Disclaimer; I do not own either poem used in this chapter from the 1957 volume 'The Hawk in the Rain', the copyright of which lies exclusively with Ted Hughes and Faber and Faber©
Thank-you to all my reviewers and I apologise profusely for how long it has taken me to get this chapter out. I should e a little more regular with my instalments from now on!
Chapter.20.
Summer was already giving out to the first days of autumn. September had rushed by, with all that had gone on in those days and October was marching on with surprising efficiency; the leaves of Westchester County already showing the first signs of an elegant death in a maelstrom of vivid colour, awaiting its inevitable rebirth. The air was awash with the fragrance of fresh decay, the small groups of leaves mouldering together at various places about the mansion, gathering at doors, blocking the guttering, creating yet another task in the ongoing list of general maintenance of the old yet sturdy abode. And everything inside had carried on as normal, with some kind of genuine routine, a strange phenomenon for the ever-changing situation in the transient institution. And so it was for the newest couple therein. They had settled into their fledgling relationship, taking things a step at a time, no expectations or unrealistic hopes. Of course the general tittle-tattle of the mansion had worked the news around eventually, inevitably. But they were hiding it from no-one. After-all, they had nothing of consequence to hide. It was only of consequence to each other. The natural progression of the news had spread like wildfire; first Jean innocently mentioning something to Scott within the natural course of pillow talk, from which he deduced the new situation but did not expressly say. All it took from there was an off-guard remark to Emma during one of their 'talks' and it only confirmed what she had already suspected; that phosphorous bright flare burning ardently. From there it had only taken a careless word from Hank to Bobby in the middle of a game of pool and the news was out in earnest. Bobby to Jean-Paul, Jean-Paul to Annie, Annie to Alex, Alex to Warren, Warren to Paige, Paige to Jubilee and inevitably, Jubilee to the rest of the mansions inhabitants. By then there was no stopping it, but they had nothing to hide. The news was a surprise but accepted. Who had the right to argue? Even Charles accepted the changed relationship with a certain benevolence, though he worried about his surrogate daughter, as any true father would.
As for Ororo and Remy themselves, the road had been unsteady but full of wonder and new discovery, a joy to transverse. They had spent nights together and they had spent nights alone; the slow, languid pace at which they were prepared to navigate this new love. They had talked like the close friends they were and they had spent evenings canoodling on the sofa like lovers do, engrossed in one another. It took time for this to come about, Ororo particularly feeling hesitant about such open displays of affection, but they had settled into it and by the third week they felt that they had never been otherwise. It was as if this had always been so between them, this extension of their existing relationship. But there remained a diffident air at times, like all fledgling lovers, not that they kept vacillating, but simply finding this new path one steady foot at a time, searching it out, blind. They talked, they kissed, they embraced, they sat silently upon the rooftop, upon the hill at the back of the mansions expansive lawn; her between his legs, leaning back against a lean warm chest, enveloped, feeling the calm and the truth of being with a partner for the first time. It was not a million miles away from the friendship and that offered a definite comfort, for them both. And at night, at night they made love in surrounding warmth of the dark or the shrill light of the moon and it was beautiful, it was natural, it was perfect, it was home. She awoke one hazy morning, her hair adorned with the soft blue of picked cornflowers, settling in the quickly growing white tresses like small sapphires in a soft fresh bed of snow. One night she made the most amazing sunset for them, for him, a post rain sunset, an autumn sunset ablaze with all the riotous colours that it afforded; brilliant reds and dazzling gold under, brandy glazed copper; a cool strip of azure with a fresh zephyr for accompaniment, the clouds a purple veil; all of this for him, all of this for her; their own haven. And for the first time in months, perhaps years they knew the meaning of what it truly was to be alive. They began to notice little things about each other, the things that lovers do; the little endearing idiosyncrasies. The way he always slept with one leg from the knee down uncovered by the sheets, the way she rubbed her nose every now and then with a soft groan in the early hours when deep sleep was availing itself and the waking hours were beginning to set in. The little things that even as friends, as close as they were, who shared a bed on occasion, had not noticed until intimacy, true intimacy, had come to them.
But it was not all flowers and amazing sunsets. There was ordinary life to contend with also, the crux of everything. Ororo continued to teach, relishing the challenge as well as being deterred by it; Miss Frost's cuckoos returning from Europe, well after she had come back to join Alex and Jean-Paul's talking tour, proved a particular handful, perhaps the history between the two women colouring their opinion of the Weather Witch. Whilst Remy, he had remained himself though he would help out more around the mansion but not before he had tried at least to discover his father's fate and the state of the Guilds but so far to no avail. An iron curtain had come down around the entire city it seemed. In a similar vein the search for Mystique had, thus far, proved fruitless; Xavier, Jean and Emma each working in Cerebra in stints, a seemingly none sleeping Kurt attending a vigil outside the high-tech chamber at most hours of the day. It was only when he was implored by Ororo, or Jean, that he would retire in earnest. Even then his understandable reluctance only allowed him two or three hours rest at best and then there he would be, stationed like a sentry, outside Cerebra, waiting. Always waiting, and for all his sorrow, not sure why. Why was he bothering? His inexhaustible capacity for love and forgiveness astounded even him at times. Still, he offered prayers, magnanimously so...
The clock had just struck one o'clock and Ororo was stood at her desk, neat to perfection, as always, not a paper or book out of place, in the positively luminous and spacious classroom that she had abandoned several weeks before, not yet sequestered by the returned Emma. She picked up the weighty soft-edged duster that lay idly on her desk, scuffed and fluffy at its edges and took it to the black board that in the true light came up a murky dark British racing green rather than the prescribed black. Methodically she swiped away the Arabic letters one by one; ش ص ك ي ٣...adorned on the board in her easy and quick looping script. She felt she had made a little headway with her few pupils, which was a progression of sorts. Going down and down and down until she reached the protruding wooden ledge, she lay down the fine-dust filled wiper down on its coloured chalk-stub straddled surface. There was almost a reflection from its matt surface, a dim smudged mirror image of herself. The white locks nearly scraped her shoulders now, fast growing; their thick wavy length curved into a nineteen twenties style bob, though it was more fashionable shaggy, irregular at its edges. She ran a hand absently through it as she turned back to the desk with smart taps against the regulation parquet floor. She picked up a pile of the students work, shuffling up the small amount of papers that had been handed in for marking; her first batch for the current semester. It felt undoubtedly strange but also a relief to settle into the routine of the Institute, getting into the swing of teaching proper for the first time; there had been so much chopping and changing, and with all of them, in truth, only just getting used to such a normal profession, the relatively normal of life of everybody else.
The soft juvenile voices resonated along the corridors on their way to the lunch break; cat-calls, jovial laughter and teasing accompanied by the pound patter of feet and swinging doors and the rustle of rucksacks. Ororo was in thrall of all this, enraptured by the beauty of gentile routine, something that she had not before realised she craved. A love by her side and a vocation that equalled that of being an X-Man. But she was cautious, life as a super-hero had taught her to be so...she did not count her chickens until they were hatched. She simply awaited the next mishap, the next catastrophe. At least relief was now there, a distraction, something to subsume a person...speaking of which.
"Hey chèrie."
Remy LeBeau swaggered into the classroom; lose jeans and ripped-sleeved white t-shirt adorning his still Amazon tanned body, showing it off to great effect. Stealthily advancing on the Windrider he enfolded her with an easy grace, pulling her close to a fast beating heart. Just seeing her there filled his heart with something that had not been within him for quite some time—though he reproached himself for it. What was he, fifteen again! He implored himself to get a grip.
"Hey yourself."
Ororo was instantaneously brought within the loving arms of warm sprightly cologne and recent tobacco; lean, well-constructed limbs holding her close, her back pressing tightly to his chest as he settled his strong square jaw into the crook at the side of her neck. She doubted she would ever tire of such a feeling, putting her in the mind-set of someone much under her years. But she allowed herself to indulge in it, thinking that she had earned the right for such satiation. Letting her head rest back against his shoulder she asked, in the hushed tone of the contented, "What are you doing up here anyway? I thought you had agreed to take a student Danger Room session with Scott?"
"Ah, oui!" Remy rocked her playfully from side to side, "bu' I wasn' really needed---'e had it all down on 'is own. I t'ink he jus' wan'ed t' give Remy somet'in' t' occupy de time."
Ororo turned herself around in his arms, meeting with a more than welcome soft and lingering kiss. When she finally found it within herself to pull back, she said, "Perhaps---or perhaps some bridges were long overdue for repair?"
Remy smiled and shook his head, "Non," he said, "dere's nuhddin t' repair---we're cool about dat. Don' you worry."
She looked at him with a fond note of scepticism, "As long as you are sure?"
He leant in and took her lips once more; a light kiss of reassurance. "You know Remy chère," he said, tightening his hands at her back and pressing her closer to him, if that were possible, "I ain't nevah been one t' hold a grudge."
"No," she smiled, before giving him a small peck, "no you haven't." Moving her hands from where they rested, cool palms flat on his chest, she snaked them up his chest, rubbing across his neck until her fingers slid effortlessly into his thick flopping hair. It felt unbelievably good as her nimble tips massaged lightly at his temples as she unconsciously played with the straight soft auburn strands. "What are you up to then?"
"Jus' a lazy afternoon I s'pose, shootin' de breeze, layin' by de pool---mebbe I'll work on de Harley fo' a while." He winked impishly, "choices, choices, hien?"
"Oh to have a life of leisure!" she said sardonically.
"What can I say?" Remy grinned, "Dere are benefits t' jus' bein' a stand-by super-hero an' not moonlightin' as a teacher too." He laughed as she tapped him playfully on the back of the head, mocking jealousy at his languorous care-free life at present.
"You had better make the most of it whilst it lasts Monsieur LeBeau," Ororo said, shooting his jovialness down, "you know things never stay quiet for too long around here."
"Oui, now I'm back in commission, I ain't got no excuse."
"No, you haven't," she smirked. "Though you would think that stress would not be much of a problem." Her bright eyes suddenly became concentrated as she worked her fingers through his hair, as if searching for something.
"Huh?"
"Well, with all this easy going," she said distractedly as she found the strand that had caught her eye and took a firm hold of it, "premature greying---would not be," she gripped the strand and yanked it quickly to a short but not genuine yelp of pain from Remy, "---a problem." She held the slivery hair up in front of him like a taunt, the smirk remerging.
Remy looked at it, vaguely amused, "Is it any wonder?" He took the longish strand from her slim fingers and let it disappear, floating gently, to the parquet floor, "I ain't been gettin' too much sleep lately." He said suggestively as he leant in and stifled her demur laugh with his lips.
"Or it could be that dreaded date that is drawing ever closer?" Ororo speculated with a mischievous grin as she pulled back, her sapphires sparkling in the stark shaft of sunlight that flooded down into the classroom.
"What dreaded date?" he asked with mock gullibility, shrugging his shoulders exaggeratedly.
Ororo laughed softly again, "You know exactly what I mean! In two weeks time you'll be one year closer to the dreaded three-O."
"Hey!" Remy exclaimed indignantly, "Yaw only t'ree years off thirty yo'self don' fo'get!"
"That's still two years behind you!" she smirked as they fell into their kiss again, holding each other tight, completely lost in the moment. That was until Ororo noted the scampering of dozens of feet and idle chatter of a teenage hoard approaching her classroom for the next teaching period. "You should go, my next glass is coming," she murmured against his moist mouth as they both reluctantly withdrew, Remy more-so than she. "Seriously Remy, it would not create that good of an impression if the students walked in on us behaving like teenagers in the back row of a movie theatre!" she added when he would not desist.
"Alrigh', alrigh'," he said begrudgingly, letting her weasel out from his firm embrace, but just managing to snatch one more stolen kiss before she disengaged completely, at which point the anticipated students began to file like drones into the classroom; none of them having caught that last incongruous move on Remy's part.
"Hello class," Ororo called a little uncertainly, flushing pink in her swarthy cheeks as she turned to address the twenty odd people that where now taking their regular seats and pulling out their tatty and graffiti-marked exercise and text books, plonking them loudly on their wooden desks. The air that they would rather be anywhere else other than where they were was quite unmistakable. But Ororo did not notice as she rummaged around on her desk, searching for something, leaving Remy looking rather bemused as he watched her. "Here we are," she said, somewhat flustered, pulling out and slim white and blue book, adorned with a series of tiny 'ff' markings to make a kind of montage. "The book you came for Mr. LeBeau," she said as she placed it firmly in Remy's almost unreceptive hands.
But he took it never-the-less, the look of bemusement on his face more pronounced than ever. If she thought she was fooling anyone, she was very much mistaken. There was not a sole within the mansion that did not know by now that the pair had officially become an 'item'. Any pretence about the pretext of his visit was quite clearly pointless. Not that there was any real need for pretence but Ororo obviously thought it unprofessional and inappropriate for him to be there, which in truth, it was.
"I think you will enjoy it," she said with an air of sternness and school 'ma'amishness' to her voice to recover some sense of authority in front of her waiting and strangely silent class. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Angel and Beak sniggering soundlessly, casting furtive looks to their school chums at either side of them.
Remy didn't even look at the book closely enough to ascertain its nature, he simply said a quiet 'merci' and tucked the slim volume into his back pocket, all the while trying desperately not to laugh. But by now he was feeling reckless and decided to play Devil's Advocate. "Meet me fo' lunch?"
"Umm...yes," Ororo said automatically, taken off guard as she tried to collect the lesson notes that she should have been getting in order whilst she was canoodling with Remy.
"Meet you on de patio, 'bout two?"
"Yes," she replied quickly, still not looking at him. But she could have died as he suddenly bent down to her as she busied herself over her desk and planted a kiss on her cheek before he took his leave. And that was that. The students could no longer help themselves; a chorus of gasps and wolf-whistles rattled around the rafters of the classroom and Ororo knew that the slight pink tinge in her cheeks that she knew had been there from the heat she felt had now burst into a pure scarlet bloom.
Remy excited the room with a smirk of pure satisfaction on his face, leaving Ororo to face the chattering and gossiping masses alone. He knew she'd kill him for it later.
Outside...
Remy went down to the court yard, that nestled snugly between the mansions two wings, swathed in their dense shade, with the copy of Ted Hughes 'The Hawk in the Rain', given him by Ororo, and determined to give it a go. He now realised that the book had not be a random selection inspired by panic, but that she had recommended it to him many a time previous. If he was doing nothing else at present then he could at least attempt to improve his mind, he reasoned. He should at least give it a go.
Settling down into one of the wrought iron chairs that littered the cobble stoned yard haphazardly around small round tables made of the same green tainted iron material, like some Parisian boulevard café, Remy plucked the now slightly bent book from his back pocket, its cover warm with body heat, and flicked through it randomly. He flicked past the title page, the simple two word dedication, and past several of the poems, not sure what he was looking for but waiting for something to catch his eye. He stopped on page twenty one for no other reason than that the poem on the page was short and brisk. The title 'Parlour-Piece' sat bold and lonely on the top of the page and with the grit of determination he ploughed into it...
With love so like fire they dared not
Let it out into strawy small talk;
With love so like a flood they dared not
Let out a trickle lest the whole crack,
These two sat speechlessly:
Pale cool tea-cups chaperoned
Stillness, silence, the eyes
Where fire and flood strained.
He sniffed undetermined, having to admit to himself that he'd read the words but not really taken a single on of them in. As much as he'd have liked to appreciate them, his mind had simply closed off as it often did whenever he tried to take something in that might be of literary value. He hadn't changed a bit since he was at 'school', if the haphazard teaching they had been given by various good-intentioned thieves could be classified as teaching at all. And even when he was put into a genuine school it wasn't like he ever bothered attending anyway. Slumping back into the rather uncomfortable chair he tried pot luck again, flicking the pages rapidly against his outstretched thumb and coming to a stop at random; page thirty one, 'Two Phases'.
He began...
1
You had to come
Calling my singularity,
In scorn,
Imprisonment.
It contained content
That, now, at liberty
In your generous embrace,
As once, in rich Rome,
Caractacus,
I mourn.
2
When the labour was for love
He did but touch...
...that was that. He could concentrate no longer but lifted his eyes from the page and fell into contented deep thought. Thoughts about how fulfilled he felt at the moment. He could not remember the last time he had felt so at ease. Even with everything that had been left so unresolved after recent events, he almost felt that he had not a care in the world. Without conscious thought Remy pulled out a cigarette from the front pocket of his ragged but comfortable t-shirt as an autumnal breeze ruffled his messy hair, lighting it with the magenta glow at the tip of his right index finger, his already bright eyes glowing slightly with the application of his powers. His mind fell, as it did most of the waking hours these days to her and every moment they spent together. He took a languid toke on his cigarette, exhaling slowly, almost wistfully as he dwelled upon recent memory. Things were going surprisingly smooth for the both of them. The decision to keep separate rooms for now had definitely been the correct one. Only fools rush in, as Ororo had so pointedly reminded him as he would have been happy to shift up to the attic space without a second thought or time to dwell. But she had been the one to keep a level head, as always and as they had decided in the Boathouse, what felt like eons ago, they would take things one step at a time. And he was relieved that at least one of them was able to keep a level head, because with the passion that had been ignited it was indeed a very difficult task. But, as he had found out a couple of days ago, he was not the only one who had Ororo's continuing happiness in mind.
The Professor had accosted Remy on Thursday evening when he was on the way down to pool room to meet Hank, Jean-Paul, Alex and Bobby for a sneaky high-stakes game of poker, feeling confident of stripping them all of their wallets contents. Just passing through the foyer, Charles measured annunciating voice had bought him to a halt. He had started with some rather inane and idle chatter and inquiries as to how Remy was coming on with the return of his powers. But it was clear from the start that it was simply a pretext for the main event. It wasn't long before Xavier launched into a well-meaning yet never-the-less undoubtedly condescending speech about his surrogate daughter's well-fair and warned Remy about his treatment of her, not in so many words threatening him with dire consequences if he treated her as others, namely Forge, had treated her. The message was quite loud and clear even if it was delivered in the calm and homely tone people had come to associate with the Professor. Remy had duly assured him that he had no intention of causing Ororo any hurt and that he would die himself before he did such, but he couldn't help getting the sneaking suspicion that Charles did not quite believe him one hundred percent. Though he could no entirely blame him...Plus, he had to admit that although Charles thought fondly of every X-Man like his own child, the original class in particular, there was no doubting the fact that he saw Ororo in more fond terms than most, as a true daughter. And his display of protectiveness that night showed that fact clearly. But, to be fair, Remy was just as clear. He was not annoyed or angry at Charles 'warning', moreover he saw it as a chance to display to the Professor just how serious he was and to convince him that he alone no longer had the full 'burden' of ensuring Ororo's happiness...he would be there for her come hell or high water more so than he had ever been before. Remy assured him that he would lay down his life if necessary, not that he wouldn't have before...but now it was different.
His cigarette was nearing its last embers so he quickly took one or two more drags before flicking it precisely into a nearby flower bed. Broken from his reverie, he snatched up the book of poetry before it fell from his idle hand hanging loosely over the stone cold arm of the wrought iron chair. Placing it on the table he eyed it over, deliberating as to whether or not he should give it another shot, but his heart really wasn't in it; poetry and literature had really always been Ororo's thing, not his. Give him a good blast of Keppard, Robichaux, Holiday or Beiderbecke any day...this was the language he understood. The breeze that had at first been cooling turned into chilly wind, rippling through the small trees in the quiet courtyard and the thick ivy that clung to the sides of the house giving Remy the impetus to go to the kitchen and grab a beer and return to the inside warmth. Snatching up the slightly curled copy of 'The Hawk and the Rain' he made his way back indoors.
Cerebra...
Charles Xavier felt as though his head was about to split in two, his concentration was such. The heavy weight of the Cerebra helmet made him feel as though his head was sinking down into his body as the points that were attached to his main neural receptors began to bite into the skin of his scalp. He had been in there for at least five hours, perhaps more. He no longer had any true perception of time or space, being within the Cerebra chamber had disorientated him so. But then again it was not the usual search. To find a mutant anywhere within the U.S was tricky but not so taxing. If he knew the general area that the mutant was residing in, even if that did entail entire countries, he could usually pinpoint them after an hour or two, at most times less than that. But when the said mutant could be anywhere in the entire world, adding the fact that she had formidable self-taught psychic force-fields, plus the fact that she might actually be dead...it made the task near insurmountable.
Although he had not approached the task single handed—having two of the worlds other most formidable telepaths in the form of Frost and Grey-Summers by his side made it much easier. Each of them had worked in shifts near ceaselessly the last few weeks but none of them had managed to pick up so much as a vague residue of her continuing presence. But still, they stubbornly pushed on, with Kurt all the while stationed outside, somehow never giving up hope. He was sat there now on one of the dinning room chairs that he had brought down to the sterile corridor that ended with only one door above which a red neon sign called for complete silence as it always did when a psychic session was in progress. Kurt was slightly hunched on the oak chair, his bright saffron eyes that usually glowed so seemed strangely dull as he absently rubbed the Crucifix that hung from a thick dark necklace of Rosary beads. Their soft clacking was the only noise in the white stark corridor but it was still heavy with silence, the oppressive sought. He was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he didn't notice when the door at the opposite end of the corridor slid noiselessly open followed by light but quick progression of footfall. Jean was almost upon him when eventually he looked up at her briefly; she could see the bags of tiredness the hung heavy from underneath his eyes even with the layer of dark fur that did its best to obscure them.
#How're you doing Kurt?# Jean deftly observed the no noise rule by transmitting the question straight into Kurt's mind, opening up the psychic channel for him to answer back as freely as if he were a telepath also.
#I'm fine Jean,# he said almost wearily, not even bothering to look up from his long held Rosary, still rubbing the Crucifix as if the very act were soothing to him.
#You look shattered,# the Redhead stated as she sunk down to the floor opposite him, crossing her legs into the lotus position. She continued to look up at him intently, as if awaiting an answer. When none was forthcoming she asked, #when's the last time you had a decent nights sleep, huh?#
#I'm fine Jean,# he repeated somewhat solemnly this time, looking down at her for the first time holding true eye contact, #I don't need you to fuss over me—#
#I'm your friend Kurt,# Jean interjected, #it's what we're meant to do isn't it? Show our concern?#
That managed to coax a weak smile out of him; definitely vague, but a smile none-the-less. It was more than any of them had seen for weeks now. #I know Jean and I thank you for it# he replied. #You and Ororo have been especially wonderful. If nothing else all this has reminded me how much everybody at the mansion rallies 'round when a comrade is in need.# His brow creased painfully as he let out an audible sigh, his fist unconsciously clenching around his Rosary, #But it doesn't really lessen the pain.#
Jean's mouth twitched as she visibly tried to conjure something comforting to say but given the subject of the sympathy, she was clearly finding it hard to muster the necessary consoling words. It was true that Ororo and she had performed near miracles in the intervening weeks to think of any good reason for hoping that Darkholme might still be alive. But finally, it seemed Mrs. Grey-Summers was stumped for anything else to say.
#Look...I'm sure...# she began haltingly, but was finding it impossible after endless days of trying. But Kurt soon put her out of her misery.
#It's okay Jean, you don't have to you know. I am fully aware that to everybody here that woman was nothing more than a selfish monster—if I'm completely truthfully I'm inclined to say that I feel the same way.# Jean gave a small smile in response to his grim humour which he thankfully reciprocated. #But still...she was...is...my mother and I know I am a fool, and far too soft for my own good. I'm sure Logan would tell me so if he were here.# At that he issued a wry grin.
#Don't be stupid Kurt,# Jean said kindly, rolling forwards to kneel before him as she laid a comforting hand on his knee, #You're nothing more than a caring loving person and that just makes you twice the human she ever could be. Don't feel bad for caring Kurt, it's that capacity for unlimited forgiveness that makes you who you are. You love your mother unconditionally, which should be a two way thing,# her smile became sympathetic as she added #It's just a good job that you're able to recognise her faults with such clarity too.#
#That's kind of you Jean, it truly is,# he said, placing a three digit hand over hers fondly, #but most people I'm sure would call me nothing but an idiot to even bother giving her a second thought.#
Jean shook her head making her loose hair ripple about her shoulders with the unmistakeable air of someone playing for time. #Well...what would they know,# she finally replied, #Besides, most people don't think that, they think you're courageous Kurt. I doubt there's a single other person in this mansion that could say they would feel the same in your position. And that definitely says more about you than it does about them.# She gave him a reassuring pat on the knee before sinking back to her former position, letting a lengthy silence grow between them. She was really stuck for anything else to say now, indeed what she had already said had been nothing more than a repeat of previous attempts at comfort. Not that she didn't mean every word she had said because she certainly did, but it was like talking to someone in a protracted, perpetual state of grief when there was every possibility that they had no reason to grieve at all.
#Have you eaten today?# she transmitted randomly, completely changing the subject.
He shook his head slightly, #Nein,# he was quick to add before he received another lecture about looking after himself, #but I will. I will...#
Meanwhile in the Cerebra chamber nothing had really changed. Charles, although being entirely on another plain, was perfectly aware of Emma's presence in the observation booth, monitoring his vitals and guarding against any unexpected attacks whilst he was so mentally exposed. But even though he was still fully aware of his physical being and the proximity in which it sat, his mind was literally thousands of miles away, his senses telling him that he was floating in an abstract manner. Though that was not the real case but his body had to compensate to make logical sense of such unnatural detachment. Through the chattering, inner and outer, of hundreds and at times thousands of voices the Professor's consciousness travelled. He had been chasing a tantalising lead for hours now, just the random, splintered spikes of a vaguely recognisable psyche. But it moved so swiftly and shut itself off so entirely at times that he couldn't even be sure of the general continent never mind the country it resided in. All he did know was that he was currently somewhere in the northern hemisphere. Not that that was too much help...
#Charles dear,# Emma's cultured voice cut through the layers of perceived fog like a Sabre, #I think it's time you came out. You've been in there far too long as it is.# Back in the observation booth Emma looked from the sliver and diamond encrusted watch on her slim wrist to the various screens that displayed the Professor's heart rate, blood pressure and brain activity. Everything looked normal and stable but still, she didn't want him to push his luck. He was great yes, quite possibly the greatest, but he was not invulnerable.
#I appreciate the concern Emma, but I think I'm on to something.# His mouth began to form a thin line as he tried to fine tune his already formidable concentration even more,# But it's just...so...elusive...# His words stuttered out as though he were physically stretching to grab something no more than a hairs breadth out of reach; the air of frustration was all there.
Emma pouted irritably as she folded her arms across her chest and stared steadfastly at the Professor through the thick glass floor to ceiling window that separated her from the Cerebra chamber. There was nothing, she thought, that could irritate an obstinately stubborn person more than another obstinately stubborn individual. Her admiration for Charles was high, higher than any other of the X-Men would have believed it to be but at times his utter determinism to be the one to solve problems became a problem within itself. Perhaps after so many years feeling so responsible for countless lives had left him with an inability to accede to others when they only had his best interests at heart.
#Seriously Charles,# Emma persisted, #At least let me hook myself up to Cerebra from out here—it might help. I know my connection will be greatly lessened but—#
She stopped short when Charles made a resounding psychic 'shh!' sound and raised his hand to halt her in her tracks. He was onto something...something more concrete than he had felt for weeks... The visions whirled around him as if he had been suddenly cast into the middle of a hurricane but through it all he began to develop a definite sense of place. It was Europe, no question. Slowly more things began to fall into place and the sharp spikes of thought he had been tracing like a bloodhound on the scent of a fox became solid; more a battering ram than random hits. And then, like a ten-ton weight to the mind it hit him so that his head fell physically back with the force of smashing through such well-honed mental barriers. He knew he probably only had mere seconds to pin-point her before she sensed the invasion and cast him out. But Charles Xavier was not known as the greatest telepath on earth for nothing, a few seconds of complete contact was all he needed...And...
#Charles, are you alright!#
There! He had it!
As he quite rightly anticipated he felt himself unceremoniously shunted from her mind but it didn't matter, he had garnered enough information to be getting on with, if not some of the finer details he would have liked to have harvested.
"I know where she is Emma," he said out loud as he proceeded to remove the cumbersome helmet. He looked over to the large window into the booth, his eyes screwed small with the sudden invasion of light after so long in darkness, but did not see fit to provide her with the information. He simply nodded at her in indication to begin winding down Cerebra so that he could leave the chamber that seemed more confining the longer he spent inside.
Tight lipped with a mixture of anticipation and frustration Emma gave a sharp dismayed shake of her head as she began to punch, almost randomly, at switches and buttons, going about the task as was expected of her without a word.
Meanwhile...
The corridors had been mercifully deserted as Remy wended his way to the staff kitchen at the back of the house; the expansion of school necessitating an entire new catering space for the numerous children. He had only run into Jay Guthrie and Sammy the Squid-boy on his sojourn, who, looking appropriately guilty, were clearly bunking-off a lesson. But Remy had only given them a wry, knowing grin and walked on by without saying a thing to them. It would have been more than a little hypocritical given his school record or lack thereof. The two boy's palpable relief was comical, making Remy chuckle softly as he continued on his way.
He strode quickly across the kitchen once he was there; his lanky legs making short work of it as he yanked open the fridge and pulled out a beer. A little early granted, he told himself, but just the one wouldn't hurt. He lopped the metal top off with the Swiss army knife he always had stowed in his pocket, the one that had more than a few 'extras' necessary to his chosen profession. Slamming the door back shut as he took several large gulps he glanced at the clock that hung above the doorway on his way out. He swiftly noted that it was one thirty, half-an-hour before his agreed meeting with Ororo. Tossing over a few options in his mind as he departed the quiet shaded kitchen he decided to make his way to the pool house, maybe have a quick dip before it became rife with students making the most of their lunch hour.
The pool was as still as a glass surface when he got down there, the door casting an eerie echo through-out the room as it creaked open and banged back shut behind him. The lounge chairs were arranged randomly around the pure blue and black stripped oblong and strewn with damp towels left there without a care for the housekeeping to collect. Talk about the Life of Reilly these kids get, he thought to himself as he stopped at the top end of the pool. Remy had his own towel casually draped over his left shoulder, the already half finished beer gripped loosely in his right hand as he quickly surveyed the pool. The enormous glass sidings of the building trapped what little heat there was coming from the early autumn sun inside the airy space, making it warm enough but not uncomfortably so. Throwing his towel down onto the sun-lounger closest to him he placed the amber brown beer bottle onto the tiled floor with a small clink and as he straightened up he peeled off his sleeveless t-shirt and dumped it on top of his crumpled towel. Taking his Swiss knife from his pocket and depositing it with the rest of his gear he kicked off his trainers and then whipped off his baggy jeans. Deciding that his cut boxer shorts would be sufficient for a quick swim he stepped close to the edge, preparing to dive, breaking the perfect stillness as if it were a sheet of glass. But just as he was about to launch himself in, a muffled exploding sound practically right next to him almost made him stumble into the chlorine blue pool rather ungainly.
He managed to save himself just in time though as the bright magenta cloud dissipated and the familiar sulphur and brimstone stench reached his nostrils much to his chagrin.
"What de hell you playin' at Kurt!" Remy exclaimed in delayed shock. He hated it when he did that, it was downright creepy. But at least he'd saved himself from plunging into the water.
Kurt took no noticed of Remy's surprise; he was too concerned with what he'd been 'bamfing' about the mansion for the past twenty minutes trying to find him to tell him. "Xavier," he panted, looking somewhere between excitement and anxiety. "He's...he's..."
Remy ran out of patience with Kurt's shortness of breath, barking, "He's what?" But he did not really need him to tell him. His worst fear, the one that he had been trying to pretend was no longer a problem had been realised. He had spent these past weeks in such state of bliss that he had genuinely barely thought about it. There was a huge lurch in his stomach, as if it had just left his body and dropped into the lower reaches of the mansion. He truly didn't need him to say it...
"He's found Mystique," Kurt said, somewhat steadier than his earlier attempt.
"Where?" Remy asked automatically, his voice stonier and colder than Kurt had ever heard it before.
The German paused, taking in Remy's steely look, but he eventually roused himself enough to say, "London."
TBC