Iblis glad you liked the bit with Kevin. That section was an utter utter bitch to write, so it's good to hear that it had the desired effect! And yeah… sorry about the delay on this next chapter.
R-Man: I had fun with the Proteus references, so yay! He's always been one of my favourite bad guys. And Wisdom will be arriving soon! Like… next chapter, I think, all going to plan..
Episodic: Two types of jade, eh? Very interesting. And no random fact is ever useless! I'm sure it will come in very handy one day… somehow…
Ivan Alias: why thank you! I'm rather pleased with Carson myself, actually – I have a thing about the villain who's always one step ahead of you and smug about it. The Rev was a lot more of a straight forward, boring bad guy, although that might be just a reflection of my writing getting more complex (and hopefully better) as this fic goes on. Definitely more I could have done with him, but oh well. Trying to resist the urge to keep rewriting at the moment. And thank you again for the compliment on my writing style – I try to keep away from being over flowery whenever possible, so it's nice to know it's working!And your other review (thanks for the double, btw!), I love SFA! Especially the Radiator album. And I do have fun trying to work in some Scottish stuff in there, although once again it's making me want to rewrite, now that I've found out all this stuff about Ullapool… sighs Hooray for Scotland, anyway!
Chaotic Boredom: go you, reading up on all the comics! 616 has something to do with parallel universes and Captain Britain, I think, though I'm shaky on the details there. And I just couldn't resist the nod to Teresa's drinking… man, I'm so easily amused.
Atomic midnight: Thanks! Hopefully the excessive wait this time wasn't too terrible either. God, bad me! Bad!
Hog of Hedges: thanks! I'm really glad you liked the end, since it was a bitch and a half to write (getting into middle-aged women's heads and all is not my thing, sadly). And I couldn't resist the chance to throw in the drunken Irish people. Not too sure about Sean and the police/Interpol thing – let's just say for the sake of my fic that Interpol are police too, shall we? whistles innocently
Yeah, so it might seem like I can only be bothered writing about once every three months, but I promise, it isn't like that, really! I'm just coming out of exams and things, and trying to get back into this story, so… please bear with me! It isn't forgotten…
Thanks to hellionfor reading over the first part of this before it got put up and saying nice things.
Anyway, without further ado.
In the course of the next week, Parliament passed their amendment to the Serious Crimes Act, allowing for the use of cures in the control of those mutants recognised as a danger to themselves and others by a court of law. Jonothan Starsmore was to be the first such mutant to be provided for by the terms of the Bill, apparently with his full consent. The members of Excalibur did not believe that for a second, of course.
Unfortunately, for all nearly all practical intents and purposes, their hands were tied, at least in most direct avenues. Brian and Meggan took up the public cause, arguing for mutant rights in whatever media channels they could find, and the blonde empath at least seemed to be on the way to becoming a favourite with reporters and the public alike. But even the advocacy of Captain Britain, the nation's sworn protector, did not seem to be enough to salvage support for those seeking to delay the Bill's enactment. The general tide of public feeling was still too pulled by the ever present stories of mutants causing death or destruction and the nightly images of the aftermath of the X-Men's battles with Apocalypse. A date was set for Jono's 'cure' - the 28th of August. Less than one month away.
As the day drew closer, the tension at the Research Centre heightened. Betsy and Sean were sent back to England, to try to retrieve the formula, or failing that, Jono himself, but both seemed to have disappeared into thin air, spirited away in anticipation of just such a tactic. Sean and Betsy immediately started work on tracking down the new locations. Moira joined them, abandoning her research completely for the moment. All three were insistent that Rahne and Teresa were not to know anything about what they were doing, a situation which the Irish girl, at least, protested vigorously.
Rahne wasn't sure how she felt about it – if she thought honestly, she had to admit that she had no idea how she could possible aid their search, but still… it was almost unbearable to have to sit there, unable to do anything to help, not even knowing what was being done. She trusted the adult members of Excalibur, of course – they were the leaders of her pack - and for her, the idea of directly going against their express instructions was nearly unthinkable. But nevertheless, it was… frustrating to be so removed from events.
Rahne's feelings were evidently only too apparent to the others, despite her attempts to put on a positive face, especially around Moira. She could smell the worry every time her foster mother looked at her, and Betsy's considering looks were almost as good as an indicator of their concern. Perhaps that was why they had both been so insistent that she should get away from Muir Island. Rahne hadn't been sure that she wanted to leave the familiarity of the Research Centre, and the security of her odd new 'family', especially when the only suggested destination that Moira and Betsy had come up with was Ullapool, but she had acquiesced, not wanting to cause any trouble with anyone.
And so she found herself back again in the place that had once been her home, walking along the edge of the town with Tony, and trying very hard not to wonder what was going on behind the granite walls and curtained windows that they passed.
"So, did ye see the Rangers/Celtics game in the weekend then?" her friend asked, dragging a hand through his hair in yet another unsuccessful attempt to keep it from falling into his eyes. By a careful, unspoken agreement, the two teenagers were deliberately keeping away from any topics that might lead to uncomfortable silences.
"Nay, I didn't," Rahne replied, ducking her head in a pretence of guilty confession. Tony's look of mock outrage had her giggling within seconds though, and she swatted at him lightly, trying to push him out off the footpath into the street.
Pushing back, Tony kept up his act, crying "Sacrilege!" and bringing out the most deadly weapon in the friendly armory. The tickle. Rahne squirmed away, scrambling a few steps further down the street and holding her arms out protectively in front of her…
"Cheater..."
"Oi! I resent that!" Hands on his hips, face screwed into a fairly credible pout, the shaggy haired boy was a picture of wounded innocence – if not for the amusement rippling through his scent, at least. Rahne shook her head at him, but she couldn't keep herself from grinning, all the same. For a moment there, she could almost believe that nothing had ever changed.
"So anyway," Tony began again a few minutes later as they continued on their walk. "The game, aye?" Barely pausing for Rahne's acknowledgement, he plunged on enthusiastically. "Ye should ha' seen it, Rahney, it was absolutely mad! Klos was having a rare shocker, ye ken, and we were down 2-0 with quarter of an hour ta go…" The recap was given with additional wild gestures provided, and she did her best to listen with proper attention. "But then Novo got his head on this brilliant cross from the left corner, and a couple of minutes later, Alex Rae set him up again…"
Tony kept talking, relating the minutiae of the dying minutes of the match, but Rahne found her attention wandering. Their path was taking them right past the church, and her attention was inescapably captured by the grey stone of the new addition to the churchyard. Her parents' monument. Forgetting her friend for a second, Rahne turned off the sidewalk, through the gate toward the granite block.
"…and blam! Three – two, and once again, Rangers are the undisputed champi… Rahne?" Tony's voice trailed off, and Rahne was vaguely aware of footsteps behind her, jogging to catch up. But she paid them little heed as she came to a stop in front of the monument, her eyes fixed upon the stark lines of words chiselled into the hard stone.
"Ummm… Rahne?" She looked around to see Tony beside her, face uncertain and scent uneasy. Their unspoken agreement to avoid mention of unpleasant things was all very well, but it was plain that her friend wasn't really sure what he was supposed to do now that the rules had been broken and the unpleasant things were staring them right in the face. He raised a hand slightly, as if to reach out to her, but dropped it again, biting at his lower lip – a sure sign with Tony that he didn't know what he was supposed to be doing.
Giving a brief, tight smile of acknowledgement, Rahne returned her gaze to the monument, and for the first time, she noticed that at the foot of the granite block, a collection of fading bunches of flowers and small candles was accumulating. "People leave wreaths here?" she asked. To her surprise, her voice came out calm and steady – nearly emotionless.
"Aye, they're… we're… all trying ta remember," Tony replied quickly, seemingly glad of something concrete to reply to. "Reverend Arrow, the new minister, says…" But Rahne didn't really care about whatever the most recent voice of the Lord in the village had to say about her parents. God hadn't cared about them when it mattered, had he? In any case, something else had caught her attention.
Down at her feet, almost obscured by the protruding left corner of the monument was a nondescript bunch of small white flowers, unremarkable for anything other than their uniformity and paleness amid the mixes of wildflowers and more exotic blooms. Or almost unremarkable. Kneeling quickly, Rahne bent over to pluck the white flowers from the pile, holding them to her face with a slight frown.
Her friend's confusion was plain. "Uh… what is it, Rahne?"
"These were her favourite," she replied, staring transfixed at the small, pale petals. "She…" As the thought sunk in, activating old memories, Rahne's frown grew, her eyes narrowing. "I have to go," she announced suddenly, pivoting on her heel and walking away from the memorial.
"Wha…? Where?" Tony pounded after her, the confusion growing again in his scent.
Rahne glanced down at the flowers, still gripped in her hand, before looking back at her friend. "I have to pay some respects," she replied flatly. She didn't want to explain right now, even if she could have found the words. "I'll see you later, Ton…"
And with that, she turned and walked away again, leaving him standing in the churchyard with no clue as to where she was going. It was probably better that way.
.....
Jess' house was one of nondescript row near the centre of the village, with nothing to distinguish it from any of its neighbours along the street. Nevertheless Rahne arrived at it unerringly, not even pausing to check the number above the front door. She knocked sharply, then waited, staring levelly at the wooden panelling.
Half a minute later, the door opened, revealing Jess and her little brother, standing on tiptoe to try and peer over his sister's shoulder. "Rahne?" the dark-haired girl asked, eyes widening in surprise. "What are ye…"
"Where is she?" Rahne demanded. Her friend blinked back, her confusion patent. It didn't matter though – Rahne's nose had already given her an answer. All consideration of politeness forgotten for the moment, she stepped through the door, brushing by the two residents and heading for the stairs without saying another word.
The scent that she had been following instinctively led her to what had been the spare guest room for as long as she could remember. Not spare any longer, however – now the room was in use, and its fair-haired occupant was there, sitting at the small desk by the corner.
Rahne crossed the room quickly, closing the distance between herself and the room's occupant in a few short, angry steps. She threw the bunch of flowers down in front of her, their stems now crushed from the tight grip, only just resisting the urge to slam her hand down onto the wood after them. "How dare you…" she snarled, too angry to form any thought more coherent from that from her outrage.
Claire turned to face her calmly, and a small flicker at the corner of her mouth was the only outwardly perceptible sign of the slight alarm that was palpable in her scent. She looked back at Rahne steadily for a moment, seeming to cement her composure, the swallowed a little nervously before speaking. "I'm sorry they're dead." Her voice was smaller than Rahne had remembered, somehow. She actually managed to sound remorseful too, a fact that pulled even more strongly at the wolf girl's anger. After everything that had happened, she thought she could be sorry? She thought she could remember them? Once again, Rahne found herself struggling with the urge to let her claws grow and teeth sharpen.
"How dare you," she asked again, more quietly this time, pointing to the flowers.
The blonde girl dropped her eyes to the desk briefly, then looked back up. "They… I kent they were yer mother's favourite," she said softly.
"I know."
The short, tight sentence made the blonde girl pause for a second, and she at least had the grace to look away momentarily. Guilt suddenly invaded her scent, and when she spoke again, her tone and gaze both held a rare note of pleading. "I couldna do anything – you kent about Dad. I canna… I canna go against him, Rah…"
Claire sounded so helpless that Rahne actually found some of her anger softening for a second, the tension leaching out of her shoulders. Until she remembered the memorial, at least, and the stark words in the churchyard. "I thought you were my friend." She tore out the words like an accusation, trying desperately to hold onto the anger which was in danger of slipping away now that she was face to face with the girl that she had known all of her life.
"I was… I am…" Claire began, floundering for words for possibly the first time in her life. "I just.. it all happened so suddenly, and I didna ken what they meant ta do." She paused for a second, and took a deep breath. "Ye had never given me any clue, and I didna ken what ta think, and then they began ta move, and…" Trailing off again, she looked up Rahne, her blue eyes full of remembered fear, and something that might have been remorse.
Rahne could feel her resolve wavering again, despite the determination to be angry, to hate the girl sitting in front of her. Claire was her friend, had been her best friend for as long as she could remember, and in spite of what had happened, the instinct to believe her excuses, however hollow, was still strong. But she managed one final attempt, clutching at the only thing that she could keep in her mind. "You could have done something."
"What… what could I have done?" The helpless shrug of her shoulders said it all, and even though the last vestiges of her anger flared at the lack of denial, Rahne couldn't help but know that her friend was completely and utterly, depressingly right. One person couldn't have made any difference, the outcome would… But what Claire said next brought the guttering embers of her anger blazing back into full, pure wrath. "I lost them too, Rah – they were like…"
"Nay. Don't say that," Rahne growled, feeling her nails bite into her palms as her hands curled themselves into fists at her side. She was calmer than she would ever have thought she could be, the anger having moved past rage into a cold, icy, diamond fury as she stared back into the pale blue eyes. "Don't ever say that. You've lost that right."
The urge to growl building in her throat, she leaned forward, bringing her face down to the blonde girl's, curling back the sides of her lips to reveal teeth that were already trying to lengthen in to fangs. Claire didn't flinch, didn't so much as move a muscle, and her gaze was steady, despite the small tightening of her throat. It was difficult not to be drawn to that, to the soft pulsing of the veins running down its sides and the urge to tear at them with tooth or claw. And perhaps Claire had perceived that – all signs of guilt and remorse and fear had been driven from her scent, replaced instead by a certain kind of resignation, and perhaps, acceptance.
Rahne stared for a second longer, struggling to bring her anger in check. And then, abruptly, it was gone again, leaving in its wake only a bare emptiness. She spun quickly, turning her back on the Reverend's daughter and stalking out the door again. Perhaps she could never really bring herself to hate Claire, not after fifteen years of friendship, but at least she could try to forget that the other girl existed.
NB: All footballers mentioned in this are in fact real members of the team whose names I got off the official Glasgow Rangers FC site, which I am now a member of. Go Rangers…
And…we'll be back to regularly scheduled political intrigue programming with the next chapter, but I wanted to take a little look back at some of the personal stuff. So…that was Claire folks. I'd be interested to hear what you make of her, since I'm still not really sure myself. Hope you enjoyed anyway, and I shall get onto to the next one asap, with any luck.