Chapter 10
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Ororo wandered the grand library, gazing up at the books and paintings. Her azure-blue top held a fairy-tale look to the sleeves and fluttered with every breeze that wafted through the open windows.
Wanting to see the top shelves, she rose into the air. Hovering, she pulled a book from a shelf, leaned back, crossed her legs, and began to read.
Duncan stopped in the library's doorway, watching the lovely mutant. She was definitely a woman unlike any he had ever met before, Immortal or mortal. And the fact that she could control the weather was a fun idea, too.
"Find anything interesting?" He made his presence known, stepping into the room.
Ororo turned and smiled a little, replacing the book and gliding down to the floor. "Just some Dostoyevsky. One of my favorites."
"Good author, strange man. Brilliant, but strange." Duncan commented, walking over to her.
Ororo raised an eyebrow.
"I knew him."
"Oh, I see. Then you have the inside scoop then?" she chuckled.
Duncan smiled and nodded, looking down at her.
Ororo found herself just looking at him, being impressed with this man who was human...and yet not. He was dressed simply in a white sweater and dark-blue jeans, his dark hair still damp from the quick shower. A handsome man, that was undeniable...strong, personable, protective, willing to lead when others were not. She liked these things about him and the more she spent time with him, the more she was wanting this whole 'summit' to work out.
...........................................................................................................................................................................................
Charles breathed deeply as his mind moved past some of the walls Nadya had built up. Not the deep walls he found on Logan; these were normal, a part of dealing with what happens to us. We do not even think of them as walls.
He exhaled and moved through one. The memories of when she was younger were what he touched first. Flashes of Duncan, who appeared the same as he did today only with longer hair, smiling down on her before hefting her up into the air. This wall contained the memories of when she learned of her parents' death. He focused more on Duncan than the actual events, so as to spare her the extra-relived pain. He saw her graduate college...'with honors nonetheless'. Then he focused on a more recent memory: Duncan off in the distance...'a park'...going through the stages of a kata. Another man...'Methos'...sprawled out in the grass, talking to the Highlander. Nadya spoke to him...a stranger to her then. And his eyes looked down at her, a smile creasing his mouth.
From there, the memories picked up speed. He saw Methos take a knife to the heart, felt her reaction to the thought of losing a friend. The pain. Then, the truth and more pain. Fear. Hope. Friendship. Tears. Xavier's mind struggled to sort though all the conflicting emotions, especially as he got closer to present day.
He saw the man in question sitting in one of the gardens...'Here', just watching time tick by, thinking who knows what. Then another flash! Piotr...and Nadya. Charles passed that one by, out of courtesy.
Then he saw Logan with Talia, fighting...playing...blood. Then a white horse, the feeling of its hooves pounding on the ground, the wind striking her face.
Then, suddenly, Charles felt a sense of shock and rage permeate the room, his attention immediately drawn to it. Keeping his own skills in check was not easy...which is why he always did probes of this depth with only the other person in the room. Without Cerebro, the focus did not reach as far but the mind was prone to wander if focus was lost. Like it did now. Attracted to the strong emotion, inadvertently his mind latched onto it. Latched onto him.
Methos.
...............................................................................................................................................................................................
Just as soon as it started, it stopped. Cut off. Nadya put her hands to her head...not in pain, just a reflex. Her cheeks were wet. Tears but the pain was barely there. She sniffled, then looked to the Professor who was looking across the room at Methos. Both of the men appeared to be in a trance. Then it ended. This time, Xavier put a hand to his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.
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'...and not only that but he has the nerve to drink my beer. I should have him hung, drawn, and quart....' Methos' train of thought stopped as he rounded the corner and saw....Nadya! He saw the tears on her cheeks and....and....
Methos saw red for a moment--what was he doing to her?! But it lasted only a moment, for the next things he saw were the eyes of the man in the wheelchair. Then the world suddenly shifted to the left.
Flashes...
A mansion....in the countryside...old....people reciting poetry...while another man looked on from a sprawl on a fainting couch. Charles caught Methos' mind, recognizing the scenes.
'Byron...with the Shelleys....way too much laudinum....'
The scene fast forwarded...to the challenge and the Quickening....Mary Shelley's reaction...monster...The beginning of a legend.
Then, the ground shifted again. A bar...back in the States...a waitress. 'Alexa.' Pain...Greece...Santorini...then Switzerland...then...'Cold.'
Charles saw and felt the ancient's first meeting with the Highlander and the offering he made later. The feeling of a sword at his ...'my' throat. A dagger striking his chest...and...
'Kronos!' The vision of the other man shifted from the black leather jacket to an older type of clothing.
Finally, Charles was able to pull back. Too much! Too many years, too many lifetimes, too many memories!
Methos dropped to the floor, holding his own head, his breath coming in gasps. His other hand was on the cold stone floor as he tried to re-orient himself. He felt two soft hands resting on his shoulders.
'Nadya.'
Then he felt her hand grasp his; his was shaking too hard to hold it, though.
"I am so sorry," came Charles' voice.
Methos looked up at the other man, whose hand was pressed to his own head as if in pain. The ancient suddenly felt very vulnerable.
"Before you say anything, I told him he could." Nadya supplied. Her own tears had started to dry.
"I should have suggested we move to a more secure room...this is my fault," Professor Xavier began.
"Don't!" Methos managed to get out, hating the way his voice sounded: so weak and pitiful. "Just...don't." His voice sounded tired but strangely without the hateful reaction that Charles had expected and felt earlier.
Silent, Charles wheeled from the room.
Methos laid his head in Nadya's lap and shut his eyes while he tried to pull himself together.
"Just rest, Methos," Nadya whispered, stroking his hair. Then she began to sing, quietly and as soothingly as she could. "Hush now, my baby...be still, love, don't cry...sleep as you're rocked by the stream. Sleep and remember my last lullaby, so I'll be with you when you dream." Even though it was low, her voice reverberated in the marble of the room, like that of an oracle. "River, O River. Flow gently for me, such precious cargo you bear. Do you know somewhere he can be free? River, deliver him there."
She bent over him to see if his eyes were still closed, the dark curls of her hair falling over her shoulder and brushing the skin of his face.
'So soft...but can it last?' Methos' mind began to uncurl itself again. 'No, innocence can never last...it never does.'
Soft fingers replaced soft hair as she touched his cheek, feeling the tenseness in his jaws. "Relax, Methos. Let it go." Her fingers traced his cheekbones and jawline and Methos let himself fall into the touch, feeling just that, knowing just that.
Suddenly, Methos felt something sting his eyes, something he had fought against for years. But, now, under Nadya's touch, he finally let it go. He finally cried.
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Piotr sat on his bed, staring at the Van Gogh copy on the wall: Starry Night. One of his favorites. It always evoked a sense of romance and dreaming in him, to think of standing under such a night with a woman he loved.
"Children's dreams!" he chastised himself, falling back on the bed. It gave beneath his strong frame with a creak and then bore him up again, the duvet cover wrapping around his body like a cloud. He could smell the aroma of delicious food wafting up from the kitchen downstairs as the stars began to show themselves outside.
This place was beautiful, he reflected. Talia had wonderful taste in furniture. She chose mostly the older style, comfortable yet evoking a sense of history. If at all possible, that in the style of the Roman villa was what most suited her. She loved the openness of the architecture, to let in light and air, and the coolness of the marble and alabaster stone. That's why she had bought this place. Even Piotr found himself refreshed here, in some ways more than others.
Reaching up and running his fingers through his dark hair, Piotr thought over the events of the day. The heated arguments, the anger, the... A smile, unbidden yet unchecked, curled his mouth as he thought of that one precious moment with Nadya. Her small form next to his, her hands held against his chest, her...a blush painted his cheeks as he relived the moment in his mind. But then she had pulled away.
"Piotr?" A voice came at his cracked door.
The young man jumped up to open the door. "Come in, Professor. Is everything all right?"
Xavier nodded. "Oh, yes. I just have…a little headache. But I thought I would come to check on you," he replied as Piotr sat on the edge of the bed again. "What do you think of your first mission as an X-man?"
Piotr sighed, his strong shoulders heaving. "It's not what I expected, sir, honestly."
Xavier smiled slightly. "Did you expect more battles, as last year?"
Piotr shrugged a little. "Well...da," was his reply.
Xavier reached out and placed a hand on his student's shoulder. "Not all battles are fought with armor and weapons, my young friend."
Piotr sighed again. "Sir, can I ask you something?"
Xavier nodded. "Of course, Piotr."
The young Russian hesitated and then, slowly, "Nadya and I...we...kissed."
The Professor said nothing, didn't even smile. Just waited.
"I really care for her, Professor. But this situation? Logan hates the Immortals...so does Scott, I'm sure. They don't trust us...how can I...can we...? The lad's voice trailed off, almost hopelessly.
"Piotr, there is something you have to understand. I know what you feel for Nadya. And not because I read your mind. I know because I felt that once, lad. We all have. We are human; humans love…and, conversely, hate. But 'love covers a multitude of sins'. Unfortunately, not everyone believes that...or believes in it."
Piotr looked up at the older man. "Then what hope is there? For mutants, for the world?"
Professor Xavier. "There is always hope, son." Then, with a fatherly squeeze to Piotr's shoulder, the Professor whirred out of the room.
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Duncan leaned down and stoked the fireplace, tossing another log in as the red-gold flames leaped up and licked at the wood.
Ororo lowered herself into the comfortable, high-backed armchair and crossed her legs, smiling at the soft leather of the chair. "These must have cost a fortune," she murmured, running her hands over the arms of the chair.
Duncan shook his head, sitting in the other one. "Not really. This library was the only contribution that Talia would let me make to the house," he chuckled. "She did everything else herself: the statuary, furniture, design of the house. But she picked some Monets because Nadya likes them, especially the garden scenes and the waterlilies."
Ororo smiled. "That's nice of Talia to let you all have a part of this house."
Duncan nodded. "We're the only family any of us has anymore."
That caused Ororo to pause, to reflect on her own life with the X-men. Then she smiled, leaning her cheek upon the fingertips of her right hand. "Tell me, Mr. MacLeod, why aren't you married?"
The highlander chuckled, folding his hands and leaning his lips on the steeple of his index fingers. "I thought the answer to that might be obvious."
Ororo gave a little laugh herself. "I shouldn't think that would stop any woman with eyes to see."
Duncan nodded, smiling still. "Thank you for the compliment. Might I ask the same of you, Ms. Monroe?"
Ororo inclined her head, seeming to think but didn't answer right away. "No, no one."
"How long have you lived with the professor, Ororo?"
She smiled. "Forever...at least it feels that way. I have a sister and a nephew out there in the world somewhere but it might be a while before I see them again. But I will...someday."
Duncan nodded, gazing at the 'weather witch'. She was a beautiful woman, intelligent, too. He appreciated her helping to find Nadya and he hurt because of the hostilities that stood between their two species at the moment. What was to be done?
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Ororo wandered the grand library, gazing up at the books and paintings. Her azure-blue top held a fairy-tale look to the sleeves and fluttered with every breeze that wafted through the open windows.
Wanting to see the top shelves, she rose into the air. Hovering, she pulled a book from a shelf, leaned back, crossed her legs, and began to read.
Duncan stopped in the library's doorway, watching the lovely mutant. She was definitely a woman unlike any he had ever met before, Immortal or mortal. And the fact that she could control the weather was a fun idea, too.
"Find anything interesting?" He made his presence known, stepping into the room.
Ororo turned and smiled a little, replacing the book and gliding down to the floor. "Just some Dostoyevsky. One of my favorites."
"Good author, strange man. Brilliant, but strange." Duncan commented, walking over to her.
Ororo raised an eyebrow.
"I knew him."
"Oh, I see. Then you have the inside scoop then?" she chuckled.
Duncan smiled and nodded, looking down at her.
Ororo found herself just looking at him, being impressed with this man who was human...and yet not. He was dressed simply in a white sweater and dark-blue jeans, his dark hair still damp from the quick shower. A handsome man, that was undeniable...strong, personable, protective, willing to lead when others were not. She liked these things about him and the more she spent time with him, the more she was wanting this whole 'summit' to work out.
...........................................................................................................................................................................................
Charles breathed deeply as his mind moved past some of the walls Nadya had built up. Not the deep walls he found on Logan; these were normal, a part of dealing with what happens to us. We do not even think of them as walls.
He exhaled and moved through one. The memories of when she was younger were what he touched first. Flashes of Duncan, who appeared the same as he did today only with longer hair, smiling down on her before hefting her up into the air. This wall contained the memories of when she learned of her parents' death. He focused more on Duncan than the actual events, so as to spare her the extra-relived pain. He saw her graduate college...'with honors nonetheless'. Then he focused on a more recent memory: Duncan off in the distance...'a park'...going through the stages of a kata. Another man...'Methos'...sprawled out in the grass, talking to the Highlander. Nadya spoke to him...a stranger to her then. And his eyes looked down at her, a smile creasing his mouth.
From there, the memories picked up speed. He saw Methos take a knife to the heart, felt her reaction to the thought of losing a friend. The pain. Then, the truth and more pain. Fear. Hope. Friendship. Tears. Xavier's mind struggled to sort though all the conflicting emotions, especially as he got closer to present day.
He saw the man in question sitting in one of the gardens...'Here', just watching time tick by, thinking who knows what. Then another flash! Piotr...and Nadya. Charles passed that one by, out of courtesy.
Then he saw Logan with Talia, fighting...playing...blood. Then a white horse, the feeling of its hooves pounding on the ground, the wind striking her face.
Then, suddenly, Charles felt a sense of shock and rage permeate the room, his attention immediately drawn to it. Keeping his own skills in check was not easy...which is why he always did probes of this depth with only the other person in the room. Without Cerebro, the focus did not reach as far but the mind was prone to wander if focus was lost. Like it did now. Attracted to the strong emotion, inadvertently his mind latched onto it. Latched onto him.
Methos.
...............................................................................................................................................................................................
Just as soon as it started, it stopped. Cut off. Nadya put her hands to her head...not in pain, just a reflex. Her cheeks were wet. Tears but the pain was barely there. She sniffled, then looked to the Professor who was looking across the room at Methos. Both of the men appeared to be in a trance. Then it ended. This time, Xavier put a hand to his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.
........................................................................................................................................................................................................
'...and not only that but he has the nerve to drink my beer. I should have him hung, drawn, and quart....' Methos' train of thought stopped as he rounded the corner and saw....Nadya! He saw the tears on her cheeks and....and....
Methos saw red for a moment--what was he doing to her?! But it lasted only a moment, for the next things he saw were the eyes of the man in the wheelchair. Then the world suddenly shifted to the left.
Flashes...
A mansion....in the countryside...old....people reciting poetry...while another man looked on from a sprawl on a fainting couch. Charles caught Methos' mind, recognizing the scenes.
'Byron...with the Shelleys....way too much laudinum....'
The scene fast forwarded...to the challenge and the Quickening....Mary Shelley's reaction...monster...The beginning of a legend.
Then, the ground shifted again. A bar...back in the States...a waitress. 'Alexa.' Pain...Greece...Santorini...then Switzerland...then...'Cold.'
Charles saw and felt the ancient's first meeting with the Highlander and the offering he made later. The feeling of a sword at his ...'my' throat. A dagger striking his chest...and...
'Kronos!' The vision of the other man shifted from the black leather jacket to an older type of clothing.
Finally, Charles was able to pull back. Too much! Too many years, too many lifetimes, too many memories!
Methos dropped to the floor, holding his own head, his breath coming in gasps. His other hand was on the cold stone floor as he tried to re-orient himself. He felt two soft hands resting on his shoulders.
'Nadya.'
Then he felt her hand grasp his; his was shaking too hard to hold it, though.
"I am so sorry," came Charles' voice.
Methos looked up at the other man, whose hand was pressed to his own head as if in pain. The ancient suddenly felt very vulnerable.
"Before you say anything, I told him he could." Nadya supplied. Her own tears had started to dry.
"I should have suggested we move to a more secure room...this is my fault," Professor Xavier began.
"Don't!" Methos managed to get out, hating the way his voice sounded: so weak and pitiful. "Just...don't." His voice sounded tired but strangely without the hateful reaction that Charles had expected and felt earlier.
Silent, Charles wheeled from the room.
Methos laid his head in Nadya's lap and shut his eyes while he tried to pull himself together.
"Just rest, Methos," Nadya whispered, stroking his hair. Then she began to sing, quietly and as soothingly as she could. "Hush now, my baby...be still, love, don't cry...sleep as you're rocked by the stream. Sleep and remember my last lullaby, so I'll be with you when you dream." Even though it was low, her voice reverberated in the marble of the room, like that of an oracle. "River, O River. Flow gently for me, such precious cargo you bear. Do you know somewhere he can be free? River, deliver him there."
She bent over him to see if his eyes were still closed, the dark curls of her hair falling over her shoulder and brushing the skin of his face.
'So soft...but can it last?' Methos' mind began to uncurl itself again. 'No, innocence can never last...it never does.'
Soft fingers replaced soft hair as she touched his cheek, feeling the tenseness in his jaws. "Relax, Methos. Let it go." Her fingers traced his cheekbones and jawline and Methos let himself fall into the touch, feeling just that, knowing just that.
Suddenly, Methos felt something sting his eyes, something he had fought against for years. But, now, under Nadya's touch, he finally let it go. He finally cried.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Piotr sat on his bed, staring at the Van Gogh copy on the wall: Starry Night. One of his favorites. It always evoked a sense of romance and dreaming in him, to think of standing under such a night with a woman he loved.
"Children's dreams!" he chastised himself, falling back on the bed. It gave beneath his strong frame with a creak and then bore him up again, the duvet cover wrapping around his body like a cloud. He could smell the aroma of delicious food wafting up from the kitchen downstairs as the stars began to show themselves outside.
This place was beautiful, he reflected. Talia had wonderful taste in furniture. She chose mostly the older style, comfortable yet evoking a sense of history. If at all possible, that in the style of the Roman villa was what most suited her. She loved the openness of the architecture, to let in light and air, and the coolness of the marble and alabaster stone. That's why she had bought this place. Even Piotr found himself refreshed here, in some ways more than others.
Reaching up and running his fingers through his dark hair, Piotr thought over the events of the day. The heated arguments, the anger, the... A smile, unbidden yet unchecked, curled his mouth as he thought of that one precious moment with Nadya. Her small form next to his, her hands held against his chest, her...a blush painted his cheeks as he relived the moment in his mind. But then she had pulled away.
"Piotr?" A voice came at his cracked door.
The young man jumped up to open the door. "Come in, Professor. Is everything all right?"
Xavier nodded. "Oh, yes. I just have…a little headache. But I thought I would come to check on you," he replied as Piotr sat on the edge of the bed again. "What do you think of your first mission as an X-man?"
Piotr sighed, his strong shoulders heaving. "It's not what I expected, sir, honestly."
Xavier smiled slightly. "Did you expect more battles, as last year?"
Piotr shrugged a little. "Well...da," was his reply.
Xavier reached out and placed a hand on his student's shoulder. "Not all battles are fought with armor and weapons, my young friend."
Piotr sighed again. "Sir, can I ask you something?"
Xavier nodded. "Of course, Piotr."
The young Russian hesitated and then, slowly, "Nadya and I...we...kissed."
The Professor said nothing, didn't even smile. Just waited.
"I really care for her, Professor. But this situation? Logan hates the Immortals...so does Scott, I'm sure. They don't trust us...how can I...can we...? The lad's voice trailed off, almost hopelessly.
"Piotr, there is something you have to understand. I know what you feel for Nadya. And not because I read your mind. I know because I felt that once, lad. We all have. We are human; humans love…and, conversely, hate. But 'love covers a multitude of sins'. Unfortunately, not everyone believes that...or believes in it."
Piotr looked up at the older man. "Then what hope is there? For mutants, for the world?"
Professor Xavier. "There is always hope, son." Then, with a fatherly squeeze to Piotr's shoulder, the Professor whirred out of the room.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Duncan leaned down and stoked the fireplace, tossing another log in as the red-gold flames leaped up and licked at the wood.
Ororo lowered herself into the comfortable, high-backed armchair and crossed her legs, smiling at the soft leather of the chair. "These must have cost a fortune," she murmured, running her hands over the arms of the chair.
Duncan shook his head, sitting in the other one. "Not really. This library was the only contribution that Talia would let me make to the house," he chuckled. "She did everything else herself: the statuary, furniture, design of the house. But she picked some Monets because Nadya likes them, especially the garden scenes and the waterlilies."
Ororo smiled. "That's nice of Talia to let you all have a part of this house."
Duncan nodded. "We're the only family any of us has anymore."
That caused Ororo to pause, to reflect on her own life with the X-men. Then she smiled, leaning her cheek upon the fingertips of her right hand. "Tell me, Mr. MacLeod, why aren't you married?"
The highlander chuckled, folding his hands and leaning his lips on the steeple of his index fingers. "I thought the answer to that might be obvious."
Ororo gave a little laugh herself. "I shouldn't think that would stop any woman with eyes to see."
Duncan nodded, smiling still. "Thank you for the compliment. Might I ask the same of you, Ms. Monroe?"
Ororo inclined her head, seeming to think but didn't answer right away. "No, no one."
"How long have you lived with the professor, Ororo?"
She smiled. "Forever...at least it feels that way. I have a sister and a nephew out there in the world somewhere but it might be a while before I see them again. But I will...someday."
Duncan nodded, gazing at the 'weather witch'. She was a beautiful woman, intelligent, too. He appreciated her helping to find Nadya and he hurt because of the hostilities that stood between their two species at the moment. What was to be done?