Chapter Six - Fairly Flummoxed
Hank McCoy liked to think there wasn't much that could surprise him. Having lived most of his adult life with the threat of turning into a blue furred cousin of King Kong hanging over his head, followed turning into said gorilla look-alike in spectacular fashion, in some circles he might've been considered right. The fact that he now lived with, amongst others, a werewolf, several telepaths, a human pincushion and a doughnut-loving demon, and encountered them all without batting an eyelid only supported the assumption.
Yet he had to admit, right now, he was fairly flummoxed.
He was stood in the Infirmary, rummaging through a cabinet for an IV line and bag and desperately wishing he wasn't teetotal, it wasn't nearing midnight, and he was still in bed.
Behind him, Kitty sat on an uncomfortable chair next to Scott and Jean. The two girls were wrapped in blankets, their sodden nightwear slung over a nearby radiator. They each nursed painful heads – although they were painful for vastly differing reasons.
Scott, on the other hand, was stripped bare to the waist and had a swathe of gauze taped to the shallow claw wounds on his back – something that had made Jean blush and avert her eyes, Kitty grin, and both of them wince for doing so.
It had been discovered when Scott tried to stand up that his 'fall' – of which Hank knew precious little, having been told few actual details other than it had somehow managed to occur while he and Ororo were shepherding the students back into their rooms – had been taken badly. The ankle was, mercifully, only sprained, but he wouldn't be able to walk on it for a while – "Great. I can fend off Magneto without a scratch, but I can't fall over on my own driveway without causing serious injury?" – and Hank resolved to thank Sam, who, one bored Sunday afternoon, had taken it upon himself to repair the Institute's sole set of crutches for something to do.
Hank had thought all the excitement of the evening was over when he finally managed to calm the other students down. He had received the shock of his life when told by the Professor to go immediately to the med-lab, only to find there a handful of students much the worse for wear, a newcomer he didn't recognise, and a very irritated Logan.
The latter now stood in the corner, grumbling and with a cold compress to his still-healing left eye. Hank had ascertained what Logan already knew – that the eyeball had been punctured and, being such a delicate part of the body, subsequently infected; which accounted for why it hadn't healed as fast as the rest of him. Yet he hadn't the time to tend the self-repairing mutant when others who couldn't heal themselves needed his help much more. So Hank pottered around under half of Logan's watchful gaze.
Eventually he found what he sought, clanging the cabinet drawer shut and advancing towards the gurney whereupon lay their newest arrival. The small, damp body seemed inexorably tiny in the large Infirmary. Hank felt a sudden pang of pity as he lifted the arm and searched through matted yellow fur for an accessible vein. After a second he stopped, tutting at his own absent-mindedness, and crossed the room for the electric shaver, bought for Kurt when he'd once needed a tetanus jab after a mission.
Kitty groaned, her voice echoing around the room. Nobody had said anything for quite some time, and they all looked at her.
"Oh, man, I am, like, so never doing that again. My head feels like it has its own personal tickertape parade going on. Are you sure you guys didn't squeegee my brain off the asphalt?"
"No, and I'm glad to hear it," said Hank, and then amended himself. "Uh, that you won't be doing it again, not that your head hurts."
He was nervous. He always had a tendency to babble when he was either nervous or deep in thought on a delicate subject. Since the situation didn't really suit the latter description, he sighed and took a moment to collect his thoughts. However inane, medical procedure required a clear head, not one full of chaff and fug.
"Do we have any more aspirin?" Jean's voice came out thin. She looked through only one eye, and that was slitted against the light.
"You've reached your quota already, I'm afraid," he said lightly. More lightly than he felt, at any rate.
"Damn."
"Excuse you."
Scott shivered. He'd been dried so as not to catch pneumonia during his continued state of shirtlessness, but the Infirmary wasn't the warmest of places. He scratched absently at the gauze, caught Kitty's reproving look, and stopped. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought better and closed it again with an almost audible click.
They were all of them dancing on eggshells, and it was painfully obvious. Not least of all because the reason for their doing so was sitting next to the gurney with a mixture of a scowl and heartbreak etching his face. Smalltalk was all they allowed themselves to indulge in, and not one of them so much as mentioned what had happened outside other than to assess the extent of personal damage. Logan retained a stony silence throughout, which was much the equivalent for him, since it plainly stated that he didn't trust himself to open his mouth without saying something he shouldn't.
Five separate gazes watched as Hank carefully removed all the fur from the inner of their newcomer's arm. The flesh beneath resembled nothing so much as a plucked chicken, and Hank thought as such as he inserted the IV line and steadily avoided meeting anyone's eyes. The figure didn't so much as twitch as the line was inserted, and for the umpteenth time he extracted his penlight from the pocket of his pyjamas and peeled back an eyelid to check pupil dilation.
At any other time, the idea of Beast in his jammies would've been a comical sight. Especially since the jammies in question had been a present from Jamie last Christmas, so Hank felt obliged to wear them even though they were so ridiculously hideous on him – navy blue and, strangely enough, exceptionally baggy in places despite his large frame. He'd thrown a labcoat over the top to try and obscure the pattern, but one half of Donald Duck's face still peeped out accusingly at the world.
Not the best choice of attire to inspire confidence in my medical abilities, he thought dryly. He could feel Ray staring, and could pinpoint the exact second when his gaze drifted from doctor to patient and back again.
Silence fell thick around them, muffling even thought. Hank ignored it, but it pressed in on all sides, creeping into his brain and making him shiver involuntarily. He wasn't a great lover of silence. A little-known fact of his younger years, and one that would have surprised his young charges, was that in college it had always been he that was called upon to turn his music down. Of course, that might have also had something to do with the choice thereof – Tchaikovsky, Sibelius and Gershwin weren't the most popular choices amongst those with whom he shared a roof. Still, his dislike for ultimate quiet hadn't lessened with time, and he bit his tongue several times when he almost said something and then changed his mind.
Nobody else seemed inclined to break it, either. Conversation had dried up into tiny exchanges – most of them stemming from Kitty. Yet her own confusion as to what was going on stunted even her wagging tongue, and she spent much time staring at Ray, wondering after the answers he'd failed to provide since the rain drenched tête-à-tête on the driveway.
Suddenly Ray spoke, startling them all. He hadn't said two words since carrying the newcomer down here, other than the first cryptic comment to Logan and a staunch refusal to let anyone else carry the trespasser.
"What're you doing?"
"Your friend, in addition to her various hurts from your scuffle," Hank eyed Logan, whose gaze told him exactly nothing, "seems to be suffering from a mild case of malnutrition. Put simply, I'm trying to replenish the nutrients in her body. Nothing too drastic, but I hardly think she'd be able to do it herself in the traditional manner, given her current circumstances."
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kitty straighten, but she didn't have to speak for him to know why. The gender of the newcomer was ambiguous at first glance – Especially in the middle of a storm, I'd wager – but it was indeed female. Studying Biology both as a degree and as a hobby had imbued Hank with a certain degree of knowledge about the animal kingdom. He surveyed the figure on the bed as essentially human, but infused with feline characteristics of a specifically female persuasion – a wedge shaped snout, whiskers, instantly recognisable white striped ears, and the sort of lithe, queenly aura that cats carry with them even at rest. The yellow fur, claws and tail had helped too, as had Ray's referrals as 'she' and 'her'. but Hank was sure he could have figured it out on his own, anyway.
Ray stayed ramrod in his chair, back muscles clenched. He mumbled something that only Hank's excellent hearing – and, indubitably, also Logan's – picked up on.
"Not my friend."
Hank blinked, but refrained from probing the matter. Young Master Crisp seemed in no mood for light conversation, let alone a grilling on his connections with a young, heretofore unknown mutant who just happened to be found sneaking around the Institute grounds at night with ostensibly violent purposes towards the occupants therein.
Well, who wouldn't want to talk about something like that, now?
However, not everybody was as tactful as him. Scott cleared his throat and looked at Ray through the lenses of his spare shades – procured from his bedroom by Hank the way down to the med-lab.
"Ray, tell us straight. What's going on here?"
Surprisingly, Ray answered. "Nothing."
Scott licked his lips, exchanging a glance with Jean. She shrugged, and from the pained look on her face Hank knew they hadn't been engaging in any kind of psychic conversation. She honestly didn't know what to say or do.
"Who is she?"
"Nobody."
"You, um..." Kitty added her voice to the mix. "You called her something outside. You called her 'Feral'. Is that her name?"
"No."
"Oh, right." She paused, mulling over her next question. "Is it a codename, like ours?"
Ray said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed on Hank's hands as he rearranged the newcomer's limbs to accommodate the IV. Kitty's brows pulled together, but Scott laid a hand on her arm and shook his head.
It was a shock when Ray let out a sigh and crumpled back into his chair, arms flopped over the sides and chin dipped onto his chest. He mumbled something, but this time it was loud enough for everyone to hear. "Might as well, I suppose. If it's true... what's the point in keeping secrets like that? Didn't help them in the end, did it?"
He was evidently talking to himself, but shifted his eyes over to them as he went on. "Her real name's Maria. Maria Callasantos. She just started calling herself Feral when her mutations appeared – for obvious reasons." He gestured flaccidly at the fur, fangs and limp, trailing tail. "She prefers it. Won't let anybody call her Maria to her face, and if they do it behind her back, she finds out."
"They?"
"The other Morlocks." It was said in an offhand voice, but the subtle clenching of his jaw and fingers, the fractional pause and the general tension in the air didn't go unnoticed. Hank ventured a guess that saying that one sentence had taken more courage than Ray was ever likely to let on.
He cleared his throat. "Permit me to intrude, but if memory serves, the Morlocks were a purely literary creation found in H.G. Wells's novel 'The Time Machine'."
Ray answered with a snort. "Wires and crossed, Mr. McCoy. The Morlocks I'm talking about are a completely different breed to the ones in any tatty book. Don't kid yourself; they're as real as any of you. Otherwise, what do you call that right there?"
It was Scott who replied, albeit tentatively. "A mutant?"
"Damn straight."
"So the Morlocks are mutants?"
Ray said nothing.
Kitty shifted in her seat, the hard plastic digging into her legs. "So, if they're so real and so... um, mutant, then how come we've never heard of them before? I mean, surely Cerebro or the Professor - "
"They've never been found because they don't wanna be found," Ray bit out. "Same reason you've never seen 'em before. They didn't wanna be seen." There was an edge to his voice that Hank didn't care for, but the equally strained light in the boy's eyes quelled any reprimand he might've given. It seemed that Master Crisp was finding this question and answer session a little strenuous.
Perhaps a little too strenuous.
Hank wasn't a bone fide genius, but he'd been lucky enough to be born with more than his fair share of intelligence, plus enough common sense to set it off in the right direction. He'd often reflected upon that as the reason he'd given up a lucrative and well-respected position at the Brand Corporation to teach High School kids. The pay was bad for a man of his talents, the respect non-existent, and the workload severe, but he'd been able to walk away from the antithesis because his common sense told him he was in a job he hated, and would always hate for the rest of his life.
Thus it was that when he regarded Ray at that moment – tense, sullen, gritting out every word like it was as painful to keep in as it was to let out – Hank put two and two together and came up with a provisional five he'd later ask of the Professor and be told was exactly correct.
Scott nibbled his lip; an odd habit for someone his age, Hank thought. "Um, Ray? How, um... how do you - "
The question was cut off as the Professor's psychic 'voice' spoke into their minds like a tannoy. It was directed at only a few, but projected to the other inhabitants of the Infirmary as well, in so doing subduing any conversation.
Hank, would you be so kind as to send Ray up to my study, please? That is, if you're quite done with him, and he doesn't mind.
Hank looked at Ray, and then nodded – a redundant gesture, but one that made him feel better. He was still getting used to this disconcerting style of conversation. Some days wondered if he would ever get the hang of speaking without needing to watch a person's face for a reaction. He's fit and healthy apart from a few scratches. Whether he'll want to leave yet, though... "Ray?"
Wordlessly, Ray rose from his seat and walked towards the door, med-lab percale pyjamas rustling slightly in the ensuing silence. He bid nobody goodbye, and nobody said a thing to him, but they all watched as he flopped to the door on bare feet.
It slid back with a hiss, but before he could pass through Hank impulsively grabbed the boy's shoulder. Ray looked startled at the contact, but otherwise his face remained steadfastly neutral.
Hank took a moment to regard his gaze, and then fell back on the man who had helped him through so many of his own crises with centuries-old wisdom. He called upon college memories of standing atop a stage, the only science student willing to be seen in a drama society Shakespearean production, and quoted directly. "No legacy is so rich as honesty."
The response was brief and tiny; a mere flare of something in Ray's eyes that could've been his power, had it not been clearly apparent he wasn't using it. They he broke away and was gone down the corridor, skin sticking audibly to the metal until he entered the elevator.
Charles Xavier sat behind his desk, already careworn face made a little more haggard from the events of the evening. He was a patient soul, as evidenced by the school in which he now sat, but even he had his limits.
In the absence of Logan and the older students he'd been forced to intervene in herding the younger children away from the windows and comforting a few distraught minds in the process. Jamie in particular was always quick to distress, demonstrating his young age in panicky situations. Thus, Charles was tired. Plus, having Logan mentally complain at him for the best part of an hour was taking its toll. For while Logan remained silent in the Infirmary, his mind was firmly engaged in telling Charles what he should and shouldn't be doing with their new arrival, inserting many graphic details when the anger in him overruled good sense.
Even the most carefully erected mental walls had chinks in them. Logan had known Charles long enough to find ways of wheedling his way through if he had a point he felt strongly enough about. The skirmish outside had damaged both his pride and his body, as well as riling the protectiveness he felt for the students, thereby whipping him into a rage he needed to vent on something.
Unfortunately, Charles was it.
Some days I truly wonder if these gifts really are just that, he thought to himself with a heartfelt sigh, redoubling his efforts to temper the gruff mutant and failing dismally.
He'd successfully tuned Logan out when there was a knock at his door. He already knew who it was, and so forewent his usual ritual of asking and instead simply bid the person enter.
Ray did so, slumping in a chair without being told to. He picked at the armrest and refused to meet Charles's eyes.
Charles forgave the rudeness. The boy had a lot on his mind, and he tactfully re-attuned his shields to allow him more privacy. Ray was a very loud thinker, and his mind was preoccupied enough that he was forgetting his shielding. Thank goodness Jean's headache prevented her from picking up on some of his more personal thoughts.
Nonetheless, Charles's defences hadn't been enough for him to escape the patchwork of thought and emotion Ray exhibited outside, nor the confusion and fear of the newcomer either. Thus it was that he called upon Ray now, without having spoken to him beforehand about the matter. There was no need to explain the grounds behind the audience, after all. He already knew what was going through the boy's mind.
So that was what he opened with, "I think you know why I've called you."
"Saved by the bell?" Ray's voice was flat. He didn't look up from where his gaze was welded to the floor. "Let's pretend I don't. Care to explain?"
Charles sighed. Ray wasn't going to make this easy. He had every right to be snappish, given the current situation, but it really wasn't something he needed when he was bone weary and in serious need of a good, restful night's sleep.
A clap of thunder sounded outside, resounding around the dark oak-panelled room.
Or just a night's sleep, at least.
Charles steepled his hands, a practised gesture, and one that always seemed to clear his head; as if by looking thoughtful he could somehow become it. "All right then, let's start at the beginning, and with the question I think you know I'm going to ask. How much do you want to tell the other students? There's no getting away from it, Ray," he went on, garbling his words slightly in an effort to get them out before Ray could cut him off. And I'm supposed to be a public speaker? "I'm not going to mind-wipe anybody, so don't even bother asking. They all saw what happened tonight, or will have heard about it by tomorrow morning. Plus there's the little matter of your friend's continued presence. They'll want answers, as will the other faculty members. Ororo and Hank are good people, and I don't wish to lie to them. I'm sure they'd understand. But... if you don't want them to know about your connection to the Morlocks, then I'll have to respect your decision. Them, or the rest of the Institute."
He let out a brief sigh, surprised at Ray's persistent silence. It wasn't that Ray was a continual fount of conversation like, say, Kitty, but there was a reason he often adopted the role of spokesperson for the New Mutants. "So, what I'm trying – very inarticulately – to say is this: how much are you willing for people to know?"
Ray was silent, pensive, and the air of the room seemed to charge with tension and static. Charles tapped his fingertips together, waiting. It was true, he didn't want to lie to anybody, but this, in essence, wasn't his secret to tell. The ramifications for Ray were a consideration – one that made any course of action one the boy had to first be privy to.
"Everything, I suppose," he said at last, and with an air of deep resignation. "It's going to come out anyway, as soon as Feral wakes up. And I already spilled a few beans. They'll wanna know more than what I said. If I don't tell them, they'll do something stupid, like try and find out by themselves."
Charles arched an eyebrow, but it was mainly for effect. He hardly even realised he was doing it. "Feral? Is that her name?"
"You're the telepath. Don't you already know?"
"I'm not in the habit of poking around where I'm not wanted, Ray. Your privacy was never in question from the moment you stepped through our doors, and never will be." Charles let out a breath. "I'm sorry you thought otherwise."
The soothing edge to his voice made Ray deflate, and for a second Charles caught a glimpse of the dread and fear in his eyes. Gone was his bravado, replaced by something very different. Ray suddenly looked very young, and Charles' heart twitched as it had done so many times when confronted with a young person in need of help he perhaps couldn't give.
"I know... sorry. It's just... I never thought...ah, fuck it." Ray threw back his head and stared at the ceiling. "Fuck it all."
Charles leaned back, trying not to encroach on any personal space, even though there was a heavy desk and several feet between them. "Who is she? A friend?"
"I... don't know."
"Excuse me?"
"I suppose you could call her an old teammate, except they weren't just a team... so much more than that. She is – was – a Morlock."
"Was?"
His head didn't move, but he stared down his nose, making eye contact for the first time. "I never told you a lot of things," he said slowly, "and some of them I'm still not gonna tell you. On the other hand, there's stuff you've gotta know. That everybody's gotta know." He waved a hand, spiralling it at the wrist like it was too weighty to do anything but dangle. "You already know who and what the Morlocks were."
The use of past tense was noted, but not commented on. Charles simply nodded, affirming the statement.
"One of the most important things was always keeping secret. Nobody could know we were there, or even have an clue about who we were if they did see us. For the most part it was easy because of where we lived. I mean, the sewers ain't exactly a home away from home, are they? Nothing down there but a few drunks and bums. Perfect place for a bunch of freaks to hide out without being noticed."
Charles winced at the phraseology as much as the vehemence behind it. It seemed that Ray's feelings for the Morlocks' situation went a little deeper than even he was willing to admit. "And something compromised this?" He raised his palms to gesture that he hadn't used his telepathy to make the assumption.
"Yeah. Something like that. More specifically, someone. Guy named Sevarius. We never worked out how he knew about us. Just turned up one day and demanded to meet with Callisto. Freaked the rest of us out."
"Callisto?"
"Our leader."
"Oh. She - "
"Yeah, she met with him. Apparently he made some demands of the tribe, wanted things she wasn't willing to make us do."
"What sort of things?" Charles kept his voice even, but pored over the name with alarm. Anton Sevarius – if that was the man to whom Ray was referring – was a renowned geneticist, intelligent to the point of true genius, but ruthless and with no qualms about trampling anything and anyone in the pursuit of a goal – including the law. He'd had to good fortune – at least, it had seemed that way at the time – to attend one of Sevarius' lectures during his college years, and knew him to be passionate about his work, if slightly cold and unemotional about the rest of the world. Later on, after he became a lecturer himself, Charles met with him again, and was left with clear memories of a merciless gaze and predatory smile when talking about his favourite topic – genetic mutations.
Ray met Charles's gaze again. "He was some kinda doctor. He wanted - and I quote - 'tissue samples' from a few of us. Even had the donors all picked out, although how he knew is something we never managed to figure out. Guy gave me the creeps right from the beginning. Anyway, Callisto told him to go fuck himself, of course. Their argument got quite bad."
"You sound like you were there."
"I was. That was a fault of mine, sticking my nose where it didn't belong."
The memory of a lash across his bare back for eavesdropping cut through the ether unannounced. Charles's mouth dropped open with a small gasp before he could stop it. Ray looked at him sharply, but Charles schooled his features into a mask of neutrality whilst at the same time bolstering his shields a little more. Private thoughts indeed.
"Sevarius left, but he was majorly pissed off. Cussed us all on the way out. You think I'm bad, you should've heard this guy. Made me look like Doris fucking Day. He told us - and I quote again - 'if he couldn't be privy to the gene pool then he'd find other ways'. Then he just disappeared – poof! We never heard from him again. That was six months before I left, and there was still no mention when I flew the coop."
That didn't sound like the Sevarius that Charles remembered. For a second he let himself hope that he was thinking of somebody else entirely, despite the coincidences. After all, coincidence accounted for a lot in life. Besides which, he was fairly sure Sevarius had mysteriously dropped out of the scientific circuit a few years ago, and never been heard from since – which was amazing, considering the size of the man's professional ego. There had even been rumours of his death, though sources said he'd been spotted several times since then.
He resolved to ask Hank about it. His erstwhile connections with the scientific world might prove useful after all.
"You think this Sevarius character has something to do with your... with Feral coming here?"
Ray laughed humourlessly, letting his head roll forward again. "I think he has a lot more to do with this whole thing than just driving her into Upworld. I think he finally made good on his promise and came back to destroy the Morlocks."
Charles shook his head as the statement sank in. "I think you may be jumping to conclusions - "
"Am I?" Ray's gaze turned hard. "Feral wouldn't leave the sewers, not for anything. She hates Upworld. Something really big had to have happened to send her up here. Plus, she'd never go anywhere without her sister, Thornn. They were always together - always. Once, Thornn broke her ankle on a mission and Feral single-handedly fought off a gang of thugs and carried her back to us under her own power. She trekked three miles through sewage, Professor. Three miles." He blinked slowly, as if he'd said something of great meaning.
Charles still wasn't convinced. Sevarius was ruthless, yes, but a cold-blooded murderer? The concept was just too fantastic.
"How do you know it's this Sevarius?"
"Nobody else had a grudge against the Morlocks. We stayed clear of everyone to keep from making enemies. Got enough fucking problems without creating more."
"But you've been gone almost a year. Things might've changed since then."
"Don't work that way. Believe me."
"All right then. How do you know Feral was telling the truth outside? From what I sensed of her mind, she was confused and disorientated, and she fainted not long after speaking to you. You may be misinterpreting something she said to mean more than it does."
"She said the Morlocks were dead. You can't mistake something like that, Professor. She found me out after all this time, specially. As far as the Morlocks went, I was the one who was dead. Lost on a mission. She must've really been grabbing at straws to go look for me. It's gotta be Sevarius. Nobody else would be stupid enough to take them on. He said he had the power to do it, but we never took him seriously. After all, he was only a human..."
"Do you really think that's what happened?"
"What else could it be?" Ray sighed, rubbing at the sore spot between his eyes and pinching the flesh nervously. "Look, I didn't come up here to debate what happened to my old... to the Morlocks. You said you wanted to know how much you could tell the others to explain about Feral being here, right?"
"Indeed."
"Well, you don't gotta worry about it. I'll tell 'em."
Charles' brows pulled together. "Are you sure that's wise? I won't beat around the bush, Ray. You've been keeping secrets from them for a long time. They probably won't be too happy that you didn't trust them enough to tell them until you were forced into it."
"I know. That's why I gotta be the one to tell 'em. It'll sound better coming from me. Besides, like I said, I never told you everything, and I don't want you saying stuff that they could give them any wrong ideas."
Charles puckered his brow. "Er, quite. Well, if you think it's best - "
Another dour burst of laughter. "Professor, it ain't about what I think is best, it's about what's gotta be done. If Feral's come here, then she's probably come for help. Y'know, um... what's the word? Um..." He scratched the back of his head, frowning in thought.
"Sanctuary?"
"Yeah... I suppose. Sounds a bit like The Hunchback of Notre Dame, but you get the general idea. The others need to know where she's from and what she's been through so they don't treat her the wrong way. She's got a bit of a temper – always has done."
"I think Logan found that out, much to his own cost."
Ray looked suddenly embarrassed, and went back to picking at the armrest, staring studiously at nothing.
Charles rested his elbows on the desk. "It sounds almost like you're trying to protect her."
That startled him. He blinked, as if thinking about the possibility for the first time. "Maybe I am," he said after a moment, strangely contemplative. More contemplative than was normal for him, at any rate, and Charles instantly chastised himself for such an unkind thought. Ray was sometimes rather introverted, true, but no more than Rogue, Kurt or any of the other students could be when they chose to.
Ray shook himself. "Anyway, that's beside the point. What matters is how much the others get to hear. And I'll tell you now, Professor, they can't know the location of the tunnels where you and Logan found me, got it? I don't care how much you trust them and say they're all good at heart," a slight sneer crept into his voice, and Charles felt his feathers ruffling a little, "that information's off limits. I'm not running the risk of having anyone go exploring down there – and don't say they won't, 'cause they will, given half a chance. If Feral's here, then there may be other survivors, and that's where they'll go for their sanctuary. So we leave it alone, okay?"
The steel in his tone made Charles feel even more tired than he'd felt before, and in no condition to be arguing such a petty point. Looking at the boy's equally hard eyes, it was doubtful he'd win even if he entertained the idea.
He'd said he'd abide by Ray's decision, and here it was. Now was the time for him to follow through on his promise. "All right, if you feel that's best - "
"Damn straight, I do."
"– Then I'll do as you say." He linked his fingers, peering through the lattices. He closed his eyes briefly, scanning the Institute to 'see' who was still awake. It was both a relief and a disappointment to find that they all were – most of them excited, and all bubbling over with questions. "The other students aren't yet asleep, so I could gather them together if you'd like? Usually I wouldn't condone such behaviour on a school night, but I think I can make an exception in these extenuating circumstances. Unless you'd rather wait until morning?"
"Nu-uh. I'd rather just get it outta the way while I still can." He was going to tear of the entire side of the armrest if he kept clawing at that way. He stopped abruptly, scrubbing at his hair. It stuck out at even more angles than usual, which was doubly odd after his drenching in the rain. "Shit... I don't wanna do this at all..."
"My offer's still open if you want me to tell them."
His answer was quick. "No. No, it's better this way. Not the easier route, but the better one. Crap on a raft – why is the better way always so damn difficult?"
Charles tried a comforting smile, but it came out watery. He'd pondered that self-same question over a hundred times and never come up with an answer. "Just another mystery of the world, I'm afraid."
"Well that's fucking comforting."
The Rec. Room bustled, the air alive with a hum of activity and far too much noise for just-past-midnight. Voices whispered, never rising above the respective murmur the witching hour demands, but never truly dying away either. It was so unusual to be called out of bed to an unprecedented meeting that it warranted a little comment.
Well, okay, more than a little. They were teenagers after all.
The hum increased when Kitty, Jean and Scott hobbled in – the latter with the aid of a pair of crutches and both of the former with sizeable ice packs grafted to their skulls. They smelled of antiseptic and cleanliness, and had the other students not already known where they'd been, the percale pyjamas and distinguishing smell of the Infirmary were clues enough.
The trio were hit by a barrage of questions the moment they stepped through the door. They answered as many as they could while trying to make their way to a few seats. Yes, Logan had been in a fight. No, it hadn't been Sabertooth as they'd suspected. No, they didn't truly know who his opponent had been, but yes, she was downstairs in the med-lab along with Beast, who wouldn't be attending the meeting but would no doubt get full details from the Professor later. Yes, they'd appreciate it if Bobby and Kurt gave up the couch, and no, Scott didn't trip over his own feet to get the crutches.
The last comment was greeted by a smattering of giggles. All laughter abruptly snapped off as if someone had thrown the switch on an anti-humour device when Logan stalked in. He shot each and every one of them his patented evil eye, the effect of which was exacerbated by the fact that one of his own lids was still shut and covered by a strip of grey gauze. He was not a happy bunny. Roberto scurried away from the fireplace to let him stand there.
The silence was constant until finally, a few minutes later, the familiar drone of the Professor's wheelchair could be heard whirring down the corridor. All eyes turned to the door, and when he rolled in with Ray by his side there were more than a few raised eyebrows.
Ray kept his gaze glued to the floor, and didn't look at anyone as the Professor stopped and visually scanned the room to make sure everyone was present. Scott, Jean and Kitty exchanged glances, but said nothing. Nor did they venture to look at Logan, though Kitty swore blind afterwards that she could hear him growling.
"Is everyone here?" Xavier asked needlessly.
"Yes, already," said Amara with a yawn her hand barely covered. Evidently the excitement hadn't been enough to entirely stave off her need for sleep. "Can we get on with this? I need my beauty rest."
"With a face like that, I can believe it," Jubilee sniped from the across the room.
She squealed as Amara indulged in some very un-princessly behaviour and hurled a cushion at her head. She threw one back, of course, but a well-placed rumble from Logan dispelled any chance of a full-scale pillow-war before it could start. The two girls fell to glaring instead.
Xavier nodded, and continued in a controlled voice. "Students, I'll be brief. You're all already aware that tonight we had a rather strange and unannounced visitor in the grounds. I know enough about the gossip machine within these walls not to need my telepathy for that. Basically, Logan engaged the intruder in combat, and after much to-do she's now unconscious and recovering from their skirmish in the Infirmary, in the very competent care of Beast."
On the couch Kitty harrumphed, slightly miffed that their part in the incident had been omitted. However, she refrained from further comment as the Professor went on, introducing Ray to the floor and wheeling away to sit next to Logan. She leaned forward, instantly enrapt. Now maybe they'd get some proper answers. Having done her fair share of 'engaging' outside, she was anxious to find out more about her odd opponent. That, and Ray's strange behaviour had made her feel more than a little worried.
Kitty was a caring soul – probably one of the most caring souls anybody was ever likely to meet in any lifetime. Kurt had often remarked that she didn't have a malicious bone in her body, and that was high praise coming from the boy she'd avoided like the plague for the first few months after meeting him, then reduced practically to a coma on their very first mission together. Next to Jean, she was one of the most approachable members of the X-Men, and the most popular.
Except with Ray.
When the new recruits first came to the mansion, Ray had been as prickly as a cactus and twice as sharp, shunning everybody and greeting all conversation with a bad word. The Professor had told them he was probably just taking a little time to get acclimatised, and the few short conversations and cryptic comments he exchanged along the way had made others think the same thing.
Eventually, however, they'd realised that his antisocial behaviour was typical, and that he always acted that way, which had made him not so much unpopular amongst his peers as intimidating to them. Sure, he did what he was told, and he always held his own in Danger Room sims. In that respect he was probably the most dependable of the beta squad. Yet outside the DR he never sought the company of others, and though he participated in various pursuits it was always with a surly word and a scowl.
Kitty still remembered trying to mollify him that first day, when she accidentally phased into his new (and her old) bedroom, and then again later that evening when she ran into him in the hall. She'd succeeded neither time, and never quite managed after that either. Ray's general demeanour had been enough to stretch even her famous patience and goodwill to breaking point.
She supposed that, combined with her anxiety over Mr. Logan, that had been the reason behind her animosity towards him in the hall earlier. Truth be told, she was a little ashamed of her outburst. It had hurt for Scott and Jean to have to mediate between them like they were a pair of squalling children. Kitty didn't hate Ray, as some professed to – read: Roberto. Rather, she found him and his arms-length attitude very tiresome, and the whole tough-guy act left her cold after Lance.
That didn't stop her worrying about him, though. He was, she reasoned, still her teammate. And if there was one thing she'd learned as an X-Man, it was that you looked after your own. After all, if they didn't worry about each other, nobody else was going to.
So it was with a partial desire to make amends that Kitty sat and watched Ray scuff his foot on the carpet and clear his throat like he had a multitude of frogs in it.
He's nervous, she thought, astonished he was even capable of the emotion. Ray was brash, confident, and knew what he was about. He did not get nervous. It weirded her out to see an actual human being underneath all that bluster and cussing. Well, why not? she remonstrated herself. After all, Lance isn't a complete thug, is he? Why should it be different for anybody else?
"Ray?" the Professor said in his tried-and-tested fatherly voice.
Ray sighed and raised his eyes, not looking at anyone, but at the same time looking at them all. "Her name's Feral," he said simply, words fast and clipped, "although some of you already know that. She comes from a tribe of mutants called the Morlocks. You might ask yourselves, 'what the hell are the Morlocks'? Well, the Morlocks are probably where Fuzzy would be right now if he wasn't here with us."
Kurt blinked in surprise. "Was?"
The Professor winced.
"Morlocks are mutants whose physical mutations make it impossible for them to live normal lives," Ray explained. "They don't got no fancy holowatches or nothing to help 'em, so the only thing they can do is hide away and hope nobody ever sees 'em and... y'know." He gestured flaccidly, starched fabric of his pyjamas exceptionally noisy in the ensuing quiet.
Kitty was shocked, as was everyone. Nobody mentioned Kurt's physical mutations unless they were joking around or really trying to hurt him. Nobody. She knew, since for a long time she'd used the word 'demon' as the ultimate insult to win an argument, until finally realising how much damage she was doing.
Ray wasn't joking.
She cast a glance Kurt's way. Sure enough, he sat tight as a coiled spring, tail in his lap but twitching at a faster pace than before. She couldn't tell if he was angry or upset, and for a second she just wanted to go over and slap Ray for bringing something so sensitive up without warning like that.
However, Ray surprised them all for the second time by adding, "I didn't mean anything bad by that, Kurt. It's the same for Mr. McCoy, too. And that Angel guy in New York. Physical mutations that are hard to miss, y'know?"
Kurt relaxed a little, but Kitty saw that his tail still twitched a lot. "I know," he said, eternally forgiving. It was one of his best and worst traits. "I also know what can happen if the wrong sort of 'norms' see mutants like us." He shivered, and next to him Rahne touched his arm in a comforting, strangely understanding gesture.
Ray cleared his throat again, and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, like I said, the Morlocks hide away so that sort of stuff won't happen. They all live in a place nobody'd ever think to look for 'em. A safe place. They, um..." He coughed. His throat must've felt like sandpaper from number of times he'd cleared it. "They live in the sewers."
There was a beat. Then: "Eeeeew!" Amara stuck out her tongue. "How utterly disgusting, living amongst waste and filth like that. Couldn't they just move to the countryside or something, where people couldn't see them?"
Ray's cheeks flushed. His gaze dropped back to the carpet he was toeing.
Kitty flipped between him and the princess, taking in both of their reactions. Amara tossed her slinky hair, looking for all the world like a model from a L'Oreal commercial despite the rest of her bed-rumpled appearance. By comparison, Ray was windswept, his orange spikes sagging into his eyes, and he tugged uncomfortably at the sleeve of his borrowed pyjamas. He looked, she thought, like he would rather be anywhere but there, and she felt an unfamiliar surge of pity towards him. This was something big for him to say. The fact that he had broken the Kurt-taboo spoke for itself.
It was that same pity that made her turn around and snap, "Shut up, Amara. Let him talk," and then ignore the other girl's astonished expression. Kitty didn't snap, or snarl, or growl. For her to act that way was about as unusual as it was for Ray to say anything without adding in half a dozen cusses and grunts for good measure - neither of which he'd done thus far.
He looked up, shocked, and Kitty nodded at him to continue, pointedly disregarding Amara's rumbling outrage. Amara, Kitty knew from experience, was wont to flare up in temper as well as power, even if the reason was so petty it didn't bear thinking about.
"Uh, thanks. I think."
Jamie shifted where he was sitting on the floor. "Poor things," he said in a small voice, achingly sympathetic. "Is that why Feral came here? Because she didn't like living in the sewers anymore?"
Ray sighed and shook his head, swapping a look with Xavier before briefly outlining what he thought had happened to drive Feral to the surface. His words were greeted by a horde of aghast muttering. When he'd finished Kitty found herself staring openly.
That anybody could be so cold was a concept she'd thought relegated only to bad science fiction and melodrama. It took several seconds for the idea to sink in that people could be murdered en masse like that, simply because of the make-up of their blood.
Scott asked in his best leader voice whether Ray could be mistaken in his speculation – after all, that was all it was. He had no real proof of this Sevarius' involvement. Yet Ray was adamant, and wouldn't even entertain the idea that it could be anything else.
"There's two things I don't believe in, man; coincidence and unicorns."
Finally Logan broke in, speaking for the first time since his arrival and cowing them into respectful silence. "You sure you ain't got the wrong end of the stick, kid?"
"Positive."
"Then why didn't this 'Feral' just ask us for help? Why'd she sneak in, and then make an attack before she knew whether we were friendly or not? For that matter," he narrowed his eyes – or, more appropriately, eye - "how'd she get past the security systems in the first place? You got answers to that, too?"
"Feral's not dumb, no matter how much she looks like an animal. I can't tell you exactly how she got in, but believe me, if a Morlock wants into a place, you can bet your ass and vital organs they'll find a way in."
"I almost did." Logan flexed his fingers, not-quite-brandishing the lumps that hid his claws as emphasis. It was an idle thing to say, given his mutation and fighting prowess, but it sent shivers up and down Kitty's spine nonetheless.
"Um, Ray?" Sam's tentative voice broke in, and a blush rose to his cheeks as all eyes turned on him. Kitty attempted a comforting look, but it was lost amidst the curious gazes, and for a moment she felt sorry for him. Sam wasn't a fan of getting too much attention, since he claimed it made him screw up and accentuated his clumsiness. Rahne and Jubilee were forever reassuring him, but the fact that he had yet to properly grow into his gawky body was a constant sticking point - one that Ray and Roberto had both been known to pick on him about in the past.
Still, since he was sitting squidged between Rahne and Jubilee, there wasn't much chance of it coming to the fore now. "You seem to know a lot about these, uh, 'Morlocks'."
It wasn't said accusingly, but Ray's response was snappish enough that it might as well have been. "Yeah? What of it?"
Sam flustered. "Uh, what I mean to say is, uh... uh..." He floundered, looking around for help. It wasn't difficult to locate, since the question he was trying to ask was one that had been stewing in each of their brains. Certainly, Kitty had thought of it, but it'd seemed prudent to hold her tongue until he was finished. Now, however, she leaned forward in her seat, shifting her ice pack to see better.
Oddly, it was Rogue who took over. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "I think what Sam's tryin' to ask is, how come you know so much about these Morlocks if they're so secretive an' junk?"
Ray's face froze, emotion draining from it until it was as neutral as neutral could be. He stared at the floor with the air of one facing imminent doom; and Kitty realised the startling truth mere moments before he confirmed it.
"I know because I used to be one of them."
The statement was met with silence, which was surprising in itself. Complete and utter silence. No muted whispers made the rounds, no hasty muttering. Only quiet as everyone absorbed the meaning behind that one little admittance. Someone coughed, but it made no difference. Something intangible crackled in the air around them – an electric current of understanding.
"Why?" Kitty asked, when it became apparent that nobody else was going to. Might as well bite the bullet. "You're not - " she stopped herself. She'd almost said 'deformed'! "You don't look different."
Ray's gaze stayed rooted where it was. He clasped his hands behind his back. "When my powers first kicked in, I nearly levelled my school gym. I got scared and bolted. Ran away. They took me in – made me one of them when I had nowhere else to go. I stayed there over six months. Callisto, their leader, even gave me a new name to welcome into her tribe. Berzerker. They taught me how to fight, how to steal, how to survive on the streets with nobody catching you. They're the reason I survived."
"So why'd you leave?"
"I wasn't a very good student. Kept going off on my own, not following orders the way I should've." He sighed. It seemed to come right from his toes. "You have to understand that the tunnels were our home, and we protected that home, just like the X-Men do the mansion.
"I got sent on a reconnaissance mission to scope out some band of thugs who'd moved in a little too close for comfort. They were a weird bunch – shifty. Callisto worried they might be drug pushers or something, so she sent a bunch of us to check it out. We didn't want too many people poking around down there, for obvious reasons.
"But I was dumb, as always. The others told me not to, but I thought I knew better. I took too many risks – got too close trying to figure out what they were up to. They spotted me. Gave me a few scars to remember them by, and chased me almost right outta the tunnels into Upworld. Too many to fight alone, and the others already said they were going back. I didn't listen to them. Let them go. Thought I could handle it on my own. Chuh, what did I know? I'd nearly bought the big one by the time they were done. Lucky for me, Logan and the Professor turned up to pull my fat outta the fire." He inclined his head.
Logan nodded, validating the story.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Kitty asked softly. "Did you think we'd treat you any different, knowing where you'd come from?"
"I... yeah. Yeah, I suppose I did." Ray looked embarrassed. "Plus, there was the whole vow of secrecy thing that every Morlock keeps."
"So you're saying you didn't trust us?"
"It wasn't a case of whether I trusted you or not. I took the oath, and the Morlocks were my tribe, so I couldn't break it without feeling... y'know, like I'd let them down or something."
Rogue sat up, recapturing his attention. "If you felt so strongly about 'em, why'd you leave? I'm assumin' Professor Xavier offered you a place here at the Institute. So why'd you take it if the Morlocks were your 'tribe'? Why didn't you go back once you'd been rescued?"
Ray looked at her, and only at her, and Kitty saw the unflappable Goth actually squirm under the intensity of his gaze. "Because I'm banished," he deadpanned. "The second I took up the Professor's offer, I could never go back. That's another law of the tunnels. To the Morlocks, I'm dead. Less than dead. I never existed." He gave a mirthless laugh at the irony of it all.
"God," Rogue whispered, obviously shocked. "But if you knew that'd happen, why'd you join us? Why'd you give it all up?"
"Because..." Ray trailed off, and tilted his head back to stare contemplatively at the ceiling. This was clearly something he'd thought about more than once, and from the looks of things, he'd never come up with a real answer before. "I don't exactly know why I did it. I could claim momentary insanity, but... but it was something I wanted to do. Didn't the rest of you feel that way when you got the chance of a life with people who understood what you were going through? Who knew what it was like to have these sorts of abilities, and didn't care that you were different?"
Kitty had to admit that she did, and a look around the room confirmed that others felt the same way.
"There was another reason, too," Ray said in a low voice, a half-whisper that sounded like he was hoping nobody would hear and force him to go on with. Kitty got the impression from his drooping posture that this was difficult for him. "I'm not proud of it either."
Your intuition's getting better, Pryde. "You don't have to tell us if you don't want to," she started, but he held up a hand to make her stop and went on with something akin to finality in his tone.
"I... I never really felt comfortable being a Morlock. I guess I was kinda... ashamed to be one. There, I said it. They were the closest thing I ever got to a real family, and I like them, but I hated what being one of them meant. I hated having to hide out in Upworlder garbage just because of the way I was born, and I hated having to skulk in shadows like I wasn't a real person anymore. I... I guess you could say I just wanted to be normal again. The Institute gave me a shot at that. I could be a mutant, but still move back to Upworld. I... I missed the sun down there, and when I got so close after the fight, I just didn't wanna turn back. I was selfish. I didn't think about the others, I just thought about myself, and by the time I realised that, it was too late." He stopped, breathing quicker than before. A look of intense amazement etched his face.
It seemed there were a few things Ray had got off his chest that not even he had known until they were out.
"Jesus H – I never... I didn't... holy crap on a raft, what've I said?" he mumbled, clapping a hand over his mouth, as if he could stuff the admission back in that way.
"You said what you feel," the Professor said smoothly, wheeling forward and interposing himself between Ray and the rest of the student body.
"But I never... aw, shit."
"You should never hide what you feel, Ray. If you do, it just bottles up and vents itself in other ways, or else stunts your ability to show feelings at all."
"Emotional constipation, right?"
Xavier flinched. "Not the phrasing I would've used, but yes." He turned to the rest of them. "Feral came here looking for sanctuary. We believe she tracked Ray to the mansion, and that's why she broke in. Her condition is still uncertain, both physically and mentally," he touched the side of his head, "and if she truly has been through what Ray believes, then I'd appreciate it if you'd all be patient until we can properly discern what's to be done. Is that understood?"
There was a chorus of 'yes Professor,' and he bobbed his head, glancing at his watch. "It's very late, and you all have school in the morning. I think it would be best if you all returned to your rooms now."
"Uh, Professor?" Scott interrupted, eliciting a curious gaze from his mentor and guardian. "Can I just say something?"
"Of course, Scott."
"Uh, to Ray?"
Dutifully, Xavier moved aside. Ray stood centre stage once more.
Scott stood, helped by both Jean and Kitty, and wobbled on his crutches to stare levelly at the other boy. Years of getting his butt whupped by Logan et al had long since taught him how to use such walking aids, but it had been several years since the last time the need arose. He was obviously a little out of practise.
"Ray, I don't know about anybody else, and I don't meant to go all lecture-mode on you, but it's a little disappointing that you thought you couldn't share your past with the rest of us. Granted, the oath you took made it difficult, but we're your teammates, and I always thought that counted for something. I always hoped it meant as much to everybody else as it does to me."
Ray tried to say something, but Scott stopped him.
"Just let me finish, okay? Like I said, we're your teammates. Now, you might not like us, and some of the time we don't particularly care for you, either. But the bare fact is that, whatever happens, we'll always be there for each other – and that includes you. Whatever problems you have, whatever mistakes you've made – or think you've made – we'll be there to listen and help you if we can. If you ever... look, if you need to talk about all this junk, then I'm sure any of us would be happy to listen. We won't judge, because whatever you were before, and whatever you've lost, you're an X-Man now, and you're one of us." He sighed. "Okay, fearless leader speech over. You can all stop rolling your eyes now."
"Thanks," Ray said gruffly, and anybody could see that he meant it.
Around the room, heads nodded and agreements were voiced. Kitty felt the same warm glow she'd always felt whenever the X-men pulled together as a team. It didn't matter if they were in the midst of a battle, saving each other's behinds, or just lending a friendly ear; the glow remained. She smiled, happy to be a part of it even if it had to come in the midst of sorrow.
Ray didn't smile, but there was something in his eyes that said he appreciated the gesture. Then he clapped Scott on the back, driving the wind from his lungs. "Now fuck off back to bed before you fall over and twist your other ankle, Twinkle-Toes."
Hank sighed and muttered to himself, then swivelled his chair away from the computer terminal and took off his glasses. For some reason they seemed to be pinching too much at the spot between his eyes. He gazed blearily at the clock, realising that it wasn't so much the spectacles as his own tiredness catching up with him.
The Morlock – Feral – was still unconscious. The IV line was still attached to her arm, the bag nearly empty, he noted. He sensed, more than knew, that her sleep was a dreamless one. Which was probably best if what Charles had told him was true. Come to think of it, that telepathic conversation was probably the reason his head ached so. Hank yawned openly, not bothering to cover his mouth.
He lumbered off his chair and made towards the makeshift bed he'd had Logan bring down specially as soon as he learned that fixing up the X-Men sometimes meant all-night vigils. He paused to rummage as quietly as he could for another nutrient-rich bag to replace the old one with. Fortunately for him, the Institute had an excellent med-lab, but somehow it was always rather depressing when he had to use its contents.
Switching the clear plastic pouches took no more than a few minutes, in spite of his cumbersomely thick fingers. He was a little wary his claws would accidentally split one of them, but all went off without a hitch, and the empty bag was soon in the trash where it belonged.
Then he stopped for a second, examining his fingers in the cold, clinical striplighting. He sighed. When he first mutated, the claws had taken some getting used to, and even now he sometimes had problems not shredding or snapping any stationary he tried to use. It made writing sick notes for the students a little difficult. Of course, the power he'd been imbued with, the complete raw strength was always a plus – especially when it was his turn to run training sessions. Yet sometimes he missed being able to perform more intricate pursuits, like just plain reading a book without slicing the pages out.
Look at me, feeling sorry for myself, he chastised himself, shaking his head as he shucked his labcoat and clambered into bed.
He left the lights on, and spent several minutes watching the gently bleeping nodes on the machinery surrounding his newest charge. He'd asked Charles a few questions about her, some of which neither of them couldn't answer. Would she stay once she awoke? Would they allow her to? Charles had told him that the Institute's doors were always open to any mutant who wanted to come here, but whether she'd actually consent to remain amongst them was another matter entirely. From what Ray had told them, Morlocks were generally no lovers of 'Upworld', as they called it, and though he had given up his life underground for a place in the sun, Feral was another kettle of fish entirely.
It was always sad when a mutant didn't want to join the X-Men. Hank hadn't been present for the almost-introductions of many of the Brotherhood, nor their ally Forge. Yet he'd been around for when Angel turned down their offer, then again when Lance Alvers tried and declined. Tabitha Smith he'd met only briefly when he was still a teacher at Bayville High, but it was depressing nonetheless to learn that she had once been a member of their team. Were they really such dreamers that others thought them incapable of making their flights of fancy come true?
Is Charles hanging onto a myth?
He was still pondering these overtiredness-induced quandaries when the Infirmary door slid open. Hank, already propping his head up with an arm, watched with interest as a figure pattered through the doorway with blankets and a pillow. The figure glanced this way and that, eyes eventually resting on him. On impulse he feigned sleep. Easy enough, considering he was already half-lidded and droopy.
There was the sound of blankets being dropped on the floor and then rearranged. The pillow did likewise with a vague 'floomph'. Skin of bare feet stuck as the figure moved, then stopped, and for a second silence reigned.
Hank chanced a peek.
Ray stood, staring down at the tiny figure wreathed in yellow fur. He wore an odd expression. Hank had never seen him look so pensive, and watched with interest as the boy slowly reached out to rest a hand on Feral's shoulder and stroked her bedraggled fur. It was patchy, he knew, and his sensitive hearing picked up on the sound of his fingers brushing over callused skin where it had fallen out or been rubbed away into scabs and sores. In god condition Feral wouldn't win any beauty prizes, but her bedraggled state was doubly pitiful.
Difficult to believe she gave Logan such a run for his money, Hank reflected. To look at her, one wouldn't know she was anything less than fragile.
His ears twitched as Ray whispered something, then turned and bedded surreptitiously down on the floor.
Hank had come into contact with grief before, his own and that of others, so he didn't move or venture to remonstrate the boy for sneaking down here like a thief. Ray had lost a lot. He could allow at least one night under the circumstances.
There was much tossing and turning, since the tiles weren't exactly the most comfortable of places, but eventually Ray lay still – though it was quite some time before his breathing fell into the signature that defined sleep.
Hank blinked, repeating the few words he'd heard the boy say. Second chance? Then he shrugged and let his arm drop, head hitting his own pillow with a satisfaction only the truly weary can appreciate.
Well, at least one person wanted her to stay. Maybe that would be enough.
To Be Continued...
Review Responses:
Me (Harry Wriggle) - Well, I don't think I'm quite up to Tergon's standard, but I try. Are you perhaps thinking of InterNutter's fic An Ingenious Paradox? Because i did read that, but it isn't where this came from. This LoganChuckBackstory is cobbled together from several different sources, both official and fanon, and if 'Nutter's stuff played any sort of role, then it was through First Days rather than AIP. Storm was upstairs herding the other kids into bed, as were Hank and the Professor. I work on the theory that Ororo is painfully aware of Butterfly Effect, or something along those lines, so she doesn't like to change large stretches of weather for long periods if she can possibly help it. Although the Johnny Depp idea has merit... Kitty-Logan is probably me channeling Nemain. And I think she was chaneling comicverse, so we're all chennlling Chris Claremont. O.o Scary thought.
"The Price is Right" Fan - Hope this lived up to your expectations, babs.
Angel of the Fallen Stars - Well, he dun' it. Now time for the fallout. :)
FrckinEvilPoptart - Stares Say what?!