A/N ~ Pertaining to Pietro's insanity, I get the feeling that he's a hairsbreadth away from being actually insane, after living so long in dead Bayville. Since that ordeal, he has the potential to tip over the edge, and was probably in the process of doing so when Kurt and Robyn found him, but hadn't fallen all the way yet. They pulled him back. However, you know Pietro - he's jumped the gun again, and has declared himself actually insane because of how close he was.
And now we come onto the second part of my notes. Scott, I usually apologise when something I write upsets people or suchlike. But not in this case. And this is for the simple reason that I'm not sorry at all.
_Judgment Day_ is a collectively written fanfic, and therefore can get rather scattershot at times owing to the different minds at work on it all at once. When people introduce a new character or characters, I can't very well say "No, you can't do that!" because when I uploaded it as an 'interfic' I effectively gave up a lot of my claim to the structure of the piece. However, as I've stated before, all plot-threads are carried through to their natural conclusion. Just because it hasn't happened yet doesn't mean that it's not going to. I'm glad that you liked the whole section set in Bayville, but the fic couldn't stay there. It wasn't feasible, it wasn't believable, and frankly, it would have become boring as hell after a while. There's only so much you can do with a dead cityscape and the three people you pointed out.
'You're adding upwards of a character a chapter, in what's quickly turning into a farce. All believable interaction has been thrown out the window, as everyone gets all cutesy with each other. What happened to the early introspective brilliance of Kurt and Pietro? The dark and sombre mood that captured the readers' attentions? The subtle little group dynamics that were beginning to form in the survivors?' - A farce, you say? Hmm, you really must show me what copy of the dictionary you're using. My Webster's defines it thusly; 'A low style of comedy; a dramatic composition marked by low humour, generally written with little regard to regularity or method, and abounding with ludicrous incidents and expressions.'
Now, how the heck did you understand JD to be a comedy, or hinging on low humour?
Believable character interaction. Tell you what, go sit in an apocalyptic landscape for four years, come back, and tell me how you feel. We all work to the best of our knowledge, and, in the case of not knowing how a person would react to something, we wing it. We make it up. And as for things getting 'cutesy', I'd describe the end of Chapter Sixteen as light-hearted rather than 'cute'. Even in the midst of crisis, people make jokes. They try to make personal connections. It's a coping mechanism you'll find in any good psychology textbook. I'd call having the world fall to bits around you a pretty big crisis.
XME canon is, was, and will always be a large cast simply because of the subject matter on which it is based. Since JD is set in a time when half the original cast weren't present, I see no reason why making up the numbers after 10+ chapters is a necessarily negative thing. Also, since it's set spanning an entire country, changing location was always going to be a given.
'All we have now is the CONSTANT repetitive drivel regarding how 'guilty' Kurt is, 'insane' Pietro is, and the contrived antagonism between Mystique and him that you've tried to shove down our throats for the last four chapters. Okay... we get it! You're hands very close to exploding out the other end! At the rate this is going you'll end up with a cast of sixty or so cardboard characters, that merely switch talking partner's every couple of scenes, to reassure and commiserate with each other while NOTHING BLOODY HAPPENS' - Excuse me, but are you precognitive? Can you see the future? Do you know what is going to happen three, four, even ten chapters down the line? I find it quite offensive when people take the view that they know where something is going without seeing it first. Cliché is something we were all trying to avoid when we wrote this, and, as a result of this events are quite disjointed to begin with. The idea was to keep readers guessing what was going to happen next without spelling things out too early and too simply. I'm going to contradict myself now and apologise if attempting this has upset you. I can't help it if you feel the need to flame without getting your facts straight first.
If it's not too much bother, I'd like to ask what other people thought about this reviewer and review. He makes several points that I thought would be made when I chopped JD up into chapters, so I was prepared for some of them, but it would be nice to know whether anyone else agrees with him. I can't change what happens, as the fic's already written in its entirety. I'm just posting what I have. But I promise I will read any comments - good or bad - that people choose to make.
Thank you.
*******************
Seventeenth Fragment: Plan
*******************
She slept for an extra half-hour before someone woke her.
"Goddess? It's time for your afternoon meal. It's boiled ham and vegetables..."
Her attendants helped her sit up. Someone gave her milk to drink. It tasted goat-y. "The farms have been prosperous?" she asked between mouthfuls.
"Yes, Goddess. And the children insisted you have some milk, too."
_Bless them,_ Ororo smiled. "Thank you. Does Seer have any more news?"
"None, alas. He's poring over his own words, trying to divine a meaning."
"And my scouts? The missionaries?"
A pause. Then; "None have returned."
Ororo sighed as she ate. Had she sent them *all* to their deaths? Many of them had been more than her followers, they had been her friends. Yet they'd been clamouring to tend to the task...
The attendant rubbed her shoulder, trying to ease the visible tension in her chosen 'deity'. "Fear not, Goddess. They go because they love you."
"I don't want them to go. I don't want them to die," Ororo said sadly, tears of frustration gathering in her eyes.
"We know, Goddess; but we must seek out the Blessed and tell them of your paradise."
"And the raiders?"
"None today. We've fortified our borders some. Bill made some sentry towers, and those good at heights volunteer to keep watch. We have minute-men all along the boundary."
At least her people would be safe. Small mercies were all she could hope for until her microclimate was done. "And the sky? Did it go dark while I slept?"
This time, her attendant smiled. "No, Goddess. The sun still shone on your beloved plants."
Ororo sighed with relief. "Good," she murmured. "It's working."
It was getting easier, little by little. The real equation was whether it could look after itself before the effort made her collapse.
But she had to. This was all she had left, this place, this home she had made for herself and those leftover from the terrible war. She couldn't let it go to seed just because she was a little fatigued. She owed her people that much. She owed the memory of those she'd left dead in Bayville that much.
Huh, go to seed...
She could keep going, one day at a time.
*******************
"Hey, Pretty-Kitty," drawled Lance, plonking himself heavily on to the seat beside her, then drawing an arm around her and kissing her forehead.
"What's this in aid of?" asked Kitty, grinning. "You're not a touchy-feely person."
"Heh, I just can't help myself with you."
"Flatterer. And what's with this 'Pretty-Kitty?' You haven't called me that for years."
"You say flatterer like it's a bad thing, Kit," he breathed into her ear, before pulling back and adding, "I like the shades, by the way." One of Pietro's many scavenging trips had turned up a pair of newer reflective shades, which were, in Pietro's opinion, probably the coolest things ever made. Of course, that had been Pietro's opinion of more or less everything he liked.
"Thanks. I can't really tell, you know," she said, drawing back a little.
Lance sighed. "You know I don't mean to rub it in. Christ, Kit, I've known you since we were practically wearing diapers. Speaking of which, where's Hope?"
"Oh, Raven offered to look after her while she slept. Nice of her, I thought."
"Raven? Oh, y'mean Mystique. Real nice. So how'd you get her to go to sleep?"
"Practice, Lance."
A lull fell upon the conversation then, interrupted a few seconds later by another sigh from Lance followed by a gruff mumble. "I love you, y'know."
"Lance! Of course I know!"
"It's just that - I mean, we never seem to talk about much of anything important. I've never really... never really found it easy to talk about how I feel about... about anything, really. Let alone you. But, Kit, I really do love you. And I thought - well, I thought you oughta know that."
Kitty was taken aback somewhat. Lance was not a particularly talkative person. Even back in Deerfield, he hadn't really said much about anything, and the events of four years ago hadn't done much to make him more open. "I love you, as well. Heck, we're practically husband and wife, you know."
"Practically. And I don't see us finding a minister any time soon."
"Heh, or a rabbi."
"I don't care how religious you are, Pryde," Lance said with mock-dignity, "I am not wearing a skullcap at our wedding. It would just *so* clash with my hair." The hair in question had in fact been cut only about twice the whole time, and both of those were just rough sawings with the sharpest knife to hand, since barbers were rather thin on the ground.
"You prima donna," Kitty teased. She paused, then said, "So what brought on this sudden change to a New Age, sensitive guy?"
"If you ever call me that again, Hope will be left without a mother," he deadpanned. "But... it's just that... we hardly talk, Kit. I mean, we have a kid! I'm a dad - oh shit, I'm a fucking dad. Holy Christ. And... and... I have no fucking clue what I'm saying, here, I hope you appreciate that - I just didn't want you to think I was ignoring you."
"Aww, you big snuggly romantic. I never thought that. We've spent a quarter of our lives together." A pause. "Okay, so that's not an awful lot of time, but still. C'mere." She rested her head on Lance's shoulder and closed her eyes.
Lance kissed the top of her head and lay his own on top of hers. A contended sigh passed his lips, and they remained that way for several minutes as the bus jolted along. Finally:
"Lance?"
"Yeah?"
"You know there's like, way more guys than girls."
"Yeah..."
"Well... you know. The survival thing... I mean. Monogamy is like, not so good any more."
He blinked, not understanding. "You telling me I should fuck around?"
Ah, Lance. Always the hammer. Kitty smiled in spite of herself. "I was thinking more like multiple husbands. Kinda."
A note of indignation crept into his voice. "*You* wanna fuck around? Who *with*? The old guy, the nutso, God Boy or the freakshow?"
Kitty sighed. She should have known he'd overreact. "Lance..."
"Or are you fucking around already?"
"Are you *kidding*? I'm like, barely over labour, okay? I need a running start to *think* a sexy thought. Settle *down*. I didn't expect you to be a jerk about this." She escaped his arms and folded hers. "It's a *survival* thing. And there's, like, nothing against it in the scripture, either."
Lance sort-of growled, and said in his most protective voice, "I don't want you whoring around. It's dangerous."
"*La-ance*! It's not *like* that. You ever hear of genetic diversity? We kinda need that right now. Just like we need more people."
Lance harrumphed. He obviously wasn't convinced. In some small way that she couldn't explain, that pleased Kitty.
"You talked me into having Hope with you," she said soothingly, "and I wouldn't change it for anything, okay? I'm not dumping you."
"Why not?" he said, a trifle petulantly. "I'm not useful any more."
_Oh *shit*..._ "Of course you're useful, Lance - "
"At *what*? Freakshow's teaching you to do things by yourself. Pops is driving. Miss Thing up the back is looking after Hope... I mean..." He rubbed at the back of his neck, uncomfortable with airing his dirty laundry like this. "What's left for me to do? What am I good for anymore? You don't need me..."
"Aaawww... Lance..." Kitty moved back to holding him. "You can pass. That's useful. You can help defend us. Scout for hiding places. Scout for stores to raid, even. And you can, like, learn to do all sorts of other valuable things."
Lance tensed, and then kissed her forehead. "Sorry. Sorry... Hell, gimme a day and I'll be *begging* God Boy to teach me how to knit."
Kitty giggled. Big, brave, burly Lance knitting booties and mittens for Hope. She could just see it in her mind's eye. "Sure. And you can tell stories to the girls, too. Stories about the brave mutant who struck out across the country to protect his young family, and once fought off an entire gang single-handed."
Lance sighed. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, you know," he said candidly, letting his arms rest about her shoulders in a display of affection that would have been inconceivable four years ago. "I think I'm in my rights to be shit scared of losing you."
"You won't," Kitty promised. "I'll still be here."
They cuddled for a while.
"So?" he asked at last.
"What?"
"Who are you thinking of for Hubbie Number Two?"
"*La-ance* -"
"It's an honest question. You don't want me popping the guy out if I see him touching you, do you?"
Kitty swatted him playfully on the arm. "I was... I was thinking about Kurt, actually."
"Freakshow? Kitty, do you have any idea what he looks like?"
"Tall, fuzzy and demonic; yeah. He mentioned it." He'd also mentioned his colourful past, and some of his shame. But she chose not to talk about that. "It doesn't matter. He's good people. Inside. Where it counts."
Lance had gone quiet and stiff. She felt his muscles tighten beneath her fingertips.
"Lance?"
"Just... thinking about stuff," he said ambiguously. "It's okay, honey." He planted a kiss on the top of her head again, like he was getting in all the affection he could before it was too late.
And she held him closer than before.
*******************
It was getting to be late in the day, and they were passing through the pale imitation of countryside that passed for modern day Iowa. And given what Iowa was like *before* it became a pale imitation of itself, that was saying something.
Logan was sat in the driver's seat, clutching the wheel tightly in his hands and a matchstick tightly in his teeth. Mystique moved up behind him quietly, having deposited Hope back with her parents over an hour ago.
"Raven," he said in bare acknowledgement, not taking his eyes from the windscreen.
"How do you do that, Logan?"
"Do what?"
"Tell when someone wants to talk to you."
He snorted. "Not just a pretty face, darlin'."
Mystique muttered something dryly.
"What was that?" asked Logan, smirking.
"I said, not *even* a pretty face."
He barked a sharp laugh, then immediately set his face back into its original expressionless rictus. "You wanna keep an eye out, Raven?"
She arched an eyebrow. "For anything in particular, or just in general?"
"That," he said, pointing at a glow that was visible over the rolling hills and bare ripple of river on the horizon, "is Des Moines."
Mystique stared at him incredulously, since her eyesight was nowhere near good enough to see what he saw. "That's *it*? You made it sound like it was something of incredible importance. You sounded like you were going to say 'Zat iss ... ze *castle*...'"
"I ain't no superstitious peasant, darlin'. And I ain't from Transylvania." He paused for thought. "Probably."
"So what's your point?"
"I keep my ears open. Des Moines's supposed to be abandoned totally. This part of the world got hit bad by the virus."
She frowned. Fond of that thought, she was not. "How bad?"
"Bad. Bad enough to make folk for miles around it savage as that ruckus back there. Now, you wanna stop askin' questions and take a look out the top of the bus?"
Mystique looked at the back of his head. He still hadn't moved his eyes from the road, almost invisible to those with normal eyesight. She'd thought to approach him for conversation, since they'd spoken little and in no real depth since her proposal back at the airfield. Yet he blanked her, smalltalk all he was willing to offer.
"Very well," she said coldly, and took the stairs quickly.
Nothing was visible from the windows on the upper floor of the bus, and, at her sudden appearance, Kurt and Pietro abandoned their posts as babysitters and descended the stairs.
*******************
Grasshopper was in a foul temper. "Scry, do you have *any* idea who it is?"
" ... no. Sorry." Scry ran a hand through his hair, sighing with exertion.
"Christ, I hate clairvoyants."
"..."
"Uh, no offence."
"None taken, I'm sure."
His leader ruffled gossamer wings and folded his arms with a grumpy snort. " ... sorry I *spoke* ... "
A ghostly shape stole up behind them, coalescing into a vaguely humanoid form with a whisper akin to a dying breath. "I can't tell who it is either."
Scry jumped, rounding on the newcomer. "*Gah!* Crap, Sneak, give a guy some warning?"
"Quiet, you two!"
" ... sorry, Grasshopper ... "
"And stop apologising all the time!"
" ... sorry, Gr - um ... "
Grasshopper sighed and counted to ten. "Sneak, you were saying?"
"I was able to get close to the vehicle; but the fainter I make myself to others, the fainter things become to me. I was unable to get sufficiently close with sufficient coherence to obtain any specific information. It is my opinion, however, that they are not specifically here to raid Mutie Town. As a matter of fact, I believe they may be unaware of -"
A growl. "Conciseness, Sneak. Work on it."
"Yes, Grasshopper."
"What *is* this, the army or something?"
Scry sniffed at Sneak. "We could be fighting. We need to be organised."
The spy rolled his dead-looking eyes, greasy pale hair flopping over one shoulder. "*Whad*evah."
"And respectful."
"Mmm ... no. Up yours."
Grasshopper buried his head in his arms. "Sweet Lord, give me strength..."
*******************
"Siddown," Logan ordered as Kurt and Pietro hopped off the stairs. At his word, the two boys dutifully and wordlessly found seats.
"What time is it?" Kitty murmured.
"Starting to get dark," Lance replied.
Robyn poked Kurti from beneath her blanket. "Where's you-know-who?"
"Daisy's still upstairs," he said, adding a slight tilt of his head to indicate that the real object of her question was there too. "Why don't you go play?"
The cat-girl took the hint and went, blanket still clutched possessively around her.
Kurt watched her leave and then turned. Something had been weighing on his mind for a bit, and he voiced his concern now. "Herr Alvin, are there prophecies for the girls?"
The Devoted One looked up from another volume in his seemingly endless collection of tomes. "No. Not specifically, at least."
Kurt sighed with relief. He didn't like the idea of young children being bound by vague statements from who-knew-where.
"There's no need to be so secretive, Elf." Logan's voice startled him.
"Entschuldigung?"
A hand left the wheel to point up the stairs where Robyn had gone. "Don't play dumb; it don't suit ya. You're talkin' to the best nose this side of anywhere, remember? How long did you think you could keep the thing hidden with this schnozz around?"
Kurt, never the dull gem, lowered his eyes culpably. "Long enough. Daisy found it," he said, hoping to play on Logan's attachment to the little girl. "She was afraid people would eat it if we left it behind, and afraid *we'd* eat it if she told what she'd done."
"Only her?"
"What *they'd* done, then. Ja, Robyn kept it from me, too. I found it by accident. It's no harm - really."
"What's no harm?" Kitty's proverbial ears pricked up, and those not already in the know looked at Kurt, who bowed his head.
"Uh, we have a new member of our little party."
"We do?" Lance frowned. "Oh great. And why weren't we told?"
"Because she has four legs, a tail, and goes 'woof -woof'."
Lance blinked, then threw up his hands. "Oh marvellous. Fan-frikkin'-tastic! I'm starting to wish I was riding back in the jeep. It's less crowded there."
*******************
"Look out!"
Spider-Man dropped into an immediate crouch and felt the bullets whiz by his head. In the next two moments he had fired off a couple web blasts, stopping the guards cold, and rolled into the next hallway where Dazzler and Wolfsbane waited. The three Multiples dodged in after him, then stood in a daze for a moment and collapsed.
"Multiple! Stop the simulation, something's wrong with Multiple!" Spider-Man shouted, trying to go back for the fallen trio.
"Complete the objective, then the simulation will end," came the disembodied reply.
The group heard footsteps approaching, and then fading into nothingness. Dazzler had a look of intense concentration on her glowing face, and created a light barrier from the sound of the charging soldiers.
Spider-Man frowned, but followed orders. "Dazzler, stay here and protect Multiple. Wolfsbane, come with me - we've got a mutant to rescue."
Dazzler sent a quick thumbs-up, and Wolfsbane just nodded.
The scantily clad werewolf bounded down the hallway at full speed, while the new team leader followed from the ceiling.
Two platoons of armed soldiers appeared at the end of the hallway, blocking the door to the team's final destination. Wolfsbane leapt into them with full abandon, slashing, clawing, biting, and tearing apart anything in her way.
Spider-Man watched from above for a few moments, until the fray slowly worked its way down a side passage.
Peter breathed a sigh of relief under his mask, flipped down to the floor and cracked open the door. Inside, a girl was bound to a chair, her long red hair draped over her face.
"MJ...?"A hint of nervousness crept into his voice. He blinked, then saw that her hair was black, that this wasn't MJ, couldn't be her... the half-lidded memory flitted away as swiftly as it had come, just like all the others he had haltingly recovered since awakening up here.
She looked up, and a siren sounded.
Both scene and holographic girl faded from view, and Magneto floated down among his Acolytes.
With precise steps, the Master of Magnetism approached the fallen Multiple. The three had managed to get themselves into a sitting position and turned to face the armoured man.
"They found another one, Magneto," one said.
"They killed him," said the second.
"I'm sorry," apologised the last.
Peter took off his mask. "Killed who? What're they talking about?"
"Multiple has a connection with each of his clones. He feels when one dies, even as far away as space," Magneto replied tersely.
"But you said that these three were the last ones you could rescue!"
"These were the last three of the ones I rescued, yes. However, many of them were still on Earth. I could not find them all. Multiple cannot reabsorb his clones from such a distance."
Peter looked at the triplets, brow creasing. "How... how *many* are left... down there?"
"Maybe fifteen."
"Maybe twenty."
"Maybe none, now," came the strange, disjointed reply.
Peter looked over the rest of his team. His team... how strange that he should already be referring to them as that after such a short amount of time in their company.
Dazzler stood in the corner, light motes floating around her. Wolfsbane was licking her wounds. However fake the scenario, Magneto didn't believe in cutting his newly named 'Acolytes' any slack as far as injuries were concerned. Education via pain. And how.
Peter shook his head. "Why aren't we down there saving the rest? Why are we still up here doing nothing but... this?"
"You are not ready," said Magneto, and turned on his heel. The metal doors on both sides of the room opened. He walked through the northern exit, and it closed behind him before Peter had chance to voice another word.
He never once mentioned where he was going. He rarely did to anyone.
The south exit remained open for the Acolytes to return to the living quarters.
Peter sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then turned when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Dazzler offered him a sad smile and a message written in light.
It'll be all right, Spider-Man. We'll rescue them all when we're ready.
"Yeah, whatever. I'm going to my room." He stalked off, hoping he could find that drab little area he was to call his own again and leaving his teammates behind.
"What's his problem?" Wolfsbane asked with a deep, throaty laugh. Dazzler shivered at the sound of it. "We'll get to kill some humans soon enough. Dish best eaten cold, right?"
*******************
"Can't fix anymore," said a child.
"Will she wake?" said a man.
"Yes."
"Good. You may go rest, now. And make sure you eat your fill, hmm?"
Meggan opened her eyes in time to see a five-year-old angel nod. The cherub had no wings, but she looked as if she could easily gain them at the chime of a bell [1]. Her eyes were a startling emerald green that appeared to shine within, and her pale blonde, curly hair hung around her face like a halo. The only flaw - if such a word could describe her - was that she was missing her pinkie fingers and, Meggan saw when a foot peeked out of her simple shift, the littlest toes.
"Her name is Jane," said the man in the shadows, watching her pad softly from the room. "I found her wandering the remains of a Weapon X laboratory two years ago. She manipulates time and spiritual energies in order to heal. She doesn't talk very much. More than she used to, but still... Trauma. You see, as well as being a healer, Jane is an empath. Like you."
Meggan could feel her body trying to sparkle, to change herself to the desires of the man. But her flesh remained solid.
"You won't be able to shapeshift for a while, Meggan," said the man. "For your own safety, you're wearing an inhibitor."
"Who *are* you?" she asked. "How do you know me?" The room was dimly lit and the man was far away. She could see white hair, and a muscular build, but little more.
"My name is Magne... Erik," he said. "Do you remember the mob?"
"I... remember being... wanted," she said. "There were too many people... all wanting me. I - I couldn't change to suit them all... And then they were angry..." She shook her head. "The rest is kind of blurry. I'm sorry."
"You changed to reflect their anger," Erik explained. "And you became a monster. Had I not been there to arrest the bullets, you would surely have died."
"Um, thank you," she said, only half-understanding what he said.
"Thanks are not necessary," said Erik. "I'm just... doing what I can to salvage what's left. The war was fought and lost by both sides. We all lost friends and family. One way or another."
Meggan tried to get up, and found her legs weak and her strength almost gone. "I can't feel the Earth. Is it the inhibitor?"
"No, my dear. Your empathy and link to the Earth are unharmed. You can't feel the Earth because you're no longer *on* it. This is Asteroid M - a sanctuary for Mutantkind. Or the parts of Mutantkind that I could salvage."
He moved into the thin light. He was an old man, worn spiritually thin by watching all he loved erode under the tides of hate.
"It's a small effort. I could have done more. So much more."
He was so *sad*.
"I could have saved them. Saved them all. But I waited too long for a sign of surrender from a dreamer - who dreams forever, now. He died for what he believed in. So did his followers." Erik's voice dropped to a whisper. "I could have saved them all."
Meggan began to weep for him. Then her eyes picked out the strange things in the room with her.
A hand, its palm pierced by rope, floating in a bubbling jar. Part of someone's foot, the three remaining toes painted red, in a similar container. A green tongue, seemingly longer than humanly possible. A human ear. All in distinct containers that bubbled.
"Don't be alarmed, my dear," said Erik, following her gaze. "They were dead long before I took the parts. Killed by intolerance. Not me. Think of it as a bank. A potential for a second life."
There were speaky-words on each jar. Meggan could recognise that much, but couldn't decipher their meaning. She had never learned to read back home, though she knew the dark marks meant something more. "Please? What do the words say?"
Erik startled. "I should have guessed. No matter. We can fix that. These are names of the dear departed. Names that they'll use again when I have completed the technology to give them a second life. A better life." He walked over to the hand. "Scott Summers," he said, pointing to the words. "Someone was wearing his still-bleeding hand as a *charm* against mutant attack. He thought he was invulnerable. I relieved him of both the notion and the charm. I collected the others from their graves. At least they *got* graves. My prayers go to the kind soul who let them have a decent burial..."
The sadness, almost palpable... Meggan quivered with the need to shapeshift to reflect that anguish and give him comfort, but found again that she could not. It was liberating, not being governed by the emotions of others, but still... she was deeply, deeply troubled at the sudden weakness infusing her body. She didn't feel whole without her powers.
Erik pointed to the words by the foot. "Jean Grey. They'd mutilated her, so collecting this sample wasn't so hard..." The ear. "Charles..." He stopped, and his voice broke with grief, a fist tightening by his side. "Charles Xavier. My oldest and dearest friend." Then the tongue. "And Todd Tolensky. My first real student. Always such a blabbermouth. Fitting that he shall be reborn from his own tongue. He'll find a better father in me than his biological one. And - I hope - a better mother in you."
"*ME*?" Meggan gasped, what little strength she had leaving her in a rush. "Why me?"
"Your gift, my dear. You can change yourself, alter your body so than any child you bear will be perfectly safe. There will be no risk... and my efforts with artificial environments have been... tragic, despite outside help."
It dawned on Meggan that she owed her life to a madman.
"I won't force you, my dear. I won't make you a brood-mare. All I ask is that you consider it. Help me to help them?"
Meggan crept slightly away from him, scared. "And if I don't want to?"
"Then I'll be forced to continue my efforts with the artificial wombs. And bear the brunt of every tragedy that comes." He sighed, and turned tired eyes to her. "Don't worry, Meggan. I won't impose my struggle onto you should you not wish it. Rest now. I'll bring food for you."
He slunk from the room, leaving Meggan not knowing what to think at all. Or, for the first time since she could remember, what to feel.
"Me...?"
*******************
To Be Continued...
*******************
[1] _It's A Wonderful Life_ side-fling.
And now we come onto the second part of my notes. Scott, I usually apologise when something I write upsets people or suchlike. But not in this case. And this is for the simple reason that I'm not sorry at all.
_Judgment Day_ is a collectively written fanfic, and therefore can get rather scattershot at times owing to the different minds at work on it all at once. When people introduce a new character or characters, I can't very well say "No, you can't do that!" because when I uploaded it as an 'interfic' I effectively gave up a lot of my claim to the structure of the piece. However, as I've stated before, all plot-threads are carried through to their natural conclusion. Just because it hasn't happened yet doesn't mean that it's not going to. I'm glad that you liked the whole section set in Bayville, but the fic couldn't stay there. It wasn't feasible, it wasn't believable, and frankly, it would have become boring as hell after a while. There's only so much you can do with a dead cityscape and the three people you pointed out.
'You're adding upwards of a character a chapter, in what's quickly turning into a farce. All believable interaction has been thrown out the window, as everyone gets all cutesy with each other. What happened to the early introspective brilliance of Kurt and Pietro? The dark and sombre mood that captured the readers' attentions? The subtle little group dynamics that were beginning to form in the survivors?' - A farce, you say? Hmm, you really must show me what copy of the dictionary you're using. My Webster's defines it thusly; 'A low style of comedy; a dramatic composition marked by low humour, generally written with little regard to regularity or method, and abounding with ludicrous incidents and expressions.'
Now, how the heck did you understand JD to be a comedy, or hinging on low humour?
Believable character interaction. Tell you what, go sit in an apocalyptic landscape for four years, come back, and tell me how you feel. We all work to the best of our knowledge, and, in the case of not knowing how a person would react to something, we wing it. We make it up. And as for things getting 'cutesy', I'd describe the end of Chapter Sixteen as light-hearted rather than 'cute'. Even in the midst of crisis, people make jokes. They try to make personal connections. It's a coping mechanism you'll find in any good psychology textbook. I'd call having the world fall to bits around you a pretty big crisis.
XME canon is, was, and will always be a large cast simply because of the subject matter on which it is based. Since JD is set in a time when half the original cast weren't present, I see no reason why making up the numbers after 10+ chapters is a necessarily negative thing. Also, since it's set spanning an entire country, changing location was always going to be a given.
'All we have now is the CONSTANT repetitive drivel regarding how 'guilty' Kurt is, 'insane' Pietro is, and the contrived antagonism between Mystique and him that you've tried to shove down our throats for the last four chapters. Okay... we get it! You're hands very close to exploding out the other end! At the rate this is going you'll end up with a cast of sixty or so cardboard characters, that merely switch talking partner's every couple of scenes, to reassure and commiserate with each other while NOTHING BLOODY HAPPENS' - Excuse me, but are you precognitive? Can you see the future? Do you know what is going to happen three, four, even ten chapters down the line? I find it quite offensive when people take the view that they know where something is going without seeing it first. Cliché is something we were all trying to avoid when we wrote this, and, as a result of this events are quite disjointed to begin with. The idea was to keep readers guessing what was going to happen next without spelling things out too early and too simply. I'm going to contradict myself now and apologise if attempting this has upset you. I can't help it if you feel the need to flame without getting your facts straight first.
If it's not too much bother, I'd like to ask what other people thought about this reviewer and review. He makes several points that I thought would be made when I chopped JD up into chapters, so I was prepared for some of them, but it would be nice to know whether anyone else agrees with him. I can't change what happens, as the fic's already written in its entirety. I'm just posting what I have. But I promise I will read any comments - good or bad - that people choose to make.
Thank you.
*******************
Seventeenth Fragment: Plan
*******************
She slept for an extra half-hour before someone woke her.
"Goddess? It's time for your afternoon meal. It's boiled ham and vegetables..."
Her attendants helped her sit up. Someone gave her milk to drink. It tasted goat-y. "The farms have been prosperous?" she asked between mouthfuls.
"Yes, Goddess. And the children insisted you have some milk, too."
_Bless them,_ Ororo smiled. "Thank you. Does Seer have any more news?"
"None, alas. He's poring over his own words, trying to divine a meaning."
"And my scouts? The missionaries?"
A pause. Then; "None have returned."
Ororo sighed as she ate. Had she sent them *all* to their deaths? Many of them had been more than her followers, they had been her friends. Yet they'd been clamouring to tend to the task...
The attendant rubbed her shoulder, trying to ease the visible tension in her chosen 'deity'. "Fear not, Goddess. They go because they love you."
"I don't want them to go. I don't want them to die," Ororo said sadly, tears of frustration gathering in her eyes.
"We know, Goddess; but we must seek out the Blessed and tell them of your paradise."
"And the raiders?"
"None today. We've fortified our borders some. Bill made some sentry towers, and those good at heights volunteer to keep watch. We have minute-men all along the boundary."
At least her people would be safe. Small mercies were all she could hope for until her microclimate was done. "And the sky? Did it go dark while I slept?"
This time, her attendant smiled. "No, Goddess. The sun still shone on your beloved plants."
Ororo sighed with relief. "Good," she murmured. "It's working."
It was getting easier, little by little. The real equation was whether it could look after itself before the effort made her collapse.
But she had to. This was all she had left, this place, this home she had made for herself and those leftover from the terrible war. She couldn't let it go to seed just because she was a little fatigued. She owed her people that much. She owed the memory of those she'd left dead in Bayville that much.
Huh, go to seed...
She could keep going, one day at a time.
*******************
"Hey, Pretty-Kitty," drawled Lance, plonking himself heavily on to the seat beside her, then drawing an arm around her and kissing her forehead.
"What's this in aid of?" asked Kitty, grinning. "You're not a touchy-feely person."
"Heh, I just can't help myself with you."
"Flatterer. And what's with this 'Pretty-Kitty?' You haven't called me that for years."
"You say flatterer like it's a bad thing, Kit," he breathed into her ear, before pulling back and adding, "I like the shades, by the way." One of Pietro's many scavenging trips had turned up a pair of newer reflective shades, which were, in Pietro's opinion, probably the coolest things ever made. Of course, that had been Pietro's opinion of more or less everything he liked.
"Thanks. I can't really tell, you know," she said, drawing back a little.
Lance sighed. "You know I don't mean to rub it in. Christ, Kit, I've known you since we were practically wearing diapers. Speaking of which, where's Hope?"
"Oh, Raven offered to look after her while she slept. Nice of her, I thought."
"Raven? Oh, y'mean Mystique. Real nice. So how'd you get her to go to sleep?"
"Practice, Lance."
A lull fell upon the conversation then, interrupted a few seconds later by another sigh from Lance followed by a gruff mumble. "I love you, y'know."
"Lance! Of course I know!"
"It's just that - I mean, we never seem to talk about much of anything important. I've never really... never really found it easy to talk about how I feel about... about anything, really. Let alone you. But, Kit, I really do love you. And I thought - well, I thought you oughta know that."
Kitty was taken aback somewhat. Lance was not a particularly talkative person. Even back in Deerfield, he hadn't really said much about anything, and the events of four years ago hadn't done much to make him more open. "I love you, as well. Heck, we're practically husband and wife, you know."
"Practically. And I don't see us finding a minister any time soon."
"Heh, or a rabbi."
"I don't care how religious you are, Pryde," Lance said with mock-dignity, "I am not wearing a skullcap at our wedding. It would just *so* clash with my hair." The hair in question had in fact been cut only about twice the whole time, and both of those were just rough sawings with the sharpest knife to hand, since barbers were rather thin on the ground.
"You prima donna," Kitty teased. She paused, then said, "So what brought on this sudden change to a New Age, sensitive guy?"
"If you ever call me that again, Hope will be left without a mother," he deadpanned. "But... it's just that... we hardly talk, Kit. I mean, we have a kid! I'm a dad - oh shit, I'm a fucking dad. Holy Christ. And... and... I have no fucking clue what I'm saying, here, I hope you appreciate that - I just didn't want you to think I was ignoring you."
"Aww, you big snuggly romantic. I never thought that. We've spent a quarter of our lives together." A pause. "Okay, so that's not an awful lot of time, but still. C'mere." She rested her head on Lance's shoulder and closed her eyes.
Lance kissed the top of her head and lay his own on top of hers. A contended sigh passed his lips, and they remained that way for several minutes as the bus jolted along. Finally:
"Lance?"
"Yeah?"
"You know there's like, way more guys than girls."
"Yeah..."
"Well... you know. The survival thing... I mean. Monogamy is like, not so good any more."
He blinked, not understanding. "You telling me I should fuck around?"
Ah, Lance. Always the hammer. Kitty smiled in spite of herself. "I was thinking more like multiple husbands. Kinda."
A note of indignation crept into his voice. "*You* wanna fuck around? Who *with*? The old guy, the nutso, God Boy or the freakshow?"
Kitty sighed. She should have known he'd overreact. "Lance..."
"Or are you fucking around already?"
"Are you *kidding*? I'm like, barely over labour, okay? I need a running start to *think* a sexy thought. Settle *down*. I didn't expect you to be a jerk about this." She escaped his arms and folded hers. "It's a *survival* thing. And there's, like, nothing against it in the scripture, either."
Lance sort-of growled, and said in his most protective voice, "I don't want you whoring around. It's dangerous."
"*La-ance*! It's not *like* that. You ever hear of genetic diversity? We kinda need that right now. Just like we need more people."
Lance harrumphed. He obviously wasn't convinced. In some small way that she couldn't explain, that pleased Kitty.
"You talked me into having Hope with you," she said soothingly, "and I wouldn't change it for anything, okay? I'm not dumping you."
"Why not?" he said, a trifle petulantly. "I'm not useful any more."
_Oh *shit*..._ "Of course you're useful, Lance - "
"At *what*? Freakshow's teaching you to do things by yourself. Pops is driving. Miss Thing up the back is looking after Hope... I mean..." He rubbed at the back of his neck, uncomfortable with airing his dirty laundry like this. "What's left for me to do? What am I good for anymore? You don't need me..."
"Aaawww... Lance..." Kitty moved back to holding him. "You can pass. That's useful. You can help defend us. Scout for hiding places. Scout for stores to raid, even. And you can, like, learn to do all sorts of other valuable things."
Lance tensed, and then kissed her forehead. "Sorry. Sorry... Hell, gimme a day and I'll be *begging* God Boy to teach me how to knit."
Kitty giggled. Big, brave, burly Lance knitting booties and mittens for Hope. She could just see it in her mind's eye. "Sure. And you can tell stories to the girls, too. Stories about the brave mutant who struck out across the country to protect his young family, and once fought off an entire gang single-handed."
Lance sighed. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, you know," he said candidly, letting his arms rest about her shoulders in a display of affection that would have been inconceivable four years ago. "I think I'm in my rights to be shit scared of losing you."
"You won't," Kitty promised. "I'll still be here."
They cuddled for a while.
"So?" he asked at last.
"What?"
"Who are you thinking of for Hubbie Number Two?"
"*La-ance* -"
"It's an honest question. You don't want me popping the guy out if I see him touching you, do you?"
Kitty swatted him playfully on the arm. "I was... I was thinking about Kurt, actually."
"Freakshow? Kitty, do you have any idea what he looks like?"
"Tall, fuzzy and demonic; yeah. He mentioned it." He'd also mentioned his colourful past, and some of his shame. But she chose not to talk about that. "It doesn't matter. He's good people. Inside. Where it counts."
Lance had gone quiet and stiff. She felt his muscles tighten beneath her fingertips.
"Lance?"
"Just... thinking about stuff," he said ambiguously. "It's okay, honey." He planted a kiss on the top of her head again, like he was getting in all the affection he could before it was too late.
And she held him closer than before.
*******************
It was getting to be late in the day, and they were passing through the pale imitation of countryside that passed for modern day Iowa. And given what Iowa was like *before* it became a pale imitation of itself, that was saying something.
Logan was sat in the driver's seat, clutching the wheel tightly in his hands and a matchstick tightly in his teeth. Mystique moved up behind him quietly, having deposited Hope back with her parents over an hour ago.
"Raven," he said in bare acknowledgement, not taking his eyes from the windscreen.
"How do you do that, Logan?"
"Do what?"
"Tell when someone wants to talk to you."
He snorted. "Not just a pretty face, darlin'."
Mystique muttered something dryly.
"What was that?" asked Logan, smirking.
"I said, not *even* a pretty face."
He barked a sharp laugh, then immediately set his face back into its original expressionless rictus. "You wanna keep an eye out, Raven?"
She arched an eyebrow. "For anything in particular, or just in general?"
"That," he said, pointing at a glow that was visible over the rolling hills and bare ripple of river on the horizon, "is Des Moines."
Mystique stared at him incredulously, since her eyesight was nowhere near good enough to see what he saw. "That's *it*? You made it sound like it was something of incredible importance. You sounded like you were going to say 'Zat iss ... ze *castle*...'"
"I ain't no superstitious peasant, darlin'. And I ain't from Transylvania." He paused for thought. "Probably."
"So what's your point?"
"I keep my ears open. Des Moines's supposed to be abandoned totally. This part of the world got hit bad by the virus."
She frowned. Fond of that thought, she was not. "How bad?"
"Bad. Bad enough to make folk for miles around it savage as that ruckus back there. Now, you wanna stop askin' questions and take a look out the top of the bus?"
Mystique looked at the back of his head. He still hadn't moved his eyes from the road, almost invisible to those with normal eyesight. She'd thought to approach him for conversation, since they'd spoken little and in no real depth since her proposal back at the airfield. Yet he blanked her, smalltalk all he was willing to offer.
"Very well," she said coldly, and took the stairs quickly.
Nothing was visible from the windows on the upper floor of the bus, and, at her sudden appearance, Kurt and Pietro abandoned their posts as babysitters and descended the stairs.
*******************
Grasshopper was in a foul temper. "Scry, do you have *any* idea who it is?"
" ... no. Sorry." Scry ran a hand through his hair, sighing with exertion.
"Christ, I hate clairvoyants."
"..."
"Uh, no offence."
"None taken, I'm sure."
His leader ruffled gossamer wings and folded his arms with a grumpy snort. " ... sorry I *spoke* ... "
A ghostly shape stole up behind them, coalescing into a vaguely humanoid form with a whisper akin to a dying breath. "I can't tell who it is either."
Scry jumped, rounding on the newcomer. "*Gah!* Crap, Sneak, give a guy some warning?"
"Quiet, you two!"
" ... sorry, Grasshopper ... "
"And stop apologising all the time!"
" ... sorry, Gr - um ... "
Grasshopper sighed and counted to ten. "Sneak, you were saying?"
"I was able to get close to the vehicle; but the fainter I make myself to others, the fainter things become to me. I was unable to get sufficiently close with sufficient coherence to obtain any specific information. It is my opinion, however, that they are not specifically here to raid Mutie Town. As a matter of fact, I believe they may be unaware of -"
A growl. "Conciseness, Sneak. Work on it."
"Yes, Grasshopper."
"What *is* this, the army or something?"
Scry sniffed at Sneak. "We could be fighting. We need to be organised."
The spy rolled his dead-looking eyes, greasy pale hair flopping over one shoulder. "*Whad*evah."
"And respectful."
"Mmm ... no. Up yours."
Grasshopper buried his head in his arms. "Sweet Lord, give me strength..."
*******************
"Siddown," Logan ordered as Kurt and Pietro hopped off the stairs. At his word, the two boys dutifully and wordlessly found seats.
"What time is it?" Kitty murmured.
"Starting to get dark," Lance replied.
Robyn poked Kurti from beneath her blanket. "Where's you-know-who?"
"Daisy's still upstairs," he said, adding a slight tilt of his head to indicate that the real object of her question was there too. "Why don't you go play?"
The cat-girl took the hint and went, blanket still clutched possessively around her.
Kurt watched her leave and then turned. Something had been weighing on his mind for a bit, and he voiced his concern now. "Herr Alvin, are there prophecies for the girls?"
The Devoted One looked up from another volume in his seemingly endless collection of tomes. "No. Not specifically, at least."
Kurt sighed with relief. He didn't like the idea of young children being bound by vague statements from who-knew-where.
"There's no need to be so secretive, Elf." Logan's voice startled him.
"Entschuldigung?"
A hand left the wheel to point up the stairs where Robyn had gone. "Don't play dumb; it don't suit ya. You're talkin' to the best nose this side of anywhere, remember? How long did you think you could keep the thing hidden with this schnozz around?"
Kurt, never the dull gem, lowered his eyes culpably. "Long enough. Daisy found it," he said, hoping to play on Logan's attachment to the little girl. "She was afraid people would eat it if we left it behind, and afraid *we'd* eat it if she told what she'd done."
"Only her?"
"What *they'd* done, then. Ja, Robyn kept it from me, too. I found it by accident. It's no harm - really."
"What's no harm?" Kitty's proverbial ears pricked up, and those not already in the know looked at Kurt, who bowed his head.
"Uh, we have a new member of our little party."
"We do?" Lance frowned. "Oh great. And why weren't we told?"
"Because she has four legs, a tail, and goes 'woof -woof'."
Lance blinked, then threw up his hands. "Oh marvellous. Fan-frikkin'-tastic! I'm starting to wish I was riding back in the jeep. It's less crowded there."
*******************
"Look out!"
Spider-Man dropped into an immediate crouch and felt the bullets whiz by his head. In the next two moments he had fired off a couple web blasts, stopping the guards cold, and rolled into the next hallway where Dazzler and Wolfsbane waited. The three Multiples dodged in after him, then stood in a daze for a moment and collapsed.
"Multiple! Stop the simulation, something's wrong with Multiple!" Spider-Man shouted, trying to go back for the fallen trio.
"Complete the objective, then the simulation will end," came the disembodied reply.
The group heard footsteps approaching, and then fading into nothingness. Dazzler had a look of intense concentration on her glowing face, and created a light barrier from the sound of the charging soldiers.
Spider-Man frowned, but followed orders. "Dazzler, stay here and protect Multiple. Wolfsbane, come with me - we've got a mutant to rescue."
Dazzler sent a quick thumbs-up, and Wolfsbane just nodded.
The scantily clad werewolf bounded down the hallway at full speed, while the new team leader followed from the ceiling.
Two platoons of armed soldiers appeared at the end of the hallway, blocking the door to the team's final destination. Wolfsbane leapt into them with full abandon, slashing, clawing, biting, and tearing apart anything in her way.
Spider-Man watched from above for a few moments, until the fray slowly worked its way down a side passage.
Peter breathed a sigh of relief under his mask, flipped down to the floor and cracked open the door. Inside, a girl was bound to a chair, her long red hair draped over her face.
"MJ...?"A hint of nervousness crept into his voice. He blinked, then saw that her hair was black, that this wasn't MJ, couldn't be her... the half-lidded memory flitted away as swiftly as it had come, just like all the others he had haltingly recovered since awakening up here.
She looked up, and a siren sounded.
Both scene and holographic girl faded from view, and Magneto floated down among his Acolytes.
With precise steps, the Master of Magnetism approached the fallen Multiple. The three had managed to get themselves into a sitting position and turned to face the armoured man.
"They found another one, Magneto," one said.
"They killed him," said the second.
"I'm sorry," apologised the last.
Peter took off his mask. "Killed who? What're they talking about?"
"Multiple has a connection with each of his clones. He feels when one dies, even as far away as space," Magneto replied tersely.
"But you said that these three were the last ones you could rescue!"
"These were the last three of the ones I rescued, yes. However, many of them were still on Earth. I could not find them all. Multiple cannot reabsorb his clones from such a distance."
Peter looked at the triplets, brow creasing. "How... how *many* are left... down there?"
"Maybe fifteen."
"Maybe twenty."
"Maybe none, now," came the strange, disjointed reply.
Peter looked over the rest of his team. His team... how strange that he should already be referring to them as that after such a short amount of time in their company.
Dazzler stood in the corner, light motes floating around her. Wolfsbane was licking her wounds. However fake the scenario, Magneto didn't believe in cutting his newly named 'Acolytes' any slack as far as injuries were concerned. Education via pain. And how.
Peter shook his head. "Why aren't we down there saving the rest? Why are we still up here doing nothing but... this?"
"You are not ready," said Magneto, and turned on his heel. The metal doors on both sides of the room opened. He walked through the northern exit, and it closed behind him before Peter had chance to voice another word.
He never once mentioned where he was going. He rarely did to anyone.
The south exit remained open for the Acolytes to return to the living quarters.
Peter sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then turned when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Dazzler offered him a sad smile and a message written in light.
It'll be all right, Spider-Man. We'll rescue them all when we're ready.
"Yeah, whatever. I'm going to my room." He stalked off, hoping he could find that drab little area he was to call his own again and leaving his teammates behind.
"What's his problem?" Wolfsbane asked with a deep, throaty laugh. Dazzler shivered at the sound of it. "We'll get to kill some humans soon enough. Dish best eaten cold, right?"
*******************
"Can't fix anymore," said a child.
"Will she wake?" said a man.
"Yes."
"Good. You may go rest, now. And make sure you eat your fill, hmm?"
Meggan opened her eyes in time to see a five-year-old angel nod. The cherub had no wings, but she looked as if she could easily gain them at the chime of a bell [1]. Her eyes were a startling emerald green that appeared to shine within, and her pale blonde, curly hair hung around her face like a halo. The only flaw - if such a word could describe her - was that she was missing her pinkie fingers and, Meggan saw when a foot peeked out of her simple shift, the littlest toes.
"Her name is Jane," said the man in the shadows, watching her pad softly from the room. "I found her wandering the remains of a Weapon X laboratory two years ago. She manipulates time and spiritual energies in order to heal. She doesn't talk very much. More than she used to, but still... Trauma. You see, as well as being a healer, Jane is an empath. Like you."
Meggan could feel her body trying to sparkle, to change herself to the desires of the man. But her flesh remained solid.
"You won't be able to shapeshift for a while, Meggan," said the man. "For your own safety, you're wearing an inhibitor."
"Who *are* you?" she asked. "How do you know me?" The room was dimly lit and the man was far away. She could see white hair, and a muscular build, but little more.
"My name is Magne... Erik," he said. "Do you remember the mob?"
"I... remember being... wanted," she said. "There were too many people... all wanting me. I - I couldn't change to suit them all... And then they were angry..." She shook her head. "The rest is kind of blurry. I'm sorry."
"You changed to reflect their anger," Erik explained. "And you became a monster. Had I not been there to arrest the bullets, you would surely have died."
"Um, thank you," she said, only half-understanding what he said.
"Thanks are not necessary," said Erik. "I'm just... doing what I can to salvage what's left. The war was fought and lost by both sides. We all lost friends and family. One way or another."
Meggan tried to get up, and found her legs weak and her strength almost gone. "I can't feel the Earth. Is it the inhibitor?"
"No, my dear. Your empathy and link to the Earth are unharmed. You can't feel the Earth because you're no longer *on* it. This is Asteroid M - a sanctuary for Mutantkind. Or the parts of Mutantkind that I could salvage."
He moved into the thin light. He was an old man, worn spiritually thin by watching all he loved erode under the tides of hate.
"It's a small effort. I could have done more. So much more."
He was so *sad*.
"I could have saved them. Saved them all. But I waited too long for a sign of surrender from a dreamer - who dreams forever, now. He died for what he believed in. So did his followers." Erik's voice dropped to a whisper. "I could have saved them all."
Meggan began to weep for him. Then her eyes picked out the strange things in the room with her.
A hand, its palm pierced by rope, floating in a bubbling jar. Part of someone's foot, the three remaining toes painted red, in a similar container. A green tongue, seemingly longer than humanly possible. A human ear. All in distinct containers that bubbled.
"Don't be alarmed, my dear," said Erik, following her gaze. "They were dead long before I took the parts. Killed by intolerance. Not me. Think of it as a bank. A potential for a second life."
There were speaky-words on each jar. Meggan could recognise that much, but couldn't decipher their meaning. She had never learned to read back home, though she knew the dark marks meant something more. "Please? What do the words say?"
Erik startled. "I should have guessed. No matter. We can fix that. These are names of the dear departed. Names that they'll use again when I have completed the technology to give them a second life. A better life." He walked over to the hand. "Scott Summers," he said, pointing to the words. "Someone was wearing his still-bleeding hand as a *charm* against mutant attack. He thought he was invulnerable. I relieved him of both the notion and the charm. I collected the others from their graves. At least they *got* graves. My prayers go to the kind soul who let them have a decent burial..."
The sadness, almost palpable... Meggan quivered with the need to shapeshift to reflect that anguish and give him comfort, but found again that she could not. It was liberating, not being governed by the emotions of others, but still... she was deeply, deeply troubled at the sudden weakness infusing her body. She didn't feel whole without her powers.
Erik pointed to the words by the foot. "Jean Grey. They'd mutilated her, so collecting this sample wasn't so hard..." The ear. "Charles..." He stopped, and his voice broke with grief, a fist tightening by his side. "Charles Xavier. My oldest and dearest friend." Then the tongue. "And Todd Tolensky. My first real student. Always such a blabbermouth. Fitting that he shall be reborn from his own tongue. He'll find a better father in me than his biological one. And - I hope - a better mother in you."
"*ME*?" Meggan gasped, what little strength she had leaving her in a rush. "Why me?"
"Your gift, my dear. You can change yourself, alter your body so than any child you bear will be perfectly safe. There will be no risk... and my efforts with artificial environments have been... tragic, despite outside help."
It dawned on Meggan that she owed her life to a madman.
"I won't force you, my dear. I won't make you a brood-mare. All I ask is that you consider it. Help me to help them?"
Meggan crept slightly away from him, scared. "And if I don't want to?"
"Then I'll be forced to continue my efforts with the artificial wombs. And bear the brunt of every tragedy that comes." He sighed, and turned tired eyes to her. "Don't worry, Meggan. I won't impose my struggle onto you should you not wish it. Rest now. I'll bring food for you."
He slunk from the room, leaving Meggan not knowing what to think at all. Or, for the first time since she could remember, what to feel.
"Me...?"
*******************
To Be Continued...
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[1] _It's A Wonderful Life_ side-fling.