Chapter Ten

Scott glanced at the conference room's elegant grandfather clock for the fifth time in as many minutes.

He had called the senior faculty members to join the briefing, but they had been waiting for Jean to join them for nearly twenty minutes now, and Scott wasn't the only one starting to get antsy.

"What on earth can be taking her so long?" Erik muttered, crossly brushing an imaginary dust speck from the immaculately polished table.

"Perhaps she got caught up in a conversation with one of the students?" Hank suggested.

Ororo shook her head, her brow creased over her nose.

"No," she said, "it is not like Jean to loose track of the time like this. I should go find her."

"Why not allow her few minutes more before we start sending out search parties," Hank said. "It was a long flight, after all. She may just want to freshen up."

Scott tightened his lips.

"Maybe..." he allowed. "But... Look, I don't know what it is, but I'm getting this creepy, weird feeling that something's wrong. I'm with Ororo on this. It's not like Jean to keep us waiting."

The Professor nodded slowly, his brow furrowed and his lips also a narrow line.

"I am not sensing a disturbance," he noted, "but I agree that we have waited long enough. Scott, go find her. And, if you do happen to run into any trouble—"

"I'll contact you at once," Scott said grimly, already rising from his chair. "Give me five minutes. I'll be right back."

Ororo made a move as if to join him, but remained in her seat. Scott gave her an understanding nod, and quickly crossed the large room, closing the heavy, wooden door behind him.


Charging down the stairs, Scott nearly plowed into four chatting students just leaving the dining hall.

"Oh, Mr. Summers!" Anna gasped, her pale cheeks flushing a brilliant shade of green. "I'm sorry! We...we didn't see you...!"

"Any of you kids see my wife in there?" Scott asked, nodding toward the nearly empty cafeteria.

"Yes, sir," Adam said, his coarse, silvery skin sparkling in the sunlight streaming in through the window at the end of the hall. "She sat at our table. But, she left a while ago."

"How long ago?" Scott inquired, trying to keep his growing concern from his voice. "Did she happen to tell you where she was going?"

The students shared uncomfortable looks, and Scott frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well?" he prompted.

"We don't know where she went," Anna stated, her gaze steady as she looked Scott straight in the glasses. "She left, like, maybe around ten minutes ago? We talked for a while while she was eating...you know, about class and the homework she'd left for us and stuff. And that was it."

She frowned.

"Why, is something the matter?"

Scott shook his head, his lips tightening as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

"No," he told her. "Everything's fine. I just wanted to talk with her, that's all."

"Well, she's got to be somewhere," Holly said, and smiled. "But we promised to meet some kids outside for baseball, so..."

She trailed off, the four of them fidgeting as if waiting for Scott's permission to leave.

Scott furrowed his brow suspiciously. From the way they were acting, he could tell these kids were up to something, and Scott believed he could guess what it was.

"Thanks," he said. "And I won't keep you from your game, don't worry. But, remember this," he added, shooting them his best 'I'm on to you' look. "The medbay - in fact, the entire subbasement - is off limits to all students for the time being. It will continue to be off limits until I specifically tell you otherwise. Am I understood?"

The students seemed to deflate. Anna squeezed her orange eyes tightly closed, hissing something through her teeth that sounded suspiciously like a swear.

Scott's little smirk deepened. Gotcha...

"Yes, Mr. Summers," the four teens mumbled.

"Now go on, get out of here," Scott said with a playful, shooing gesture. "Go get some fresh air. I'll make sure you're filled in on our guest's details, but only as long as you promise not to poke your noses where they don't belong."

"Really?" Anna said. "We can have an inside scoop? 'Before' the rest of the school?"

"Well, you and Paul did nearly crush the poor man," Scott said. "But, I'm serious about this restriction. And, I don't think I need to tell you the penalty for a security violation of that magnitude."

Paul swallowed nervously, but Anna seemed satisfied, at least for the time being.

"OK, Mr. Summers, we promise," she said, and she turned to the others. "Come on, guys. Let's get out of here!"

Scott shook his head as he watched the students scamper off, wondering whether he should warn the Professor about what they had been up to, when a thought froze him in place. If Jean had picked up on their all-too-obvious plans to spy on their intruder—

Wait...that was it...that was the source of the disquieting feeling that had been setting him on edge since he left Jean. His mental link with her, their special telepathic bond...he couldn't feel it.

He'd called Hank away from the medbay - there was no one down there to warn her...to stop her...!

Scott dashed for the elevator to the subbasement, firmly swallowing back a spike of guilty dread.

"Professor," he snapped into his comm unit, "we may have a problem..."


Kurt Wagner tore through the taut film separating him from the light glowing just beyond, the terror of the empty blankness that had been pulling at him, clawing at him still roaring in his ears.

He squeezed his thick, red fingers tighter around Jean's hand, giving a sharp yank as he helped her push through after him.

Jean coughed, gulping air and leaning against Kurt's cloaked shoulder until she could trust her shaky legs to support her.

"That," she gasped, "was not normal!"

Kurt raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"What wasn't?" he snarled. "Your unwelcome trespass? Or, getting us both trapped in Belasco's little mini-Limbo because you were too frightened and pigheaded to listen to me?"

Jean glared, then sighed.

"OK, maybe I deserved that," she acknowledged. "But, that wasn't what I meant. That weird...nothingness we just passed through. The funny filmy stuff we had to break through to get...wherever we are now. I've never sensed anything like that before. It strikes me as..."

"As what?" Kurt pressed, his churlish attitude unable to completely hide his curiosity.

"Unnatural," Jean finished with a dissatisfied frown. "It felt...I don't know...artificial somehow. But...no, it's more than that..."

She shook her head, squinting her eyes as she struggled to put her feelings into words.

"None of what I have seen so far feels like it belongs to you, Kurt; that it originated from you," she said. "If you weren't here with me now, I'd swear I had entered the mind of a different person all together."

"You did," Kurt said caustically. "Your intrusion woke Belasco, and he is the one in control here. He has been for...well, for more years than I really care to count. And for all that time, I have been nothing more than a shadow, a ghost...haunting Belasco's twisted thoughts. At least, that is how things were...until the night she came..."

He turned away from her, closing his eyes as if in pain.

"Until she...?" Jean shook her head, not understanding. "Who is 'she'? What do you mean, Kurt?"

The russet-skinned man seemed about to answer, but stopped, his eyes widening as he caught sight of something over Jean's shoulder.

Jean turned slowly, following his startled gaze.

"Oh, my God," she gasped. "Where are we?"

The two mutants stood in the shade at the outskirts of the bustling cobblestone square of a very European-looking city. Fresh, springtime sunlight lit the crowded open market, making even the cramped, litter-strewn alleys seem vibrant and picturesque.

"I don't know," Kurt responded, clearly disconcerted by the improbable sight before him. "If I were to take a wild guess, I'd say this was Florence. That bridge there, with the scaffolding, could be the Ponte Vecchio. But, everything looks so different from the last time I came here with the circus. Almost unrecognizable."

"Then, what makes you think this is Florence?"

"Because," he said distractedly, "Belasco was born in Florence...a contemporary of the poet Dante Alighieri."

His tail twitched, and he turned to her.

"Jean, can these people see us?" he demanded. "Can you tell if Belasco knows we're here?"

Jean brought a hand to her temple, but shook her head.

"I'm not sure," she said. "Why do you ask?"

Kurt pointed.

"Look at that tall man heading for the bridge," he said. "Do his features remind you of anyone?"

Jean looked from the pale, dark-haired man to Kurt, startled by the uncanny resemblance.

"Oh, God," she breathed. "Do you think he could be Belasco in disguise?"

Kurt frowned, keeping his eyes trained on the man and his shorter companion.

"Perhaps," he mused, his expression softening slightly as he watched the young man laugh with his friend. "Or, perhaps he is who Belasco used to be... The man he was before he became the demon we know."

"Should we follow him?" Jean asked.

Kurt looked at her, and almost smiled.

"Do you really think I would blend into that crowd, Liebling?"

Jean gave a start, her heart clenching in her chest as she regarded the russet-skinned man, feeling she was seeing him for the first time. And, it was the first time she truly recognized him as her old friend and teammate.

Slowly, she smiled back, struggling to hide her strong reaction behind a shaky laugh. This really was Kurt, and he was alive!

"Well, like you said, this is your mind too, isn't it?" she said. "Couldn't you try to change your appearance, like in a dream?"

Kurt looked startled by the suggestion.

"I don't really know," he said thoughtfully. "I've never tried such a thing on purpose before."

"Well, try it now," Jean said, glancing back at the two men. "If we stand here too long, we're going to lose them."

Kurt nodded, his face taking on a look of total concentration as he stared at Jean. The telepath looked down to see her slightly rumpled business suit had been replaced with a colorful gown similar to the gowns many of the women in the market wore. She grinned in proud astonishment, but when she looked up to praise Kurt she saw a pale man with dark hair, dark eyes, and a long, aquiline nose looking back at her. He, too, was dressed in medieval garb.

"Basil Rathbone," the man explained, offering her a somewhat self-conscious smile that quickly turned sardonic. "I haven't been feeling much like an Errol Flynn character of late."

Jean brought a hand to her mouth, surprised to feel her eyes stinging.

"No, it's perfect, Kurt," she told him through her fingers, unable to completely hide her smile. On impulse, she stepped forward, wrapping the taller man in a tight embrace. Her unshed tears nearly fell when she felt him hesitantly return it.

"What—?" Kurt cleared his throat, pulling away from her with a slightly suspicious frown. "What was that for?"

Jean just shook her head, her lips still twitching as she fought to reign in her emotions.

"Come on," she said, stepping out into the bright sunlight. "Those two men can't have gone far."


Kurt and Jean caught up with their quarry at the old bridge. The two men had paused there, leaning casually against the cool stone while they talked. The eavesdroppers passed the pair and took up casual poses of their own, pretending to watch the rather dirty water flowing beneath them.

"Listen to me, my friend," the taller of the two men was saying, a broad, playful smile quirking across his narrow face. "You have been holed up with your dusty scrolls and papers for far too long. I say enough with the poetry and the politics! It's time for you to have some fun."

"No, Brunetto, you listen to me," the shorter man said. "You don't seem to realize: if I ever hope to be eligible for political office in this city, I first must enroll in the guild of physicians and apothecaries. That requires a great deal of hard work and responsibility - two things you know nothing about."

"Pish," was Brunetto's retort. "Your responsibilities can certainly wait an hour for your return. Of what use will you be to the great city of Florence if you starve yourself of sunshine, life, and laughter - not to mention food. Did I mention food? Because I don't know about you, Dante, but I need my lunch and a glass or two of good wine before I can even think of returning to work."

"I wouldn't exactly call what you do 'work'," Dante scoffed.

Brunetto clasped a dramatic hand to his heart.

"My friend, you wound me with your biting words. Of course what I do is 'work'. Do you think it's easy striving to decipher the mysteries of the universe? And if, in the meantime, a few lovely ladies or exceedingly rich gentlemen decide they would rather their silver necklace or copper buttons were made of gold, who am I to deny them?"

"Your brand of alchemy is no more than a scam, Brunetto, and you are nothing more than a cheap con artist."

"I object to that word 'cheap' as a descriptor!" Brunetto huffed, haughtily drawing himself up. "I am a very expensive con artist. Lord knows those rich snobs can certainly spare the cash. And, there is real gold dust in the paint I use."

He waved off the look Dante shot him.

"Besides, I only do that to fund my real work; my research into how and why the world was made and what comes afterward, when we leave it."

"God made the world," Dante snapped. "And His kingdom is what awaits us after death. That is all you need to know or to worry yourself over. Unless, of course, you would rather spend eternity in the Inferno for your continuous blasphemies."

Brunetto quirked an eyebrow.

"If the Devil agreed to answer my questions, I might just consider it worth it."

Dante stared, his mouth slightly open.

"Do not talk that way, Brunetto Donati, not even in jest." He shook his head. "Honestly, if you weren't my wife's cousin—"

"Oh, come off it, Dante," Brunetto said, and laughed. "You know we make a great pair - you with your dreaming and I with my scheming. And speaking of scheming, look who just stepped onto our bridge."

All color drained from Dante's already pale cheeks as his eyes followed his friend's gesturing hand.

"Beatrice!" he gasped.

"Right on the first guess," Brunetto said, grinning impishly. "Beatrice Portinari, the unfairly beautiful young wife of that sickeningly wealthy banker who has in his charge all my father's accounts. At least, they're the accounts of the man my mother 'claimed' to be my father."

He snorted a brief, derisive laugh.

"Did you know the ugly old fossil has declared he'll not so much as consider including me in his will until I reach the so-called 'responsible' age of thirty? Isn't that kind of him after twenty-odd years of pretending I don't exist? Knowing my father, though, he'll probably die first. Either that, or he'll fix it so I inherit the family cat... But, enough of this talk," he said brusquely, straightening his coat and smoothing his shiny, black hair. "Come on, let's go say hello."

"Brunetto, no! Wait!" Dante squeaked.

But, Brunetto was already sauntering up to the small group of young ladies standing just across the way. Offering them a gallant bow, he said: "Buon giorno, signora! It is a lovely day, is it not?"

Beatrice smiled, but quickly lifted a pale hand to shield her expression as her small entourage of richly dressed ladies gasped and blushed at the young man's shamelessly forward behavior.

"Indeed it is, signore," she responded, politely lowering her eyes. "It's wonderful to see the sun again after all the rain we've had recently."

"Ah, yes..." Brunetto nodded sagely. "The weather has been quite trying of late. But, surely there are more engaging topics to discuss," he said, jumping up to sit on the bridge wall. "I know! Let's talk about me."

"About you?" she repeated, raising her eyebrows.

"More precisely," Brunetto corrected, reaching out to take her hand, "about us. I love you, Beatrice. I've always loved you. I want you to leave your husband and run away with me. Please say you will!"

Beatrice's entourage seemed unsure whether to laugh at this outrageous display or to shout in indignation. Beatrice solved their dilemma by demurely removing her hand from Brunetto's grasp a moment before he brought it to his lips for a kiss.

"Amusing as I may find our little chats, Signore Donati," she said primly. "I really can't waste any more time in the company of a rogue such as you. You may have no thought for your own reputation, brash scoundrel, but to a lady such as myself, honor is everything."

Brunetto released a theatrical sigh.

"My lady, your words are as wise as they are painful," he said. "So, once again I stand rejected, my heart forced...reluctantly...to seek comfort in the arms of another."

He jumped down from the wall, right into the middle of Beatrice's entourage.

"Any of you girls interested?" he asked with a wink.

Dante cringed in sympathy as Brunetto found himself assaulted by a dozen hands, three fans, and a bouquet of spring flowers all slapping and hitting and pushing him away. But, Brunetto was laughing - as were the girls who weren't shouting out their own rejections and insults against Brunetto's character. Moments later, the girls had continued on, leaving Brunetto, Dante, and their two clandestine spectators alone in the middle of the old bridge.

"If only she weren't married, eh Dante," Brunetto sighed, nudging his friend playfully as he leaned over the side to watch the water flow under the bridge. Slowly, Dante turned to join him.

"You treat the lady with a familiarity that is neither warranted nor proper," he said softly. "And, I don't think it's right."

"She doesn't mind," Brunetto said without looking up. "None of them do, really. If they did, I would probably have been fined or banished or locked in irons or something long ago. If you ask me, I think they rather enjoy the attention."

"It's still not right," Dante insisted. "She had a point when she spoke of her honor. You risk everything she has playing foolish games like that. We aren't children anymore, Brunetto. Even words said in jest can carry weight."

Brunetto stared at the sparkling water, his expression tight and serious. Then, he slapped his hands against the stone, forcefully shoving himself upright as he turned on his heel and started to march away.

"You're right," he called over his shoulder, all trace of good humor gone from his voice. "It's not a game anymore. In fact, it never was. I have to get back to my laboratory."

"But, our lunch—?" Dante started.

"I'm not hungry," Brunetto called back. "I'll meet up with you some other time. Good day, Dante."

Dante looked baffled, and a little concerned, but he shrugged it off.

"I'll see you later, then," he said, and started walking in the opposite direction from his friend.

Jean stepped away from the wall with a baffled expression of her own.

"What do you think all that was about?" she said.

"Clearly, they are both in love with the same unattainable woman," Kurt said. "How can you be a telepath, and not see that?

Jean's green eyes flashed.

"I already told you that this place seems weirdly artificial," she said. "And, that little scene only confirmed that impression. I don't know if it's me or a side effect of that strange duality I sensed before, but watching those people... It was like watching a TV show. There was no emotional presence there to sense...from either of them! They may as well have been holograms, or cardboard cut-outs for all I could tell."

"And what about me?" he asked, his dark eyes oddly tight. "What do you sense when you look at me?"

Jean closed her eyes, taking in a deep, calming breath as she narrowed her focus.

"I sense...guilt... Anger...fear...pain..."

And something else. Something so deep and strong she had nearly missed it. A shimmer of white against the sun, slender brown hands guiding blue as they dug into rich soil...

Jean opened her eyes, looking into Kurt's disguised face with a carefully unreadable expression.

"And hope," she said, tilting her head slightly. Could Kurt have been harboring an 'unattainable' love of his own? For how long? Did Ororo know?

"Your presence here is real, Kurt," she assured him. "Real and solid. The rest of this..."

She trailed off, gazing around the medieval city with a frustrated shake of her head.

"What happened to you all those years ago?" she said softly, slowly turning back to look at him. "Who could have done this to you?"

"Xavier said the answer was in here somewhere," Kurt told her, tapping his temple with a long, pale finger. "All I have to do is find it."

"All 'we' have to do, you mean," Jean corrected. "And, I think the best place to start would be that Brunetto's lab."

"I agree," Kurt said. "Except for one thing."

He straightened, shooting her an imposing glare.

"I'm going alone."

"Now, wait one minute—"

"Jean, I don't know what Charles was thinking when he sent you in here and I don't care," Kurt snapped. "But, your presence here is a liability I can't afford, and I want you out. If I have even a hope of regaining control from Belasco, I'm going to need—"

"You're going to need help!" Jean cut in. "And, before you start blaming Charles for this mess, you should know Charles didn't send me in here, Kurt. He doesn't even know about it. I came on my own."

She shook her head, embarrassed.

"I don't really know why I did it, to tell you the truth," she admitted sheepishly. "It was a foolish, ill-advised move on my part, and—"

"I'll say!" Kurt exclaimed, his pale face flushing angrily. "Not only did you wake Belasco, forcing me to go into hiding again, but you nearly got us both killed! If I hadn't—"

"And, I thank you for that," Jean interrupted again. "You went out of your way to rescue me - twice! - after all the stupid things I said and did. But, this is my chance to return the gesture. Let me help you, Kurt. Let me prove myself as much a friend to you as you have always been to me."

"It's not as easy as that!" Kurt snarled, running a frustrated hand through his black hair. "Belasco is looking for us even now, and if he finds us that fire-pit will be the least of your worries."

"All the more reason for us to get going," Jean said, giving his hand a gentle pull as she started walking in the direction Brunetto had gone. "If we keep moving, it will be harder for him to locate us."

Kurt glared, then shook his head with a slight sneer.

"I'm not going to get rid of you, am I?" he said.

"I'm not leaving you, Kurt, if that's what you mean," she said firmly. "Like it or not, we're in this together. Now, let's go find Brunetto. He has to hold at least some of the answers to all this, or his memories wouldn't be here, would they?"

Kurt still looked conflicted, but Jean could tell her words had touched him. A moment later, he confirmed that impression with a small smile, a smile that came and went so quickly if she hadn't been looking for it, she would have missed it.

"Then come along, meine Freundin," he said brusquely, leading the way toward an open doorway across the cobbled street. "Through here."

Jean followed him into the blackness without hesitation. Once she was inside, Kurt grabbed her hand.

"Hold on tight," he warned.

Before she could respond, Jean felt herself falling, tumbling helplessly through the same horrible, blinding nothingness they had passed through after escaping from Belasco's trap. But this time, she held on to Kurt's hand out of trust instead of fear - and she knew he noticed the difference.

To Be Continued...


Notes:

This chapter was inspired, in part, by the biographies/autobiography of Dante Alighieri and the 1883 painting "Dante and Beatrice" by Henry Holiday.

Like Dante, Beatrice (Bice di Folco) Portinari is a real historical figure. Her father was a Florentine citizen, and she married a wealthy banker, Simone dei Bardi in 1287. She died in 1290 at age 24. According to Dante's "La Vita Nuova," and Giovanni Boccaccio's "Life of Dante," the poet met with her twice, first when they were both nine and maybe once after that in 1283 on May Day. Dante kind of fixated on her - or, maybe, the 'poetic ideal' she represented in his mind - and she became the subject of many of his poems. He depicts Beatrice as his "salvation," the "glorious lady of his mind," his guide to Paradise in "The Divine Comedy," and the person responsible for his adventure through the realms of the afterlife. Here's a link to the famous Henry Holiday painting of Beatrice ignoring Dante on a bridge that helped inspire this chapter: . ?id=152 There's some background info on the work, subjects, and artist there too, if you're interested. :) Dante wrote that, after seeing Beatrice on the bridge, a strong joy filled him and he had to head off to his room, where he had a dream about her that inspired him to write the first of his zillion poems about her. Yep...weird guy, Dante.

The real Dante joined the guild of physicians and apothecaries in Florence, and became actively involved in politics when he was thirty. This story takes place shortly before Beatrice's death, though, so the 'character' Dante is not in the guild yet and not yet eligible for office.

I chose the name Brunetto for Belasco's 'human' persona because the philosopher and scholar Brunetto Latini probably had an influence on the real Dante's education and also because Brunetto has three syllables and looks kind of like Belasco if you're tired and really blur your eyes. I made his last name Donati because the real Dante's wife was named Gemma Donati (he married her in 1285, before Beatrice got married, and had kids before Beatrice died, making his primarily mental 'courtly love' relationship with an imagined ideal of Beatrice kind of seem even weirder), and I thought it might be interesting for the characters Dante and Belasco to have family ties on top of being friends - especially considering what happens to them later on.

Thus concludes the Author's Notes for this chapter. Stay tuned for Ch. 11, coming soon! :)