Disclaimer : I own only Ilehana. Blaze belongs to Lamby.
A/N : This is the direct sequel to Lamby's 'Open Your Eyes' and Corrinth's last piece of work. It has taken months to write and much courage, or possibly stupidity, to decide to share it with you all.
SHADOWS, CHAPTER TWO.
The X-Jet set down in a field near the research centre with a distinct thump, making Charles Xavier frown. It was far from the norm, the ship usually slid gracefully to the floor without resistance. The door slid open but a moment later, and the steps lowered amid the whirring of the mechanism. The Professor waited with much impatience for the pilot to emerge. It had been but a few short weeks since he had last seen his daughter, nothing compared to their usual separations, but with Christmas being so close, Charles was looking forward to spending some real time with his closest relative.
But the person that stepped from the jet might as well have been a perfect stranger.
Her long blonde hair, pulled back into its trademark pony tail, was no longer shining and soft; it hung lank and greasy across one shoulder before she flicked it back. Her face was fraught with lines – tiredness and stress told their stories in the deep set frown on her face, in the way her body stooped beneath the weight of more than just the small holdall slung over one shoulder. Clothes that usually fit snugly to a lithe, muscled body hung loose and ill-fitted, as if they did not belong to Ilehana at all.
"My daughter…" Charles breathed as she walked the short distance towards him, her gait faltering a little on the uneven grass. Nothing had ever made her falter before.
"Hey Dad." She responded genuinely, so very pleased to see him but trying so hard not to notice the concern in his eyes. "You call and I obey, right?"
"Ilehana…"
"I'm kidding, Dad." She assured him softly, bending to give him a warm hug. "Now can we go inside please? It's cold out here."
The tone of her voice left Charles unsure as to whether his daughter was saying that she was cold, or if she was concerned for his health. Obediently, he turned his wheelchair to lead the way into the research centre. Tea was waiting for them, as was Moira McTaggart, the head of the research facility. Their questions – Xavier's polite inquiries into the state of the school, and Moira's queries into Ilehana's research and life since the two women had last met – were met with short, tired answers that gave very little information at all.
"Ach, but you must be tired after your long trip." Moira offered politely, after a long silence during which both Professor Xavier. "Let me show you to your room, Ilehana."
Vixen nodded gratefully, rising and lifting her bag with more care than was natural for the predator. To her father she offered a polite goodnight and a kiss on the cheek, and to his concerned telepathic questing she showed a carefully constructed barrier designed to discourage further probing. Not the usual irritated repelling of his telepathy, just a wall as much to keep her emotions in as to keep her father out. She followed Moira wearily from the lounge, up the main staircase and along the landing to one of the guest rooms. She completely failed to notice the little motherly touches that her hostess had left for her – the fresh heath-land wild flowers in a blue, glass vase on the windowsill, the white fluffy towels left on the radiator to warm, the dressing gown hanging on the back of the door to the en-suite shower-room. It was all Ilehana could do to wash her grubby face and fall onto the bed, too much effort even to move her bag from where she had dumped it on the pillow and crawl beneath the covers. Vixen curled herself into a ball and fell out of consciousness, spiralling down into sleep peppered by nightmares of the people she loved running away from her…
