers against it cautiously; it had been a long time since she had felt herself clothed in such luxury.
Ororo gathered up the remnants of the dance costume that had been piled on a chair in the corner. They were still wet from the rain of her storm. She fingered the gilt decorations with curiosity, but said nothing. It was late. She could hold her questions until later.
The door to the infirmary slid open with a soft hum. Warren stood framed in the doorway. He had changed out of his uniform as well, into a white tank and a pair of jeans. His wings blocked the light from the hall, giving him an aura of otherworldliness. The contrast was startling to Mina. He looked like a guardian angel caught on his day off.
I don't believe in angels, she reminded herself.
Without asking, Warren slid his arms underneath her legs and lifted her up into his arms, effortlessly.
She could feel the heat of his body against her shoulder and though the silk. The tops of his wings loomed over her, casting her face into shadow, and she could smell the muskiness of his sweat.
The three of them left the infirmary. In silence they used the elevator to ascend to the ground level. Ororo led the way down dark corridors that smelled to Mina of lemon wax and dust. She felt dizzy with his nearness. She wanted to make a cutting comment to him, something to dispel the tension she felt in his arms, but was too tired to think of anything funny.
A door opened. Warren carried her into a small room. It was a warm night and the windows were opened to the night breeze. It's scent, of grass and mulch and stars, comforted her. Ororo pulled the covers back and he lowered her gently into the bed.
The two of them fussed getting her comfortable, elevating her feet and covering her with a blanket, but her brain was fuzzy now, and she did not really hear what they were saying.
Ororo soothed the sheet over her shoulders and said quietly to Warren, "She never told Hank what her mutation was. Clever girl."
"I thought I was allowed to keep my secrets," Mina mumbled. Then sleepily extended one hand towards the window.
Ororo caught her breath. The rhododendron that framed the edge of the window silently burst into bloom. Warren saw the crimson blossoms bob and wave in defiance of the season and felt a stab of uneasiness. He looked down at the dark haired dancer, but she was already asleep.
