Chapter 5.
Bobby lay awake in his bed. It was sometime after five in the morning. He could feel the promise of light beyond the windows, though the color of the sky had not yet begun to change. Sometimes it was thoughts of Marie that kept him up, tossing uncomfortably and trying not to wake John with his hand against his flesh.
After he had returned from Alkali Lake he had spent a few nights thinking about Dr. Grey and loss and the terrifying risk it took to love someone the way that Mr Summers and Dr. Grey had loved each other. That love may have been a blessing while they both lived, but it was a terrible burden now that one of them was gone. He had wondered if he loved Marie like that, if it was possible for him to love anyone like that. He wondered if he wanted to.
He had spent the bulk of his sleepless hours thinking about the last time he had seen his family, behind the reflection in the upstairs window. His brother, defiant and exultant, his parents, terrified, letting their mutant son walk away. He knew what hate and fear looked like, what mutant did not? He had just never expected to see those emotions in his parent's eyes. During the day he chose not to think about it. A lot of the kids at school had parents who had kicked them out, or worse. His parent's rejection was mild by comparison. It was only during the night that the revulsion in his mother's eyes made him flush hot with remembered shame.
He could not help who he was, and he did not like feeling that way. He was ice, not flame. Neither his mother's fear of him nor his desire to make it better could change that. Nothing could make it back to the way it used to be. He knew this. It was just hard to want something so badly that he used to take for granted.
He turned over onto his side, studying the posters that John had put on the wall. He supposed that if he must be awake at this hour that he would rather it have been the excitement of being selected to go in a mission with the X-Men. He had dreamed of this, just this, on so many other nights, but the mission had not been what he had expected and his disappointment and suspicion that he had failed the first time out was what was keeping him up tonight.
John had told him to fuck off.
He had not had the luxury of time to spend a lot of time thinking about why his friend had left in the first place, though the detritus of John's life surrounded him. At first he had wildly assumed that he had been kidnapped by Magneto, a prisoner of war. Marie, whose use of her mutant power when she extinguished St. John's flames in front of his parent's house, had given her enough insight to know that the decision to leave the school had been his own. It had given her something else too, the bitter edge of John's temper.
Logan and Bobby had both been trying to help her to untangle the emotions that were hers from the frustrated rage that she had acquired from John when her power had absorbed his. When she had told them some of the thoughts John had been thinking, some of his feelings of powerlessness, loneliness and rage, he began to understand that he had not known John as well as he thought he had. He had hoped though, that the memory of their friendship would have at least made John, Pyro, consider leaving Magneto and coming back to the Mansion.
Fat chance.
When his pleading and his words had finally faltered and stopped, John had stood there and looked at him as if he no longer knew who he was. Then a shout had gone up at the warehouse. Wolverine was grappling with the fattest man that Bobby had ever seen off a couch, and Nightcrawler was **bamfing** in and out amongst Magneto's people in a gleeful attempt to cause as much confusion as possible. John's face changed then, a mask slipped down over his features, and his lips twisted with rage and betrayal. Screaming obscenities, he had flicked his lighter and hurled a ball of flame straight at Bobby.
Flinging himself to the ground, Bobby felt the flame sear the top of his hair and then bounce away into the scrub brush of the desert, leaving a trail of dancing fire in it's wake. Cyclops shot a bolt of energy from his eyes to strike John in the chest. He collapsed. Fighting confusion Bobby hastily used the power of his ice to smother the burning plants. Alarms started ringing within the base. Cyclops was shouting at him to pull back. Bobby scrambled to his feet trying to follow, but then tripped and fell sprawling across John's body.
Bobby's heart stopped. John's eyes were closed and he was limp. Disbelievingly he reached across and shook John's shoulder. John had tried to kill him. Could Mr. Summers have killed John? Had he meant to?
Allerdyce coughed and drew breath. Bobby breathed too, and shook John harder, "Come on, man. Wake up. The army is coming. We have to get out of here."
Pyro's eyes flicked open. He turned his head to stare at Bobby, his lips curled in a snarl, "Get the fuck off me, man." They rolled away from each other onto their feet. Bobby was breathing hard. Pyro just glared, "Nice uniform, Iceman. Is that your reward for doing what you're told?"
"Come on." Shouted Cyclops, "They're coming!"
"I'm not your enemy," Bobby tried again.
"Fuck you," Pyro snarled, and then turned and ran towards where Magneto was gathering his people towards him. Bobby watched him go and then, seeing trucks of soldiers beginning to mobilize deeper in the base stumbled after Cyclops. They had run as silently as they could across the desert, hoping that Magneto was such a distraction that they would not be followed. Nightcrawler was almost invisible in the blackness, and he could not see Wolverine at all. He was afraid that he and Cyclops stuck out, obvious targets for the military's guns, but he could not summon up the energy to be scared. He was too numb. He realized, dodging imaginary bullets in the darkness that he had never felt so inadequate, unable to affect the outcome of something in his life.
*****
Warren's eyes snapped open. Today the sun did not shine so harshly, the sounds
of basketball on the court outside his window were welcoming and he remembered where he was. Cheerfully he rolled out of bed and took a hurried shower. He spent a little bit of extra time shaving, trying not to cut himself. He used to say that most mornings he bled like a murder victim, which would make Candy laugh and kiss him on the back of his neck. Since her funeral he hadn't made that feeble joke to anyone. It hadn't been funny anymore.
This morning he only nicked himself twice. He washed the blood off his razor in the running water, letting that last thought soak through him. He had less than a handful of lovers after Candy had died, and none of them had stayed in his life for longer than a month or two. The guilt of enjoying sex without her had left him early on. Sometimes he wondered about that, if that made him a sybarite or shallow, but not often. Sex was just sex after all. Love, however, love was an entirely different matter and in that way he had remained true to Candy, whether he meant to or not. He patted his face dry. The spots of red on the towel made him think of the blood on the carpet of the Falcon, which in turn made him think of the girl.
Actually, that was not technically true. He had been thinking about her from the moment his eyes had opened, but nebulously, like an ache between his legs that had yet to become full arousal. Something about her bothered him. She was exotic, and quick witted, as she had proven in her exchanges with Hank and Xavier. At the same time she seemed paranoid, suspicious of everything. He still had no explanation why she had been dressed as a fantasy hooker wandering around barefoot in the warehouse district of Providence. He wondered what was going on in her head, and exactly why Mystique had been chasing her.
He knew the problem of Amina was one that rightfully belonged to the Professor and the other X-Men, but he had some rights here. He had partially rescued her, after all; it was her blood on the inside of his jet. And of course, there was the right that his money gave him.
That was something he was going to have to be careful about. Scott had been kept unaware of the names of the investors in the school. Warren, for the sake of their tattered friendship, had wanted it that way. As rich as Xavier's family had been, he did not have the set of resources required to keep the school in business. Warren's father had generously invested in the school when his son started attending, and after his parents' death Warren maintained the financial relationship, had expanded on it, in fact. According to his accountant Warren had donated twice the amount of money to its endowment and the maintenance of the X-Men than Xavier had himself.
He did not want Scott to resent him any more for his wealth than he already did, but his investment in the organization meant that if he wanted to know what was going on with Amina, he was going to find out.
He dressed carefully but hurriedly. Black jeans, wings strapped down underneath a dark blue button down shirt. He knew the blue complimented the color of his eyes and was not above using that to his advantage if he needed to. Time to check in on the School's new guest.
Although Amina had been given a room on the ground floor, only three doors down from his own, he found that someone else had already beaten him to his target, and with better ammunition.
Hank stood outside Amina's door balancing a breakfast tray in one hand, fist raised to knock. The two men stared at each other for a moment, eyes narrowed in speculation.
Hank raised himself to his full height, towering over the six-foot tall angel, "I am here to check on my patient," he announced.
With as
much dignity as he could muster, Warren replied, "I am here to check on my
charge,"
"Your charge?" Hank was
incredulous.
"Yes,"
Warren replied firmly, "I rescued her.
That makes her my charge."
Hank glared, "I am under the
distinct impression that it was the judicious application of Storm's mutation
that saved my patient from Mystique's clutches."
"That may as be so," Warren replied, "But since Ororo already has her hands full with her current students, responsibility for Amina's comfort and welcome falls to me."
"You argue like a lawyer," Hank growled.
"No," Warren clarified, "I argue like a businessman."
"Perhaps we should let Mina decide," Henry placed the emphasis on the shortened version of her name.
Warren caught the implication of superior intimacy and frowned, "Decide what? There is nothing to decide. And your quibbling is making her breakfast get cold."
"My quibbling?"
"Exactly." Warren rapped on the door to Mina's room. There was no answer.
"Since I am the person who actually brought her breakfast, rather than the interloper who is going to claim credit for being so thoughtful, I hardly think that your interest the quality of her dining experience is a valid concern."
Warren knocked again. Nothing.
Hank and he exchanged a look. Warren turned the handle.
The door opened to reveal an empty bed, covers pulled carelessly down towards the foot. The window was open and the sounds of play on the basketball court made a distant counterpoint to the waving of the rhododendron's blood red blooms. No Mina.
"Bed's been slept in," Warren observed.
"She can't have gotten far," Hank frowned, "She can't walk without tearing her stitches out."
There was a thump, a muttered curse and the door handle to the bathroom rattled. Warren went to the door and opened it.
Mina was propped up on her stomach on the tile floor, bandaged feet up in the air behind her, panting heavily.
"Are you ok? What happened?" Warren knelt down beside her.
"Had to pee," Mina panted, "Couldn't wait any more."
"Here," Warren offered, "Let me help you."
She shoved his hand away and began to belly crawl, "I can do it myself."
Warren blinked in the face of her vehemence, and stepped back a pace.
Henry put the breakfast tray down
and began to re-arrange the bed, "While I am sure you are perfectly capable of
taking care of yourself in most circumstances, Mina, I am going to insist, as
your current physician, that you allow us the privilege of catering to your
physical needs." Mina ignored him and slowly kept crawling braid trailing
behind her. Hank's tone abruptly
sharpened, "Stubbornness and possible
re-injury will only delay your recovery time."
Mina stopped, head down, arms
trembling. Ororo's white silk night
nightgown gaped in the front and the morning light teased the shadows between
her breasts.
Warren lay a hand on her back, "Please let us help you."
She sighed, temporarily defeated, "Fine."
Warren helped her roll over, then lifted her up, arms behind her back and under her knees, then placed her on the bed. She was shaking with exertion. Henry elevated her feet and covered her with the blanket. Wordlessly he handed her a little paper cup with 4 pills in it.
She looked down at the medication suspiciously, "What is it?"
"Acetaminophen. Just acetaminophen."
She swallowed them and the glass of water that he handed her afterwards.
Warren wanted to perch on the edge of the bed, but suddenly felt uncertain of her reaction. He pulled the chair away from the desk and sat on it backwards at the foot.
She looked at him; puzzled, "I don't want to ask a stupid question," she started, "But didn't you have…"
"Wings? They come with an off switch." She laughed weakly to have her own words thrown back at her. "I have a harness that keeps them strapped down," he finished.
"Hungry?" Henry queried. She nodded, and he presented her with the tray, "Today, your personal chef has prepared for you a meal fit for a King." He lifted the cover over the plate, "Et voila… oatmeal."
Mina blanched as she peered into the bowl.
Hank seemed to deflate a little, "What? What's the matter?"
She smiled at him apologetically, "You had no way of knowing. Don't feel bad."
He frowned, "Are you allergic?"
"No, no. It's not that. I…" she took a deep breath, "My mutation. I… can't."
Henry peered down into the bowl, "Your mutation is that you can't eat oatmeal?"
She laughed shakily, "No. Though that would have been easier."
Something clicked in Warren's head, "It's a plant," he guessed.
"Very good," she nodded.
Henry covered the bowl, "You're a carnivore?"
"Not precisely."
"Her mutation is that she makes plants grow," Warren supplied.
Henry brightened, "Really? Fascinating!" Warren could already see the gears turning in his head, "….and so you can't eat oatmeal because… you are biologically similar to plant life?"
She shook her head, "I don't think so. I mean obviously I bleed. I don't have chlorophyll or sap in my veins. I just can't quite eat some plants. It freaks me out. I can't get over the fact that a plant, someone I may have talked to was destroyed to feed me."
Henry looked like he was going to burst, "Can you show me?"
Warren smiled. Henry was so thrilled that he had forgotten to use large words. Mina glanced uneasily at Warren, "It's okay," he assured her, "Hank is a scientist." This did not appear to reassure her, but she extended her arm towards the window again.
This time long, pale green spears shot up out of the ground, twisting and curling, then budding at their tips. Gently, the buds opened to reveal a host of yellow and orange daffodils.
"Trees and shrubs too?"
"Yes."
"The flowers there are her work," Warren pointed out the rhododendron.
Hank lumbered to the window to touch the blooms with a gesture that was delicate, "Marvelous…" he shot her a look, "and you said you "talk" to them. Can you elucidate your perspective on that point? What are the known limitations upon your mutation?"
She blinked, "I don't really know. I mean I don't make them grow. I can't make a plant do something it doesn't want to do. All I do is ask them to grow, and they do."
It was Hank's turn to look surprised, "Has a plant ever told you no."
"Oh sure. A cactus in the wrong soil won't do much of anything for me. Cacti get grumpy."
Hank got a strange look on his face, "Grumpy?"
"If you are talking to the plants, do you need to reach out like that to get them to listen?"
Mina frowned, "No. At least I don't think so, I just always have."
"I'd love to run some tests on you," Henry enthused, "Mutant DNA holds a special fascination for me. My research…"
Mina changed the subject, "I don't think I can eat the oatmeal. Thank you for thinking of me. I am sure it is excellent, but…"
Henry shook himself, "Quite. Uh… eggs? Bacon? Yogurt?"
" 'Marvelous' ," she replied.
Henry looked like he was glowing blue with happiness, "One cholesterol special coming right up." He bustled out of the room with the plate of oatmeal, humming to himself. The door closed behind him.
The two of them stared at each other for a moment. Warren noticed for the first time that her eyes were green, as pale as daffodil leaves. She looked fierce, ready to run. She also looked too exhausted to move, despite a night's sleep. He knew he should let her rest but he couldn't leave the room. She picked at the blanket with her fingers without shifting her eyes from his face. He had a thousand questions, and didn't know where to start.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," Amina called, breaking away from his gaze.
Ororo bustled in carrying clothes and toiletries, "Good, you're awake…Oh. Good morning Warren. I didn't know you were here."
Ororo's greeting was just a touch too smooth. He wondered if she was in collusion with Henry and he narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, "Morning 'Ro."
She turned her attention immediately to Mina, "I thought that you might want to get clean."
Mina's sigh of relief was genuine, "Thank you, that would be wonderful."
"Henry thinks a shower might be too much standing up for your feet right now, so it will have to only be a sponge bath. I also brought you something to wear."
Mentally Warren cursed both Hank and the visual of Mina having a sponge bath that flared into life behind his eyes.
"I hate to keep imposing on your hospitality."
"Nonsense," Ororo dismissed her concerns, "We swiped you off the streets without an overnight bag. It's our duty to make sure you are clothed for as long as you stay with us."
"Any idea how long that will be," Mina asked
"I don't really know. Stitches are usually 10 days or so, I think. But Hank thinks you have muscle and ligament damage. You may be here for a while." Mina looked stricken. "I told you, don't worry. You are our guest."
Mina twisted the blanket in her hands distractedly, "It's not that. It's my plants."
"I'm sure they'll be fine. Houseplants are pretty sturdy."
Mina shook her head, "No. If I leave them that long, they'll die! I need to get back to them."
"Woah," Warren interjected, "You can't go anywhere right now, regardless of the state of your feet. Have you forgotten that Mystique is looking for you?"
She turned white as that fact sunk in but looked at Warren beseechingly, "I can't just leave them. These plants are my friends."
Ororo's face shifted a little as comprehension dawned, "This is as important to you as a cat. Or a goldfish."
"Yes. I need… I can't just leave them to die."
Warren spoke before he had thought it through, "I'll go get them."
Mina's grateful smile dazzled him, "Would you?"
"Tell me where you live, and how to get in to your house, and I will rescue anything you ask me to. I'll even get you some of your own clothes."
"Thank you!"
An idea occurred to him belatedly, "I'll go talk to Professor Xavier to let him know what is going on. I will ask Scott to come with me and help me out."
Ororo shot him a measured look, "That's an excellent idea. Keep him busy. Get him out of here for a while."
"Exactly."
"Who's Scott? And why do you need to keep him busy?"
Ororo and Warren exchanged a long look. Ororo looked down, and away.
He took a breath, "Since you are staying here at the school for a while, there are some things that you should know.
*****
Scott was annoyed that he could not find the soda he wanted in the fridge. A quick inventory revealed Sprites, Mountain Dews and root beers, but no Cokes. Cokes always ran out first and it was a constant battle to keep the refrigerator stocked for a school full of teenagers. He gritted his teeth, trying not to be annoyed and failing. Why did it always fall to him to restock the fridge?
He cut through the pantry to the walk-in fridge, where the School kept the bulk of the perishables as well as the extra soda. He pulled the door open and stopped.
Kitty and Marie looked up from the floor guiltily. They each wore their wintertime coats and their breath showed as feathery plumes in the chilly air. In between them was a tangle of plastic bags half filled with soft color, flower stems that had been stripped of their petals and empty plastic vases.
On every shelf in every spare place that they could be wedged into were the flower arrangements from the memorial service. Scott felt his knees buckle.
He leaned against the door to keep from falling down, "What are you doing," he asked. His voice cracked on the last syllable.
Kitty looked like she had been crying and was about to start again. Marie gulped, "I'm sorry Mr. Summers. I hope you're not mad at us."
"What are you doing?" he repeated numbly.
She gestured at the arrangements, "We didn't know what to do with them," she confessed, "We didn't want to throw them out, but nobody wanted to look at them any more, so we put them in the fridge until we figured out what to do with them. Neal's mom's a florist, and he said that's what you do to keep them fresh. Kitty came up with the idea of…Kitty, you tell him."
"We're pulling all the petals off and we are going to go down to the lake at sunset and float them out over the water," she said shyly. Nervousness made her phase partway though the floor.
Scott sank to his knees in front of them, thinking that Kitty was possibly the only person on the planet for whom the floor would actually swallow up when they were embarrassed. He fingered a display of lilies, red roses and pink carnations, though the lilies also appeared pink through his visor. There was a ribbon marked with the words "Daughter" in glitter paint; Elaine's display. He pulled out a rose, laying it against the skin of his lips. The petals felt as soft as Jean's skin, but cold. As cold as her body must be right now, where ever it was at the bottom of Alkali Lake.
He looked at their faces, grief-stricken, and fearful. For the first time he realized that he was not the only one who had lost Jean when the waters closed over her head.
"That's a wonderful idea," he croaked. Tried again, "Jean would have loved that…"
He knew he should not fall apart in front of his students and yet, he felt his control crumble away from him. He sat there holding the rose and weeping, tears pouring hot down his cheeks behind closed lids, his rage gone, only his sorrow and loneliness remaining.
For a long time he heard no sound from the girls, then they both moved at once to try to embrace him awkwardly. Kitty was so agitated that she partly passed through him. Marie seemed afraid to touch, fearful that her mutant power would hurt him. He sat there in the cold room, with two girls who could not feel him, holding a grief that he could not share for a woman he would never be able to touch again.
After a while they pulled away, leaving him to collect his tattered self-possession. Marie handed him a plastic bag and the three of them sat and pulled the petals off of a thousand flowers one by one.
