And now, for your viewing pleasure, the revised and edited Chapter Five. Suggestions for a more appropriate (or just better sounding?) chapter title are welcome, as is R&Ring. Encouraged, in fact. One can never have enough feedback.
Disclaimer: Once again I feel the need to disown the Canon Characters of the X-men...Unfortunately, my creativity does not extend that far. OO However, Katherine Darke, Viikayri DeLorian, and the ever-spiteful Jessop Darke are mine, and I will bite for them.
"Katherine Darke!" The urgent command in Viikayri's voice pierced through Darke's barrage of nightmares that had caused her to cry out in a deafening, high-pitched scream. Even that had not waken the younger teacher.
Lightning flashed behind her eyelids as Darke shot straight up in bed, hindered only by firm hands over her shoulders. Her alert, wide and terrified eyes met those of her grey-scaled companion, narrowed and shining with concern. Pressing a hand to her temple, Viikayri backed away and slowly sank down onto Darke's bed. Breathing heavily and wiping cold sweat from her brow, Darke watched and trembled, wrapping chilled arms around still-blanketed knees.
Viik closed her eyes tightly, still with one hand pressed to the side of her head as though dealing with a repeatedly disobedient child.
"Damn it, Kat. One of these days you're going to make me go deaf." Viik's hiss was sharp as she tried to calm the ringing in her head.
Shifting uncomfortably, Darke set her chin atop aforementioned knees. "I'm sorry."
Viikayri could only sigh. "Don't be. It's not your fault. But I'm going to buy you a cork, I swear." She reached over and grasped her friend's shoulder, this time in comfort rather than restraint. "What-"
"-The bloody hell was that!"
Both young women glanced up from the patterned quilt at which both had been staring in silence. Looking to the door, Darke ducked her head, wishing suddenly to make herself very scarce. Kitty Pryde stood in the door, arms crossed and a silent whine on her pouting lips. By now, three weeks after having been accepted to teach at the School, both young professors were well accustomed to Kitty's antics and abilities, and she to theirs. A moment later, padded footsteps approached that were easily detected by Viik's hearing. Sighing, she stood and walked to the door, patting Darke on the shoulder as she passed. Opening the door placed Kitty in open space, but the young girl still looked rather triumphant. Poking her head through the door, she spotted Jones creeping quickly down the hall towards them.
Seeing the professor, he paused, hesitant now as he seemed to suddenly realize he was on forbidden ground. "Is-"
Viik nodded, and he hushed. "Everything's okay."
"I heard a-" He continued, but again fell silent as Viikayri explained.
"Ms. Darke had a nightmare. She screams really loud…Louder than Siryn, when she has those kind. Everything's fine, Jonesy."
Nodding solemnly, the child turned without another word and padded down the way he'd come. He was stopped, though, as it seemed the halls finally came alive with opening doors and heads popping into the hall, damn near two full minutes after the piercing scream that had alarmed the tiny insomniac who'd been innocently watching tv.
"What…?" Pretty much a unanimous call. And rather loud. Any who (by some miracle) hadn't heard Darke the first time, would certainly be roused by the clatter of voices rising in the Teacher's hall.
"What's going on?" A second phase of the first, mostly the groggy voices of the men folk: Scott stumbling from his room, Logan following from his door across the hall, glaring at each other as they realized they spoke in unison. Remy was guilty of the same, though drew much less menace than did the other two. Kurt stepped from his room not a half-second later, his expression halfway between tired and fierce, as though prepared for a fight.
"Is everyone okay?" Ororo's calm voice infiltrated both the hostility and the alarmed aura developing in the halls as slowly she walked past Jones toward Darke's room, placing her hand on his shoulder momentarily as she did so. Glancing down at him, she didn't appear to be reassured by his nod as he continued toward the common areas, answering the irresistable call of the TV. Looking again toward Viikayri and Kitty, Storm continued moving toward their room, her questions within her concerned eyes.
"Yes, Ororo…Everything's fine," Viik nodded solemnly, frowning deeply at Scott and Logan. Deciding it best to ignore their antics for the moment, she knelt to reassure Kitty.
"A dream did that?" Kitty questioned before the older mutant could utter a word. Darke stepped from behind Viikayri, her expression deeply apologetic.
"Look, guys, I'm sorry…But it wasn't anything…I just dreamed…and I can't control my voice when I'm sleeping." She did look as though she wanted to find a hole and bury herself there.
"Great," Logan rolled his eyes stormed he stormed back into his room, unaffected by her pre-existing guilt. "Another Siryn." The comment was muffled as he shut his door, and Darke looked crestfallen.
"-But-"
Scott scoffed. "Don't worry about him. He's just a crabby rat when he's woken up. You okay? What'd ya dream about?"
Realizing that there was no danger and any excitement had passed, the hallway cleared of heads, aside from Scott, Ororo, Kitty, and a lingering, hesitant Kurt.
"Kitty…To bed." The student wordlessly obeyed Ororo's soft order, disappearing promptly towards the girls' rooms. Glancing back to Darke, Ororo watched while Darke wrung her hands, still trying to answer Scott's question.
"I don't remember exactly. But…We should all sleep, eh?" Changing the subject only worked on the surface, it appeared. Reluctantly, all drifted back into their rooms, Ororo not leaving without a reassuring squeeze to Darke's shoulder.
"Sleep well. Let me know if you need to talk," With a meaningful glance at Viikayri, clearly the same was to be directed to her, Storm slowly slipped back into her room.
Checking the hall as Viikayri headed back into her dorm (she was quite persistant in sleeping near Darke when she had nights like these...Closer access meant it was quicker to shut her up if she screamed), Darke's grim eyes met Kurt's concerned gaze for one frozen moment. No words spoken, no expressions changed. For a second, neither moved. Finally, she sniffed, clearing her nose, ducked her head back inside and turned to Viik. "That can't happen again," she stated matter-of-factly.
"Oh?" Viik sat on her bed, arms crossed, wings folded at her back, clearly not convinced. "And you're going to stop it, then?"
Her sarcasm bit into Darke's already smarting pride. Wincing, she slid onto her own bed, grasping for her pillow and planting her face into it. "Phuphoph."
Very Xavier-like, one of Viikayri's eyebrows rose. "You don't say...?"
Lifting her head, she cast a death glare at her friend. "Fuck off."
Leaving one hand limp on the slowly-closing door, Kurt stepped inside his room and looked silently at the floor, unwilling to look anywhere else at the moment. The overwhelming sensation of déjà vu was still spinning his mind, he nearly had to set his tail on the ground to stabilize himself. What on Earth…? Almost the instant that the knob had gently clicked closed in the door latch, the sense was gone, leaving him just as confounded as the moment it had swept over him. He glanced up at the small nail in the very center of the door that indicated at one time these rooms may have been used by the younger students, he blinked in musing contemplation. Even then, the teleporter couldn't decide if he was grasping for that moment of fleeting retrospection or trying to distract himself away from it. His tail twitched with sudden aggravation, and a moment later, an abrupt but muffled bamf erupted and the faint smell of brimstone could be detected. Kurt was perched on the very edge of his bed, across the room from the door. Staring at the door frame closest to Darke's room as though it might bark at him, he glared daggars into the door, concentrated as stone. What had…Who- He couldn't sort his flying thoughts. Shifting his weight and leaning one hand against the wall while the other kept his balance at his feet, between sharply bent legs and supporting a slouched, leaning chest, he didn't once divert his hardened gaze. His tail thrashed back and forth, but as far as Kurt was concerned, it didn't exist. Where had he been when he'd felt slapped in the face with bewilderment? What had he been thinking? Doing? Watching Miss Munroe…Glancing back to Darke, attempting to convey a silent message…Don't take Logan's words to heart…But- Wait!
She'd-
There had-
And then the-
…Gone.
Damn it.
Thrusting his head savagely forward, forehead now creasing in angry disappointment, he shoved his hand into the pocket of his slacks, stretching one leg before him in the utmost of practiced ease. Pulling out his ever-present Rosary, he leaned rather than fell back on his bed, placing the Cross on his small, standard bedside table. Damn it all. He'd seen that look on Darke's once before…With those same exact features; the masked loneliness, the desperately (but poorly) concealed fear, the practiced façade of indifference. And it had drawn much the same reaction from him. Immediate empathy, regret for his action…Or in this particular case, inaction. He remembered now the feeling he'd had of wanting to turn back time, change the past in some way…He couldn't even be sure of what. So far away seemed yesterday, he felt suddenly very old, as though what he was remembering was ages ago, long since passed. Perhaps that was just the déjà vu trying to confuse him even more than he now was. Laying his head against the pillow, he didn't even think of the usual gratitude he felt toward Professor Xavier and the others for the roof, warm bed, and three solid meals as he normally did when laying down for his nightly rest. Keeping his golden, reflective eyes open and focused on empty space, Kurt reached toward his Rosary, finding it more by habit than sight. Never had his chest been so full of uncertainty, not even when he'd waken to find himself looming over the President of the United States, watching the once proud and brave man cower in terror at his demonic, freakish appearance. Grasping the still-warm, precious metal tightly, he shut his eyes, silently praying his ritualistic meditation in hopes of some semblance of peace. His lips moved with each word, but so quickly that even a talented lip reader would have difficulty keeping up and comprehending. Slowly, he drifted into an unsteady sleep, the covers scrunched, forgotten, beneath him.
Darke's wasn't the only rough night. Jessop and his lasting encounter with the spiced rum bottle waiting in his chilled, beat-up old Volvo had left a pain of a headache as he woke up stiff-necked and sore. Had it not been for his sudden, temporary sensitivity to sunlight and the jarring pain behind his eyes, however, he might never have heard that broadcast. Even now, he grins in memory.
"…Several units taken…" No reception…Try again, little to the right…He'd been debating for some time on getting a digital radio...Now he cursed himself for having decided against it. "…loaked…Armed and…gerous…Headed west, the suspects are assumed to be mutants; One witness claimed to have seen …" Damn it.
Had it not been for the word 'mutants', Jess might have lost interest right then, opting to roll over and catch a few more zees rather than catch up on 'The World Today." But as he reminisced for a moment on the night in the church, he forbade any thought of ignoring that broadcast. Gently, with the utmost care, he gave the dial one more twitch, and finally, the radio was static free. "Again, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to stress the fact that these mutants are armed and dangerous. They will stop at nothing, and the Department of Homeland Security, in consultation with the Homeland Security Council, has made the decision to raise the State threat level from an Elevated to High risk of a mutant terrorist attack…Level Orange. Witnesses reported the jet containing the fugitives was headed West. Again, folks, that was West. Keep your eyes peeled, and be sure to contact the authorities immediately if you see anything. Apparently, though, get this, guys. Apparently the jet went invisible-"
From there, the DeeJay proceeded to make a few different snide comments, but Jess promptly killed the audio. It was starting to give him a headache.
…West, eh? A slow smile spread across his face. And who might have been going West? With what mutants?