Crown Of Thorns

Chapter Three: Getting To Know You

   The mansion's kitchen is quiet at this early hour of the morning, with most of the team asleep or enjoying a weekend lie-in. It's nice to have some peace and quiet, actually, because it's often impossible to find that in a house full of so many people – Mum says that she always liked it better when there was only one team of X-Men, and a small team at that (fewer thoughts to screen out, I guess). Mum's also told me that she came down here at this time when she first found out she was pregnant with my little brother, just to have a little space to think, and I can understand why – the atmosphere is so peaceful, it's hard to do anything else but relax. Rummaging through the cupboards, I pick out a mug and start brewing myself a cup of tea, while at the same time putting a few slices of toast into the large, multi-slice toaster and moving its dial to my favourite setting (which is "not quite toasted" – Sam can't understand how I can eat toast that's almost still just plain old bread, but then again, I can't understand how he could eat peanut butter and jam sandwiches, so I suppose it all evens out…). When the water is boiled, I pour it into the mug and inhale the rich scent of the tea, before taking a sip and savouring the subtle flavour as it rolls down my throat.

   A few minutes later, my toast pops, and I take it from the toaster and spread some butter onto it, along with some strawberry jam, and then settle down at the kitchen table to eat it. I'm not two bites into my breakfast before I sense another mind at the end of the corridor. Oh, that's just great, I say silently, to whoever might be listening. All I wanted was a little bit of quiet time... is that really so bad?

   Before I get any kind of answer, the person who I'd down the corridor sensed makes their way through the entrance to the kitchen, and stifles a yawn with the back of his hand. Bobby Drake is still dressed in his plain blue pyjamas, and over them is wearing a white robe which has the letters EF embroidered onto the left breast in light blue thread. When he opens his eyes again, Bobby says "Oh, hey, kid – didn't expect you to be up this early. What's shakin'?"

   "Nothing much – I just woke up," I say, trying not to let my annoyance at being disturbed sound too obvious, before deciding that making the best of the situation is probably a better idea. "I made some toast – would you like a piece?" I take one of the buttered slices of bread off my plate and offer it to him, trying not to let the melting butter drip onto the tablecloth at the same time. Bobby thinks for a second or two before reaching out and taking the toast from my hand, biting into it gratefully.

   "Thanks," he says when he's finished his mouthful. "That's pretty good. Little underdone, maybe, but I ain't complaining." He pauses a moment, looking at me thoughtfully, and then continues "You know, Becky, if I didn't know any better, I'd say there was something on your mind. You… want to talk about it?"

   "Not really," I say, quietly, "but I guess you'd have found out about this anyway, so I might as well tell you now. I'm pregnant, Bobby."

   Bobby blinks, stunned into silence (which, if what Dad's told me is to be believed, is something that doesn't happen very often). "Oh my," he exclaims finally, rubbing his right hand over his nose and mouth for a moment or two. "Do your mom and dad know? What do they think about it?" I nod.

   "Yes, they know – I told them last week. They weren't very happy about it, but they've learnt to adjust." Bobby tries and fails not to look relieved when I say that, and sits back in his chair, exhaling visibly.

   "Good," he says, "otherwise I'd probably have had to tell you about 'making sure you're ready for this', and I completely suck at sounding like a responsible adult."

   I smile. "Well, you could have asked Emma to do it for you, you know – I'm sure she'd have loved to tell me off just for being alive. I know she doesn't like me very much." Bobby laughs, and shakes his head, before getting up from his seat, walking over to the counter at the nearest side of the room and taking two glasses from a cupboard above it. Then he opens the fridge and pours us both some orange juice.

   "I couldn't put you through that, kid – I'd never forgive myself," he replies, before asking "So how's Sam taking all this?" I shrug, and take another bite of my toast, chewing thoughtfully on the mouthful of jam, butter and bread before I answer Bobby's question.

   "He's been fine about it – more than fine, in fact," I say. "If it weren't for him, I think I'd be a lot more worried about this whole situation. I mean, I saw Mum give birth, and that scared me to death."

   "No kidding," Bobby agrees, running his hand through his hair at the same time, so that he can ease out some of its early morning tangles. "I saw what happened when your dad aired the tape – if I'd been there myself, I'd have been scared to have a kid, too." He laughs briefly, sipping his orange juice before saying "Then again, if I ever got Emma pregnant, I think she'd strangle me before we got anywhere near that stage. I pity the fool who gets her pissed off."

   "Yeah, I would, too," I agree, snickering, and then I take a few more big bites of my toast, enjoying the taste of the jam and the flavour of the orange juice as they mix together. "She plays for keeps, doesn't she?"

   "Hey – you're learning," Bobby smiles, flexing his fingers around his glass and making a few ice cubes appear in it spontaneously. He reaches over to my glass, puts his finger on its rim, and says "Would you like some ice too?"

   "Now that you mention it… yes, please," I say, hearing the delicate plop of some small lumps of ice appearing into my glass. "Thank you," I tell Bobby gratefully, before I take a sip of the newly-chilled juice. "That's really kind."

   Bobby winks at me, and grins broadly. "Don't mention it, kid. What's the use of being a living Mr Frostee if I can't make ice cubes, right?"

   I think about that for a second or two, before saying "Well, that makes sense, I guess."

   When we have both finished our toast and drinks, Bobby gets up from the table, puts his chair carefully up against it, and says "Hey, I was just gonna go down to the Danger Room for a workout. You wanna come with?"

   I smile broadly at the prospect of such an early morning wake-up call, and nod. "Sure – why not?"

*

   The Danger Room is thankfully deserted (I'd actually expected Uncle Scott or Uncle Logan to be down here already, given that they like to be on their own quite a lot, and being in here makes that pretty easy). It's tempting sometimes to come down here by myself and beat the hell out of some holographic monsters, just to blow off a little bit of steam – and whenever Mum and Dad annoy me or do something that gets on my nerves, it's doubly tempting.

   Bobby and I walk out into the centre of the room, our footsteps echoing around the grey, featureless walls like bells ringing, and then we stand facing each other, our breathing deep and even. Bobby says "You sure you don't want to do another programme? I'd hate to get you hurt in your condition –"

   I wave him silent. "You won't. If the safeties are on then nothing bad can happen. Right?" Bobby looks a touch uncertain for a moment or two before he nods, which reassures me a little. "Good. You want to get started, then?" Looking up at the ceiling, I say "Computer, two sai blades, please."

   In between where Bobby and I are standing, a low black platform appears from thin air. Positioned on it are two gleaming metal blades, which are shaped a little like large, three-pronged toasting forks. The middle point of both is extended far beyond the other two, which curve out from the blades' handles and end in sharp, slightly outwardly-turned dagger edges. Picking both of the blades up, one in each hand, I twirl them expertly around like a pro, trading off my inbuilt martial arts experience plus the hours of training I've put in down here, both by myself and with Mum and Dad. They whirr softly around my fingers, glittering in the low light levels of the Danger Room like deadly insects. Beside me, Bobby ices up into a form that looks more like the Hulk, his body gaining about a hundred pounds of mass instantly. You think there might be trouble? I send to him playfully. Aww… my hero.

   "Kid, I'm only looking out for myself," Bobby says, glancing about himself carefully. "You get hurt, and I'll never hear the end of it – Sam would kill me, your mom would kill me, your dad would kill me, Scott would kill me… I'd be dead four times over, and I really don't want that, you know?"

   He's got a point, I suppose, so I don't say anything more as the Danger Room fades away and the programme begins. It's a callisthenics programme that Uncle Logan designed (after he'd seen Star Trek do something similar, he put it into the Danger Room's computer right away). The scenery around us is leafy and humid, with twisted vines and bright, insect-filled flowers all around us. Above us is a canopy of interlocking branches, with monkeys running through them at regular intervals (too regular, I think, because it makes the whole thing look too… organised). Just as I've finished taking in the scenery, a huge, hairy monster (I can't tell whether it's supposed to be a man or an ape) comes crashing through the undergrowth, roaring through yellowed, broken teeth. Its gigantic fists swing wildly at me, as if it thinks I've just stolen its last meal, and I leap backwards, somersaulting through the air so that I can put a decent amount of space between it and myself. Beside me, Bobby uses my movement to put himself between me and the creature. "Stand back, kid," he says, trying to sound as firm as he can. As the monster thrashes towards us again, he raises one giant ice-fist and hammers it right into the creature's jaw, making it stagger backwards, spitting blood and teeth.

   Using the momentary respite to my best advantage, I hop lightly onto Bobby's bulky shoulders and spring at the monster, my blades poised and ready. In mid-air, I swing them in two wide arcs across the beast's throat, causing more blood to spurt out onto the ground. The creature clutches at its ripped carotid for a moment or two, swaying like a scarecrow in the wind, before crashing to the ground and lying in a motionless heap. It stays there for a second before the computer realises it's dead and makes it vanish, giving Bobby and me a little while to catch our breath. Grinning at Bobby, I say "You won't have to protect me, Uncle Bobby. I promise."

   Bobby looks a little taken aback by me calling him "Uncle Bobby", but then he recovers slightly and says "Please don't do that again, kid. It ain't good for my heart."

   I start to reply, but am cut off as two human-sized enemies appear out of nowhere in front of us. They have skeletal faces, with empty eye sockets and no noses to speak of, but they are armed with two very sharp, machete-sized blades, one in each hand, which they use with deft precision as they close in on Bobby and me. The lead one picks Bobby, while his companion chooses me. As the leader aims a vicious chopping strike at Bobby's shoulder, Bobby uses his enlarged, toughened forearm to parry the blow, sending brittle chips of ice everywhere. "Ow!" he says, sounding more annoyed than hurt, before aiming a couple of precise blasts of ice at the creature's legs in order to freeze its feet to the floor. He moves in then, using his large ice-fists to hammer his enemy into submission, striking at the base of the monster's long jaw and knocking it out cold.

   Meanwhile, the one that chose me is trying to impress me with its display of swordsmanship, the blade in its hands cutting through the air with a quiet humming sound. It clangs off my crossed sais, sending sparks flying, and tries to knock me off balance with a quick, exploratory kick to the midsection – which is a big mistake. Spinning out of the way like a dancer, I drop to one knee and jam one of my blades into the creature's leg, just below its own knee. It folds like a concertina, making the monster fall into a crumpled heap to my left. Before it can move again, I spring at it and push both blades right into the centre of its chest area, rendering it totally unable to fight back. It vanishes at almost the same moment as the other creature, allowing Bobby and me another moment to gather our thoughts together.

   It's at that moment that, instead of producing anything else to attack us, the Danger Room begins to shut down. Turning angrily towards the observation booth as it appears from behind the holographic jungle foliage, I can see a woman with dreadlocks pushing some of the key buttons on the main control console. "Time out, kids," comes the voice of Dr Cecilia Reyes through the room's hidden speakers. "Could you two come up to the booth, please?"

   When we have exited the Danger Room itself and made our way up to the observation area, we find Dr Reyes standing with her arms folded across her chest, her right eyebrow raised slightly over the slender rim of her glasses. She is dressed in a Tina Turner t-shirt and blue jeans, which I'd seen her wearing last night (which in turn means that she spent the night with Kurt – a rare occurrence in itself, considering she works nights a lot at her practice). When we're close enough, she says sourly "You two mind telling me what you were doing in there?"

   "Well, I thought we were working out," I say, a note of defiance in my voice. "Isn't that what you thought, Bobby?"

   Bobby nods, even though he knows it'll probably get him in trouble. "Yeah, that sounds right to me," he agrees. "Why'd you call us up here, Doc?"

   Cecilia sighs. "Hank sent me. He wanted Rebecca to check in for a morning medical." She notices me opening my mouth to reply, and she holds up a finger to silence me before the words can even fully form in my throat. "Don't ask me why, Rebecca – Hank knows better than to betray doctor-patient confidentiality. Although if he's asking for you to attend a medical this early, I doubt he'd be happy knowing you're in here putting your health at risk, you know?"

   "I… suppose not," I concede, annoyed, before I walk over to the intercom in the corner of the room and punch the "activate" button. "Hank?" I ask tentatively. "It's Rebecca. Did you want to see me?"

   It takes a few moments for Hank to reply, and when he does, he sounds even more annoyed than Cecilia. "Yes, I did. I'm disappointed you felt the need to use the Danger Room in your condition," he begins, almost sounding more like Dad than Dad, "and I'm especially disappointed with Bobby for not locking you out of that room himself." Behind me, I can hear Bobby slapping his forehead with one hand, as if he had expected that ever since he'd started the exercise programme with me. Hank speaks again then, this time to Cecilia. "Dr Reyes, would you be so kind as to accompany Rebecca down to the med-lab? I feel I need a second opinion on this matter."

   Cecilia shrugs her shoulders and looks at the ceiling for a second or two. "What am I, your personal sidekick now?" she snaps, before sighing and rubbing her temples with her hands. "All right, blue boy, I'll be there right away." She snaps her fingers and points at me impatiently. "What are you waiting for, Blondie – permission? Get your ass in gear!"

*

   The med-lab is chilly, since Hank had apparently turned the heating down for one of his experiments. I can feel the air conditioning circulating cold air against my legs, and it doesn't feel very nice. Worse than that, though, is the expression on Hank's face as he sees me coming through the door. It's a far cry from his usual cheerful smile, and it doesn't really fill me with any kind of confidence (although I guess it's not really supposed to). For a moment, he stands with one hand planted on his hip and another touching his chin, before he drops them both to his sides and says, exasperated, "What were you thinking, Rebecca? Do you know how dangerous what you were doing could have been?" He takes off his glasses then, and touches the thumb and index finger of his right hand to the bridge of his nose, before putting his glasses back on and looking up at me again. "I must reiterate that I'm very disappointed with you, especially considering your… personal circumstances." Then he turns his gaze towards Cecilia, and unfolds his hands towards me at the same time. "Dr Reyes, could I ask you for a second opinion on this matter? You are, after all, a more qualified medical doctor than me, and I would welcome your input."

   Cecilia shrugs. "Sure, you can ask, but I don't think you'll get a good opinion unless I know just exactly what the hell is going on here."

   Nodding towards me, Hank says "Why don't you tell her why you shouldn't have been in the Danger Room, Rebecca?"

   Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, I bite my lip and try not to let the realisation that what I'm about to say will bring a tonne of ethical bricks down on my head in less than a split-second. "I'm… I'm almost two months' pregnant," I say, nervously.

   Predictably enough, that doesn't go down too well with Cecilia, who curses in Spanish and then steps closer to me so that she can lock her gaze with mine. "You're lucky I don't hit pregnant women," she says softly, her gaze feeling like that of a cobra getting ready to strike, "because I am really finding it hard not to do that right now. God, girl… you're supposed to be an intelligent woman – you should have known what you were doing was stupid!"

   "I was doing fine," I say, already knowing I'm fighting a hopeless cause. "I could have handled it. There shouldn't have been any problems." Cecilia shakes her head and puts both hands on my shoulders.

   "Kid, don't take this the wrong way," she says, "but that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. It ain't exactly rocket science to work out that if you put yourself at risk like that enough times, something bad will happen. Like I said, you're supposed to be a smart girl – don't make me think Kurt was lying about that." She pauses. "You want my advice? Stay out of that room for the next seven months, and take up yoga or Pilates or something. It's safer, and you won't end up having a miscarriage. Isn't that right, Hank?"

   Hank nods. "Yes, I'd say so. Look, Rebecca, you're caring for two people now, and while I'm sure you don't have any qualms about possibly breaking your neck in the pursuit of a good workout, I'd hate for that attitude to lead to you losing your unborn child. For one thing, I'd hate to see you unhappy, and for another, I don't want to waste this present I got your child." He turns away from me for a moment and opens a drawer in his desk, pulling out a small cuddly toy that looks like Nightcrawler. "His name is Bamf," Hank explains, "and he likes to be hugged a lot. It's his favourite hobby." He hands the toy to me and smiles. "Go ahead – give it a try."

   The little doll feels surprisingly soft in my hands, his neatly-woven smile beaming up at me from his fuzzy blue face, so I give him a short, uncertain cuddle – and Hank is right: the doll seems to hug me back gently as I do so. "Thank you, Hank," I say softly, my hands stroking the curly locks of blue fur on the doll's forehead. "It's lovely."

   "My pleasure," Hank says. "Cecilia, would you like to hold him as well? He seems to have a great way of diffusing uncomfortable situations."

   Cecilia rolls her eyes. "Man, this place is as insane as it was when I left…"