Chapter.2.
The Headmasters Office...
Ororo, who it was fair to say is not easily shocked, was slightly aghast at Professor Xavier's bluntness, more than slightly. Due to the seriousness of the nature of the 'business' they were in, it had not been unknown for X- Men to be a little coarse with one another, to put it mildly. But at this moment, Ororo couldn't help but feel that the harshness of Xavier's comment was most unnecessary. All she wanted was a frank and open discussion.
"Charles, I do not wish to argue with you, but if you can not even tolerate a healthy debate within your own domain then do you not think something has gone drastically wrong somewhere?" She wasn't indignant, moreover confused.
Xavier didn't take long to muster his reply; his mind was set on the subject. "No Ororo, it has not gone wrong, not in the slightest. What I am suggesting here is a radical shake up of societies laws. That is a fact that we can no longer avoid." He stood up, taking up his sleek, black cane and pacing back and forth a dozen or so steps, just like any other collage Professor was apt to do when thinking deeply or trying to press a point to a pupil. "The dream is still in tact, of that I am certain, but it has become clear that, as in the Garrett case, we need to expand beyond it. Ordinary---traditional human laws may not be adequate to deal with post human problems. We have a respo---."
"So, what you are saying is that we are above the law?" Ororo cut in, quite unable to contain herself in the face of what she was hearing. She splayed her hands to either side so that her pale palms faced upwards and gave a small shake of her head as if to display her disbelief. "Charles, have you heard yourself?!"
He shook his head but his voice remained calm and he looked her directly in the eye, completely determined. "You are missing the point entirely Ororo, I am not suggesting that we are above the law at all. What I am proposing is that we have to face the fact that as mutants become a more accepted part of humanity, the whole face of human tradition and society will be altered, that is something that is inevitable."
"I appreciate how you see the future in the long term, but most ordinary humans and indeed mutants are not fortunate enough to have your long term goal idealism to find comfort in." She got up from her chair also, folding her bare arms over her chest. "Yes, we must continue to offer hope for a better, equal future, but we must also show that we are a part of the imperfect present, no matter how hard that is."
"You have become blind to the fact that we are a force for change Ororo!" he shot back accusingly, sounding much more perturbed than a moment ago. "I understand that the proposals that the Institute is putting forwards are much more...radical than in the past but, BUT," he insisted, raising his hand to halt her as it became obvious that Ororo was about to cut in once more, "---we have to realise that no social group that has existed outside of the main social powers or the excepted norm has ever integrated without changing the landscape of that society. Any repressed group that you care to mention, from persecuted ethnic populations to women, they have all altered the very fabric of the societies that they wished to be part of, and that is as it should be!"
He had a point, Ororo couldn't deny that fact, but as with all brilliant visionaries, Xavier failed to realise that he was becoming lost in his own logic. He obviously couldn't reconcile the fact that the rest of society would simply see his attempts, like in the Garrett case, as mutant favouritism and nothing more. The finer points of his wider vision would be utterly lost on them. "It is true, what you are saying is something I have always believed and I have never ceased to respect your views, but I fear that you are failing to see the bigger picture." After a minute of contemplation, Ororo walked over to the centre of the room, running her hand down the back of her short hair absently as she rested the other near the small of her back, curling it around her waist. Turning back towards Charles, she started quietly, "We can not escape the truth that what we do not have in common with other repressed groups throughout history is the fact that a mere handful of us could bring the whole population of the world to its knees. It is not quite the same situation where the Nazi's accused people of doing things that they were never and could not possibly ever have been responsible for. But with mutants---it is different. And therefore we can no longer see their fear as being unreasonable. What we have to show is that while we wish to influence society for the better, we can also be held accountable for wrong doing."
"How?"
"By being accountable to an official court of law Charles, how else?" She didn't intend to raise her already powerful voice as much as she did but Charles was becoming beyond infuriating. This all felt so strange to her after so many years of a cordial and calm relationship with this man. She was beginning to feel that she didn't know him at all anymore and that frightened her---Charles had always been on of the few people that she could truly depend on and trust.
After a protracted pause for consideration, the Professor nodded, it appeared that he agreed with his former protégée, but only to a point. Taking up his chair once more, he looked over at his Windrider and asked her, in all earnestness, "Do you honestly, in your heart of hearts think that young Jeffery would have received a fair trial in the current climate?" He paused for a reply, but not for long. "Progress has indeed been made, but not that far---I know, you know, we ALL know, that if Jeffery was put to trial, the press would have had a field day, and the boy would have been hung from the highest tree. As things stand, I truly believe that justice, true justice, is not yet possible for mutants, so we have to do all we can to make sure they can at least be protected."
"That is all very well and good, but when it comes to the point where you can not even control those under your own roof, do you not think things have gone beyond your personal jurisdiction?" She hesitated, thinking whether she should broach the subject she wanted to, but then realising that she had to now. "It is clear that your ideas for mutant justice extend to some---but not others."
The Omega Kids; it was clearly obvious that her reference was to that particular debacle. "If you are referring to events that befell the school some months ago, then I assure you, I considered my course of action most carefully. And it seems to me that by your reaction, you do not think I dealt evenly in both cases?"
Ororo leant back against Xavier's desk; her arms folding over her strapless black top. "No, it is safe to say that I do not. If the gang that issued the riot under your very roof are to be brought to justice under the realms of the proper and correct law, then it should logically follow that any other person at the school should also be subject to its jurisdiction."
"Garrett's circumstances were different, and you know it!" It was the first time in a long time that Charles had seemed to be truly angry. Yes, he was usually stern but it was not often he really lost his temper, not with Ororo anyway. Though, the last time they had disgust this matter, he had been strangely bitter at Storm's opposition to his position. "The boy was not malicious in his act, but if he were to be brought before an ordinary court of law he would have been judged to be so!"
Ororo could not retort because she knew that Charles spoke the truth, although that did not alter her basic view that no mutant should, or indeed could afford to appear to be above the law. It wasn't so much that the X- Men themselves operated in circumstances that often called for them to act in ways that any civilian would be condemned for, if she really admitted it to herself, it was the fact that the whole set up of the school was ill equip to deal with the sheer number of mutants that it currently housed. There had always been something distinctly militant about the organisation of the X-Men, but its small scale meant that it never got out of hand. The sense of a family that had always purveyed amongst the resident mutants had always ensured that no-one (save for on the odd occasion Logan, but he could always be forgiven!) acted like a vigilantly. But clearly, the larger groups of mutants that now inhabited the mansion where ripe for forming their own groups within its parameters, in the true spirit of teenage rebellion no less. And so far, it had only spelt trouble for all concerned. She had objections to this in itself in truth, the unparalleled potential for creating a legion of young, lethal soldiers, with unsavoury ideas of their own. Surely that wasn't healthy for anyone. Though, a place such as this seemed to be the only option at the moment. But this was clearly an argument that neither would win at present, and so she conceded.
"Maybe you are right Charles, maybe you are right---I just think that there are forces at work that you seem content to ignore and in the long run that can only spell disaster for you and all of us." She started for the door, but just before she got there she turned to him and felt she had to honestly respond to the accusation that he had originally hit her with. "You asked me why I came back; all I can say is that there was a dream that I once believed in here, its birth in these very walls. I am not content to stand by and watch it be lost in a mire of unthinking idealism and youthful stupidity."
Charles didn't say anything immediately, insulted as he should have been; he respected Ororo's opinion too much, enough to accept their differences. "Then we have a task ahead of us Windrider," he said, "To draw together the splits between us--- as well as our enemies."
She smiled; the gesture was slight but hopeful, "That we do Charles. But now that I am back, do not expect me to give you an easy ride!"
He nodded, returning the smile, recognising that although their beliefs were drifting, they hadn't quite reached opposite poles just yet. Ororo left the office, shutting the solid oak door as quietly behind her as she had entered.
The Danger Room...
The clacking sound of the keyboard filled the small observation deck as Remy's long fingers glided effortlessly over the black protruding squares, punching in, without undue thought, the serial number for the desired Danger Room programme. A sequence of pop up boxes appeared on the computer screen, flashing grey against a blue background, offering a series of failsafe questions, designed to make sure that nobody accidentally put in a programme they wouldn't be able to cope with. Abstractedly, he punched the return key to all five failsafes, never really paying them much attention. He'd done this a thousand times before so there was no real need. The programme selected was more of an obstacle course than a fight simulation as was their intention. This was going to be more of a dangerously glorified game of tag than an out and out slog-fest, though X-Men had been grievously injured in less in the past.
"Is it ready?" Bobby's voice game through the intercom on the control panel, slightly distorted through its background static. Remy looked down over the lit-up panel, through the plexy-glass window to see Iceman stood waiting, peering up expectantly. The Cajun huffed out a small laugh that sounded surprisingly gravelly as he placed yet another cigarette in his mouth, shaking his head in amusement at Bobby's eagerness. He made his way out of the metalic room, lighting the fag as he went. "De boy don' know what he puttin' himself in fo'," he said to himself in a quiet and amused voice as he trotted briskly down the grid like staircase that led down from the elevated booth, the steel caped tips of his boots clanging and then echoing against the metal steps.
"You ready?---an' before you say it, don' say 'I was born ready'."
Bobby smirked as he concentrated on 'icing-up', first his hands frosting over as gradually the effect took hold from the feet up until it eventually consumed his whole body and clothing. "Hey, I was a battle hardened X-Man when you were still knocking off rich people for a livin' Gumbo---of course I'm ready!" He pointed a glacial finger at his would-be opponent, "And don't you forget it!"
Remy laughed the jib off, waving a dismissive hand at the younger X-Man. He may have been in the team from the earlier days, but Remy was still seven years older than him, just two years off hitting thirty in fact. He rubbed his exposed arms with his fingerless gloved hands, in a vain attempt to warm them up; whenever Bobby 'dropped', it wasn't just him that plummeted, it tended to be the whole atmosphere that felt like sub-zero temperatures.
"Damn Bobby!" He couldn't stop himself from giving a vigorous physical shiver, "You worse than Stormy sometimes, you know that?!"
He chuckled as he took a few steps back; each man being to unconsciously circle each other; readying for battle. "If she caught you sayin' that, you'd have lightenin' bolt up your ass!"
"Ah, not mah Stormy," his hand began to creep to his side; sly fingertips dipping over the edge of his ragged jean waist line, "She'd nevah admit it, but she loves it really---you don' know shit about de femmes do you homme?"
By this point, Bobby wasn't paying any attention to what Gambit was saying because he'd noticed the creeping hand and in accordance let out a swift ream of ice from his hand; the white frost solidifying as soon as it came into being, heading straight for Remy. But the wily old Cajun was quicker and in the flash of an eye had whipped out his Bo staff. It extended out immediately with a quick snap of his wrist and cut off the shard of ice, making it shatter into a thousand pieces at his feet before it got anywhere near him. And that was the Danger Rooms 'q' to kick into action. As soon as powers were used, it had been programmed to issue a random assault course; anything and everything could happen from now on. The rules of the game were simple; three tags and you were out, that's if the Danger Room didn't get you first. He'd played it often with Storm and so far, they were 'Even Stevens'.
Bobby shot out three streams of ice in quick succession; they were long thin and wickedly pointed at their tips. Remy dogged one with a quick side step, deflected another in the same manner as the first but was almost caught by the third one. With all his strength packed into his thighs he quickly ducked into a crouching position before launching himself off the floor and into an evasive summersault. As he flew through the air, his legs tucked under him so that his body became a ball he suddenly extended them out as he came full circle but as he did so he tore five or six cards from his back pocket and when he came into land, whizzed them across the room. Immediately Iceman was tagged on the shoulder with the first card.
"Damn it!" he groaned as he shifted to the side, letting out a spray of frost that presently stopped the others in their paths, making them drop to the metal panelled floor as if they were made of lead.
As Remy came to the ground, landing in a crouched position, resting forwards on his knuckles, he didn't have time to gloat. A thick red laser beam, modelled after the energy forces of their very own field leader headed straight for him from one of the tracking systems that were dotted about in the rafters of the room like security cameras; watching the 'players' moves with the beady eyes of eagles, primed and ready to shoot at any moment. He rolled to the side to avoid the potentially lethal beam, his Bo staff flying from his grasp as he went but was forced to roll back the other way as Bobby aimed a furious and unrelenting blast at him. Literally a sheet of ice like a vicious hailstorm very nearly knocked the Cajun into the middle of next week. He felt every hair on his body stand on end as the temperature immediately around him plummeted even more. "Woo Bobby!" he exclaimed in mock shock as he got to his feet and took out some more cards, but there was not a drop of ice on him, "Remy'd almos' t'ink you were angry dat dis 'static' got de better o' you, mon ami!" Bobby didn't reply, baring the brunt of the insult stoically as he readied himself for the next assault.
Ororo came up to her classroom, taking out the key from her trouser pocket as she reached the door. Sliding the slim piece of brass into the key hole, it uttered a muted click, releasing the lock. As she entered the classroom, she placed the key back in her pocket and made her way over to the desk at the top end of the room. Several floor to ceiling French windows ran along the west wall, lighting the place brilliantly; the bright clear sunshine spilling unhindered into the quiet room. There were fourteen student desks, with their accompanying plastic bodied, metal legged chairs tucked neatly and uniformly underneath them. They were set out in three rows of four with the remaining two positioned in front of them. All fourteen were arranged in such a way as to concave in semi-circles, giving a more of a group feel to the set up. The classroom had belonged to Emma Frost for her psychic outreach programme, but since she'd decided to accompany her remaining 'cuckoos' on a 'grand tour' of sorts, it became vacant for Ororo to take up her teaching post. She was presently preparing to teach Arabic to a handful of the older students who had opted to take it, starting from tomorrow but she had also taken over French, Italian and was running a horticulture course down at her greenhouse, though few students had expressed much interest in it so far. She pulled out the chair, the sound of its back legs scrapping on the parquet floor and sat before her empty desk. Save for the inevitable potted plant, as the term had only just started, there was none of the droves of paperwork that would come eventually.
"Who'd be a superhero?" she muttered to herself wryly as she pondered over the changing nature of the X-Men's roles within the mutant community. Reaching down to a lower draw in the desk, she pulled it out and retrieved a large book detailing the curriculum for teaching stage one Arabic. It was a thick and hefty book that made a loud thud as Ororo attempted to merely place it down in front of her. Hank had pointed the book out to her when she'd been browsing in the library a couple of days ago, looking for something entirely different at the time. She'd happened to mention to him in passing that although her Arabic was fully fluent, having picked the language up on the streets of Cairo she feared that it wouldn't be adequate enough for teaching purposes; littered with slang and local phrases as it was. Taking a ledger and pen from the draw above the one that had housed the book she set them down and opened the text with something like a resigned sigh.
Skipping the first few introductory pages she stopped at the main content index; running her finger down the list of chapters until she came to the one that was appropriate for her needs. All she really needed was a few pointers on how to structure the lesson plans and tips on the finer points of the written grammar. It had been so long since she'd needed to use that that it had become a little vague also. Flicking forwards to page twenty- two, she shifted the book over slightly with her forearm and moved the ledger so that it was directly in front of her. Taking up her biro she jotted one or two things on the top of the page before speed reading through the relevant pages of her directory. Whilst she read she began tapping her pen absently on her note pad; tapping out a quick rhythm, only breaking it every now and then the write something down.
The tedious task managed to keep Ororo's mind busy for a time but it wasn't long before it was winging its way back to the conversation with the Professor and one or two other concerns that had been nagging away at her recently too. But the disagreement with Charles was at the fore at the moment. She lent back in her chair and stopped tapping the pen; holding it horizontally between her hands and twisting it back and forth with a slow regularity. Her clear eyes held a far of and slightly tired look as she thought things over. She didn't even pay attention as the Arabic book gradually started to close; its binding resisting the unsupported open position and scrunching up on itself, into its natural state.
It had struck Ororo that there was something that just wasn't quite right with her mentor. What was nagging at her most was that she couldn't put her finger on what exactly it was. She hadn't been here when all the problems with Cassandra Nova had exploded but something about the Professor's demeanour told her that it had affected him much more deeply than he had let anyone know. Maybe that was the reason for his more open and radical approach. Who knew? But she knew she would certainly not be content until she found out. But she didn't feel that he would open up to her even if she asked him and that was her true worry. The one thing that was clear, the fact that hurt the most as she replayed their discussion over and over in her mind, unable to help herself from going over every infuriating detail, was that she could no longer talk to Charles as openly as she was once able to. If nothing else told her that something at the core of him had shifted, had been altered, that certainly did.
She stopped twiddling the pen, the plastic casing had become warm under her fingers, and placed it back down on top of the now completely closed book. As she leant back into her chair again, placing her arms flat the wooden supports, the other 'trifle' that had beset her mind came to her attention. What was she to do about Remy? Every time he insisted that he was fine and well it became less convincing than the last. He was her closest and possibly dearest friend; the last thing she wanted was for him to suffer alone. If in fact he was at all, she couldn't tell. The man could be stubborn as a mule if the fancy took him, so there was no point pushing the matter. All she could do was be there and no more. Their years of friendship had taught her that much. No doubt, she thought briefly, he would accuse her of the same crime if asked.
Closing her eyes, Ororo let her head fall back, resting it on the edge of her chair. Her skull was being to ache with all this. She'd almost forgotten how much of a stress being apart of this 'family' could be. But no more than leading her own separate team had been.
Remy stood beneath the shower as its hot, cascading torrent flowed over him. Tilting his head upwards, he let the water fall freely on his face before running his hands over it then up into his hair, slicking it back. Then he bowed his head forwards to let the soothing heat of the water cover is neck and aching shoulders, gliding down his taut back that was covered with red blotches where the muscles beneath had strained during the Danger Room work out. But it was his left shoulder that was giving him the most jip, having almost been pulled out of its socket whilst trying to avoid a particularly persistent saw-blade from one of the rooms many protractible arms. He'd misjudged his placement, having to grab hold of its steel extension to dodge its blade but when it suddenly moved it the opposite direction, his body wasn't prepared and was jerked back rather unceremoniously.
He clasped his right hand over his shoulder now and raised his left arm, doing one or two rotations of it clockwise and then anti-clockwise to try and ease the stiffness a bit, but to no real avail. It still ached like a son-of-a-bitch as he twisted the chunky steel knob of the shower, bringing it to an instant stop at which moment the men's shower room seemed to steam up ten times more than when the water was running. The water pipes that ran beneath the white tiled walls clanked and banged as the last of the water ran through them, making the room feel vacant and hollow. Remy stepped out of the cubicle and went over to the benches at the opposite end of the room. He took the thick white towel off the hook and vigorously rubbed it over his hair. His auburn locks were much quicker to dry now that they weren't so long. After getting rid of enough of the moisture to stop it from dripping, he patted the already fairly damp towel on his face and arms before wrapping it around his waist, its bottom edge coming just to his knees. As he finished securing the end, tucking it by his hip, he noticed a large bruise forming just above it on his right side.
"Hmph," he uttered as he poked it experimentally to test how tender it was. It didn't hurt at all presently, but it sure as hell would when he woke up tomorrow morning, of that he was certain. But he dismissed it almost immediately as he crossed over to the row of matted grey lockers that were fixed to the wall where the frosted glass door was. He came to his and with a tightly balled fisted hit the previously dented door twice with solid thumps, just beneath the three slats. It popped open like it was on coiled springs; no need for a thieves expertise. Sometimes brute force would do a job just as well. He pulled out his jeans and T-shirt that he had simply stuffed in any old how, so that they now came out a crumpled mess. Holding them in is left hand he reached back in and pulled out his watch, whose glass face instantly steamed up as soon as it was brought out from the relative cool of the dark locker into the hot atmosphere of the shower room. He then went into the changing room that was through the frosted glass door with his things. Throwing the nearly sopping wet towel into the communal laundry basket just inside the door, he only stopped to yank his jeans on. Then he left the room with his T-shirt and watch still clasped in his hands.
Remy took the central stair case up to his second floor room. As it was now early afternoon all the pupils would be in class so there wasn't any risk of running into any impressionable teenage girls. He padded along the expensively carpeted hallway, his still damp feet leaving dark watermarks in his wake. Turning up the second flight of stairs, he was met by Storm coming down them.
"Now Remy," Ororo said as she caught sight of him coming towards her, "what would Charles say if he knew you were parading around the school half dressed?" She cast him a knowing smile as they came to a mutual stopping point two steps apart at the centre of the stair case. "You know how tiresome a teenage crush can be." Resting her hand on the smooth banister, she tilted her head as she waited for the sarcastic and self-satisfied reply. But he didn't give her one; he only leant on the banister in front of Ororo and regarded her, mirroring the tilt of her head and ghost of a smile. "What?" she questioned, trying to keep her voice light as possible as his ebony and scarlet eyes held fast, but there was something distinctly strange in his silence.
He kept it for a little while longer, the expression on his face never faltering, the eyes not flickering once until the smile grew broader and he intoned quietly, "Nuhddin'." Pushing off the banister he brushed past her and carried on up the stairs. But then he stopped just three steps up; he turned around and gazing down at her said, his tone utterly changed, "By de way, 'ow did t'ings go wit' Charlie?"
"Oh," she sighed and shook her head dismissively, "Alright, I suppose."
Remy cocked an eyebrow at her, patiently waiting for her to add something, like, say, the truth to that statement. When, after a moment she failed to say anything he folded his arms over his chest as he tilted his head down at her, his auburn brow raised even more so.
It did not take long for her to relent. "Okay, okay," she conceded as she held to the polished rounded wood a little tighter, "He still will not see things from a different point of view Remy. I tried my best to reason with him, I really did, but..." She shook her head again.
Remy shrugged, "Times 'ave changed girl. De X-Men, dey ain't what dey use' to be." Was all he had to offer, seemingly laissez-faire as ever, but he did take note of Ororo's sceptical look and so added, "Mebbe you t'inkin' comin' back 'ere wasn't such a good idea, hien?"
"Maybe," she said quietly, "But no more than you?"
He gave Storm that unreadable grin again in lieu of an answer, turned, and then carried on up the stairs. "See you later Stormy," he called back when he'd reached the top and rounded the corner, towards his room at the end of the dark oak panelled hallway.
Ororo carried on down the stairs, intending to go back to her classroom on the east teaching wing of the mansion. She'd only been up in the staff living quarters, as they were now designated, because there was something she needed for her Italian class due to start in twenty minutes. She tried to think nothing more of Remy's strange reaction as she reached the top of the final staircase that led to the main reception hall, noticing in passing the damp foot-shaped patches trailing up them. After all, Storm knew better than anyone that he was prone to odd moods on occasion. But it was one more thing to add to her concerns about him. They appeared to be more frequent of late.
"Oh, Ororo," she said to herself in mock chastisement, as she descended the last couple of steps "stop reading too much into everything." She'd spent far too many years worrying about other people that it was getting difficult to know when to stop. Trying once again to clear her mind of all other peripheral thoughts, she began to run over all the Italian subjunctives and pro-nouns she was going to be teaching this afternoon.
-TBC-