Brian rested his palms on the banister and stared down from the deck of the lighthouse. "Looks like company." He noted casually.
His sister Betsy held out the reflector that was supposed to help her tan her face and throat as she basked in the cloudy, murky English countryside. "Who is it?"
"Backpacker." He replied. "Looks like he's coming here to the lighthouse."
She smiled slightly. "So why don't you go down there and see if you've managed to learn how to be delicate with people as well as things…"
Brian smiled back at her. It had taken him forever to learn his own strength. And the only thing that really helped was when Kitty decided that they were all English enough to have tea at tea-time. Provided of course that Brian poured and served the entire group.
By the third day everyone was getting some and cup breakage was down to a minimum. Now, he might lose one cup per week. Not that it mattered as Forge had a whole host of machines designed specifically to mend 'Brian Damage'.
"You think I can't handle this guy?" He asked with a smirk.
She shook her head. "You're my brother and I love you. But let's face it – incredibly helpful – you're not."
He looked like he was teetering on being offended. "What's in it for me?"
She smiled. Same old Brian… "I'll tell you what." She decided. "If you can handle this guy – provided it takes more than twenty minutes – I'll put in a good word for you with Illyana." She smiled and pursed her lips. "We're practicing together every night this week."
Brian debated.
"But screw it up…" She laughed. "And you have to get a flag for a cape and do the Captain Britain dance."
"NO!" He shook his head.
She laughed again.
"How about if I screw it up I give you my journal."
She sat up. "Are you serious?"
He nodded. He had always kept a journal and she had never been allowed to read it – not that being allowed mattered much to her. But he had resumed the practice after he regained his mobility and he knew – there were things in that book she would love to read.
"You're on." She told him. "Good luck."
"I don't need luck." He smiled. "I'm in love."
And he spun away from the rail, disappeared inside and started down the steps.
"Sucker." She said out loud. Then she peered over the edge of the deck and saw the boy below. Oh, Brian… He's not a backpacker… He's homeless you clod…
And suddenly she felt terrible. You had better be nice to him you overgrown … child. She looked up towards the non-existent sun and then dropped the reflector by the chair and went to get dressed in order to help if she could.
Brian slipped down the stairs and opened the heavy metal door to the lighthouse. He stepped out slowly, waiting for the boy to approach.
Whoa. The boy thought. He's not a man. He's his own little building! He swallowed. What did I get myself in to?
He glanced back the way he had come. The wind was swaying all the grass and it looked very calm and peaceful. Then he glanced back at Brian. Did he just get taller?
The boy shook it off and then smiled and waved. "Good morning!" He called out.
"Morning!" Brian replied happily. "You're a long way off … from just about everything."
"Not from you!" He called back. "Is this Excalibur's lighthouse?"
Brian nodded. "Sure is." He smiled. "But why would you be looking for us?"
The boy jogged the last twenty steps and looked Brian right in the nipple, then he lifted his head and met his eyes. "I think I'm a mutant." He said plainly. "But… I've got… issues."
Brian looked both hesitant and understanding. "Issues?" He ventured.
The boy shrugged. "I know I do things. But I don't know how it happens or why… or how to do it again."
"What's your name?" Brian asked him.
"Wilson." Was all he replied.
"Well Wilson, we've got the best people in the country to check you out. Why don't you come on in?"
"Really?" He glanced down at his dirty clothes and black-bottomed bare feet.
Brian shrugged. "Sure. You could clean up some if you want. Are you hungry?"
Wilson's stomach growled at the suggestion.
"Then come on in." Brian shrugged. "Bathroom's on the left at the top of the stairs. And I'll check out what's laying around the kitchen."
"T-thanks." Wilson looked shocked. "Does this happen a lot around here?"
Brian shook his head with a chuckle. "No. You're our first walk up."
'Then… really… Thank you." Wilson met Brian's eyes and suddenly Brian was embarrassed to be helping this boy just to get another date with Illyana.
"You're… really welcome." Brian told the boy, his mind now much more filled with the acts of kindness he'd received when he had been crippled (See Growing Up – Same Author).
Wilson closed the door and slipped around the corner of the sink to stop in front of the mirror. Oh, God… He looked himself up and down. I'll never get clean…
He glanced at the shower and wondered for a moment, and then he glanced to the sink. He spied a razor and then his reflection.
And it seemed to take only a second from when he turned on the water, and suddenly he was marveling at himself without his beard and mustache.
He glanced back to the shower. Shampoo… He shivered. Maybe… if I am really quick…
And within a moment he was under the thick and hearty stream of water. He soaped his hair quickly and then snatched up a washcloth and the soap. A moment later he felt reborn as he turned off the water and stepped out of the tub.
He fished through his pack and took out what he though must have been his cleanest clothes, then put them on. They hung several sizes too large on him and he pursed his lips. At least I'm clean…
He opened the door and found a small Asian girl standing before him. "Wilson I presume?" She said with a smile. "Brian's up in the kitchen." She pointed the way.
"Thanks." He smiled. "And you are?"
"Waiting to use the bathroom." She said, slipping past him. "But you can call me Betsy. I'm Brian's sister." She added that last bit out of fear that he'd say something to offend Brian.
"Wow." Wilson shook his head. "Great gene-pool."
She laughed at him slightly as she closed the door.
Wilson ran his tongue over his teeth and tasted a nasty film. Damn… He pulled a bandana out of his bag and quickly used it to clean his teeth as he slipped up the stairs. He shoved it in his pocket when he got to the top and saw Brian's big, meaty elbow moving menacingly in and out of the kitchen while he sliced some fresh bread.
Brian caught sight of him. "That was quick." He noticed. "I hardly recognize you."
"Me either – when I first … looked in the mirror." He shook his head.
Brian reached out and snagged up a plate and began piling up a sandwich for Wilson. It took only a second and he was quite proud of handling such delicate things without incident.
He spun the plate to Wilson and opened the fridge. "Soda?"
"Ummm Water?" Wilson asked.
"Sure." Brian grabbed a glass, a real glass, and filled it. "Why don't we take in the view. There's a table on the deck you could eat at."
"Yeah. Okay." Wilson
Brian pointed up the stairs and Wilson followed. Little did he know that four steps later he would discover the best ocean view in all of Britain.
"Good lord!" Wilson blinked twice and looked at Brian.
"It is something, isn't it? At night the boats drift by all lit up too. That's always a great image." Brian just stared.
"I've walked all over this country." Wilson said. "And I've never seen anything like this."
Brian smiled. "We get that a lot around here, although not often for the view." Brian opened the glass doors with ease and ushered Wilson through. He took a seat that let him the furthest out to sea and sat down to eat.
"Take your time." Brian told him. "But when you're ready I'd like to know as much about you as I can. Particularly about your mutation."
Wilson nodded, chewing his sandwich. He forced himself to swallow a bite and met Brian's eyes. "Well, mostly it happens when I'm asleep." He began.
"What does?" Brian asked.
Wilson continued chewing. "Well, it's different every time. The first time it was music. And it's been music since too. But the second time it was cartoons."
"Cartoons?" Brian asked, feeling completely lost.
Wilson nodded. "Streaks, coils, stick figure explosions that flashed in multiple colors. You know, cartoons."
"And when you say… It happens, when you're asleep, and it's cartoons and music… you're not talking about dreaming, are you?"
"I might be." Wilson admitted. "But if that's it – then my dreams get out of my head and other people experience them."
"Really?" Brian asked.
Wilson nodded. "And some times it doesn't end until I wake up."