Present Day
Cassandra had relied on Kurt for many things in the wake of John's departure. Comfort, mostly, but she'd unintentionally sexualized her own emotions, depression and grief turned to lust in a subconscious effort to be rid of them, to expel them all through action. Though, it never quite worked the way she'd intended. Still, she found herself leaning into it, relying on it, creating a vicious habit of reckless promiscuity—much like an alcoholic relies on a drink.
Now, she could feel them coming back—the thoughts and twisted rationality that had explained it away as a teenager. She couldn't do that to him again, she knew. He deserved better than to be used and discarded as she had once been. The back of her throat burned as she forced herself away, instinctively scooting backward on the comforter in a small jerk. It was the only way to pry her emotions from the action, to push from within with force.
Cassandra exhaled a shaky breath as she dropped her head into her hands, elbows braced against her knees, a vibration-like hum coursing quietly through her muscles. Kurt sat still in the silence. But, the longer he looked at her, the further his features wilted. The further realization—and understanding—settled in. It evoked a bittersweet shade of sympathy within his chest. This was what he'd wanted since she left all those years ago.
He'd wanted for her to return, for them to mend their relationship, and continue on the way they'd done before. However, her indecision rattled her shoulders and the context of the situation only lended credence to a thought at the back of his mind. She didn't want a romantic relationship with him. Not truly. No, she was chasing a feeling of normalcy and comfort and love she'd lost—but it was not given by him.
"Cassie…" he reached out, carefully placing a hand on her shoulder. "It is alright. Give yourself time to feel such things again."
Cassandra scrubbed her face with her palms in a quick, brief bout of frustration, before sitting upright again. "I just want to delete the last two years from my mind. I don't want to think about it anymore."
"I would advise against that. There are always valuable things to be learned from painful experiences. That is not to say they should happen. But what you learn from this might be useful to you in the future."
It was then that a sharp thumping caught their attention. As they turned their heads, Logan came into view, standing in the open doorway of the bedroom. With an eyebrow cocked, lips pulled thin, his expression was easy to read. However, he didn't comment the purpose behind it. Instead, he ignored it—the sentiment obvious to Cassandra, anyway—and tipped his head to the side, toward the hall, in a brief gesture. "We've been called to the principal's office," he grumbled, looking at Cassandra specifically.
Kurt retracted his hand as she slid off the bed, before turning to face Logan at the door. "After locking us all out, he wants us to come in?" she questioned, annoyance behind the sarcasm of her rhetorical tone. "Why? So we can sing kumbaya and make up?"
"Didn't say. Just wants you, me, Scott, and Storm in the office."
Logan gave a disgruntled shrug and Cassandra heaved a heavy sigh. The turn of events only further frustrated her. She was running out of what little control she had left, forced to use it all for the sake of Charles Xavier—and it was infuriating. He was the answer to how many times can one person fuck up, piss her off, or screw her over? And there was another reason to be angered every day, it seemed.
Begrudgingly, she walked around the end of the bed to follow Logan out of the room, after flashing an apologetic expression at Kurt. As she entered the hallway, Cassandra put her hand on Logan's shoulder, stopping him. "Let's get this over with," she said. Then, they dissolved with her purple smoke. When they reappeared within the walls of Charles' office, sparks lingered a moment longer, hanging in the air as a byproduct of the built-up energy caused by her frustration.
Storm and Scott were already present when they arrived. They stood to the far left, Scott's arms crossed over his chest as his mouth curved downward in a partial scowl. Charles was behind his desk, Tony in the chair opposite him, the billionaire checking his watch in a pretentious attempt to appear important. To appear too busy to be waiting so long. However, it had only been—at most—five minutes since Charles asked for Logan and Cassandra to join them.
Then, it was only a matter of seconds for them to arrive from two floors higher. Cassandra joined Scott in crossing her arms, though hers were folded loosely out of disinterest, no desire to get any closer to the desk present. "You rang?" she dryly quipped.
"Yes, thank you for joining us," Charles nodded, but his lips were pulled tight, something guilty in the color of his eyes. "Mr. Stark has a proposition he'd like you all to hear." Tony took that as his cue to stand from his chair, fingers working to button his suit jacket together as he stepped aside from it, facing the others in the room.
"Alright. I'm not gonna sugar coat things or play semantics. You all hate me. That's fine—I'm not here to make nice. What I am here for, is an opportunity for your little group of merry men—and, women," he pointedly glanced only in Storm's direction before continuing, causing Cassandra's arms to tighten as she readjusted her stance, features souring. "—to be involved in a Stark Industries project. It's going to be a huge undertaking. But there's a lot we can learn from people who can do the things you guys can, there's a lot of ways we can better technology—whether that be for defense or medical purposes—and we'd like to work with you."
While the room was silent for a tense moment, there was not a quiet mind. All were mulling over his words, letting them sink in before speaking, and the X-Men shared worried and confused glances. Cassandra simply stared at Tony, her facial expression one of confusion—along with her tilted head—silently questioning how he could be so unintelligent. He'd brought forth his 'offer' in such a confident, professional way. As though he didn't just want compliance, he expected it.
The very thought was so bizarre it was almost laughable. "Wow...I gotta hand it to you, Tony. I've never heard that much horse shit from one man's mouth before. And in a single go? I'm impressed," she was the first to speak.
"Cassandra, please-" Charles began with a sigh.
However, Logan interrupted sternly, "All due respect—fuck off, Professor. He wanted us all to hear it. That includes the kid. If he didn't want to hear what we have to say, he should've stayed in his fucking tower."
Cassandra's eyes shifted in Logan's direction, eyeing the subtle hostility of his demeanor, the heated glare aimed across the desk at Charles. Charles sat back in his chair, though his expression was not one of defeat—rather, he was momentarily humoring Logan until the situation called for his participation again. It was irksome, to say the least. But Cassandra ignored it as she refrained from rolling her eyes.
"So, what? You want us to come to a lab and...get tested? What kind of opportunity is that?" Scott questioned Tony, shrugging up his shoulders with the ghost of anger in his voice.
Tony sighed. "It's an opportunity to help the rest of the world, on your own terms. No one's forcing you to come in and you'll be paid handsomely for your time. You can leave and even quit the project whenever you want."
"Are you going to continue manufacturing the sentinels?" Scott raised an eyebrow challengingly, tone rhetoric.
"Stark Industries has nothing to do with any kind of mutant-targeting weapons," Tony's attitude was one of refrained annoyance as he once again adamantly denied the claims.
Cassandra dug a hand into her pocket, fishing out her cell phone. Her fingers worked quickly as they danced across the screen, typing a search into Google, one that pulled up photos and drone footage of the Stark Industries warehouse fire. Once she had the perfect image front and center, she turned the phone to face Tony. "Then what the fuck is this, hm?"
Tony squinted begrudgingly at the device. "That would be the Stark Industries facility that was targeted by arsonists."
"And? Go on, explain it for the class. What was in this facility?"
It was then that Tony squared his shoulders, eyes shifting from the phone to her face, and something of a mixture of surprise and confusion crossed his features. Though, it wasn't confusion for the sake of conversational topic. He was confused as to how in the world Cassandra Barton of all people would know this information. And he was almost impressed.
However, Tony didn't let on to anything other than the slight shift in facial expression—but it brought a wind of vindication Cassandra's direction regardless. "Alright, you got me. We were building a security force," Tony finally answered her. "Like my suit but able to pilot itself. I don't know where you got your intel, but it's wrong."
Cassandra cocked a brow. "Then you won't mind giving us a tour?"
"Actually, I would. You see, it's classified, and I'm afraid you simply don't have clearance. But it doesn't surprise me you don't understand that sort of thing—I wouldn't expect that from anyone who gets their news from the Eddie Brock Report."
Tony scoffed at the news source, giving a small and demeaningly sympathetic chuckle. Cassandra forced her phone into the pocket she'd retrieved it from as her features suddenly steeled. Logan could sense it, the enraged unrest about to boil over, in the form of a shiver down his spine and his eyes flickered to Cassandra. He saw her intentions within the tightness of her lips, the squint of her eyes.
He could see it all start to unfold as though it were slowed down, but he held still—even as Cassandra's fist was slung through the air. It was far too vindicating, too entertaining, to interfere. Her knuckles reached Tony's nose with a hollow crack and his chuckles morphed quickly into a muffled yelp. Whether it be from surprise or sudden pain, no one was sure. Scott surged forward, racing toward Cassandra as Storm moved to survey the damage done to Tony Stark's face.
Scott's arm wrapped around Cassandra's torso beneath her arms and he continued to move, forcing her backward in half-dragged, half-stumbled steps toward the office door. "You sick son of a bitch!" Cassandra spat at Tony, despite moving away with Scott willingly. "You come in here, offering to pay us to be dissected in order to improve your weapons—while making robots to kill us all! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Rot in hell, you piece of shit!"
The door thudded closed behind Scott and Cassandra. Bobby, Kitty, Rogue, Warren, Peter, Jubilee, and Kurt had all been listening outside the office door, huddled in as closely as the somewhat narrow hallway required. When the door swung open, the group dispersed quickly, those who couldn't move away fast enough pressing their backs to the wall to miss being flattened by Scott's quick pace as he dragged Cassandra from the room.
It was certainly a sight to behold. Cassandra was practically seething, chest heaving against Scott's arms, but he didn't stop until the door had closed and they were far enough away to avoid another confrontation. "What the hell were you thinking?!" Scott questioned, when he finally let her go.
She yanked away from him, jerking back a stumbling step. "Did you not hear what I said?! He wants to cut us up like cheese for his charcuterie board before he nukes us in our own fucking beds!"
"I know that—you realize he could easily press assault charges and lock you in a cage somewhere? Or, worse, a rehabilitation center?" the anger in Scott's tone was a protective kind, a worried kind she hadn't heard from him in many years. Her head recoiled on her shoulders as her brows knitted with confused shock. "A man with that kinda power can't be attacked without someone getting buried, and it sure as hell isn't gonna be him. I'm angry, too—but be smart about it."
They stood there a moment with a locked stare, both breathing heavily from anger-fueled adrenaline, the emotion coming from two different places. However, Cassandra's anger was conflicted with an odd sensation of warmth, a comforting heat that clashed with the itching burn of her ignited skin. It was so strange, after all this time, to feel cared for by him in such a fatherly way. She had only associated Logan with such a thing for many years.
Even before she knew anything about her heritage. Now, Scott displayed concerned fury genuinely, passing easily for the familial role—and something in Cassandra's stomach sloshed uneasily. It was involuntary. "Do we even wanna know what just happened in there?" Bobby questioned, the first to speak up after a long minute of near-silence.
Scott sighed as he leaned back on his heels, hands coming to rest on his hips as he turned to face the others in the hall. "Cass punched Tony Stark in the face."
"Wait, seriously?" Rogue asked the question in a bout of shock. Jaws fell slack and eyes widened, eyebrows rising throughout the X-Men present. No one had quite anticipated that answer. Though, to some, it wasn't entirely that surprising. A robust laugh escaped Warren but Peter scrubbed his face with his hands, filled with worry as Scott had been, perfectly summarizing the group's mix of reactions.
Scott nodded ruefully to answer Rogue, and Cassandra exhaled heavily. Her skin buzzed, a vague tingle sizzling through her fingers as heat built within her palms, and she folded her arms once more—though, this time, to hide the translucent lavender threatening to dance away from her hands in defiance of gravity. It often emitted like steam from a hot shower when left unchecked for too long. Although it didn't mean anything dangerous, it appeared eerie and unhinged, and she'd made a habit of hiding it as a teen.
It was just one more thing the adults could police. Something they could hold against her, train her not to use. Her knuckles felt the sting, the bruising impact still lingering there as the adrenaline started to tone itself down. This was a mess. There was no getting around it. But she wasn't sure she would hold herself back, given the chance to make a different choice.
Then, the office door swung open to reveal Tony. His nostrils tinged pink, features defeated but remaining disgruntled, he walked out of the room with Charles a beat behind him. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me," Tony told Charles, as the pair walked the hall toward the main doors. Tony's eyes spared a cautious glance up at the others standing around, skipping over Cassandra entirely. Though, that was not surprising.
His pride had been wounded much more than his body ever could be. He hid it well behind a subtly smug aura that invaded every space he entered on his way out. It followed him as did Cassandra's gaze, all the way to the exit, blinking away only when his back disappeared behind the closing doors. Sudden movement pulled her eyes forward, toward the office as Logan exited the room next. He also appeared smug—though, for a vastly different reason.
"That was the most satisfying beat down I've ever witnessed," he stated, as he approached Scott and Cassandra.
Scott sighed, but held his tongue. "Did it get sorted out?"
"Oh, yeah. Charles convinced him not to press charges."
A small sigh of relief passed through the group of mutants in the hall. A physical altercation with Stark was satisfying to the most bitter and petty parts of each and every one of them but, realistically, it was about the dumbest thing any could do. Cassandra's arms tightened further around her frame as she looked up at Logan, partially leaning around Scott. "How did he do that, exactly?" she asked, skeptically cautious.
She had a general idea of what was plausible. However, she needed to know what she owed. Just what would be expected of her in return for such a favor. Was it something that would come back to bite her? Or, would it never be mentioned again? Logan answered with a small shrug, "Convinced him it'd look worse if the sentinel project leaked."
"So, blackmail," Scott stated.
"Wait—does this mean we can't expose him for building the sentinels?" Warren questioned, eyes darting between Scott and Logan. "Because if we do, he's going to press charges."
Scott pinched the bridge of his nose between an index finger and thumb, exhaling heavily. The idea had already hit Cassandra—first as a jolt of fear, then the full force of rage it elicited smacked the space between her eyes. Now her brows furrowed and her hands hung at her sides in tightly balled fists, and her skin burned. Charles returned then, reentering the building oblivious to the storm he'd created and left swirling inside.
All eyes were on him when he approached. Not one expression was lighthearted or optimistic, but all were displeased or downright furious. Charles expected push-back and negativity. However, not quite to this magnitude. He stopped feet from Scott, Cassandra, and Logan, an eyebrow arched with subtle surprise. "What did you do, Charles?" Cassandra questioned, tone ruefully angered.
"I shielded you from the consequences of your actions," Charles answered, admonishing her as a parent would their ungrateful child. "As I always have. It was the smartest decision to make given the situation."
Cassandra's eyes rounded briefly before narrowing sharply, jaw clenching at the sheer audacity it would take to make such a statement. "A situation you put us all in," Storm reminded. She folded her arms as she came to stand near Logan, having just exited the office. The words only caused Charles to sigh. It was very clear no one present agreed with his choices or held his beliefs on the matter at hand. Though, that didn't change his mind.
If anything, it only reinforced his adamant stance, reassuring him that he made the right decision. However, objectively, that was easily debatable at best. The sight of his threatened arrogance worsened the pressure between Cassandra's eyes, and she was forced to take a deep breath, prying her shoulders loose to rest them as she blinked slowly. She could feel it, the energy surging toward her palms, the heat beneath her skin—it was powerful and it was violent.
It raised her voice, her arms unfolding only to gesture in her fury. "Let me go to jail! I don't care! That's what you don't understand, Charles—if I get torn apart in a lab and stuffed into a test tube, it doesn't matter! I'm one person. I'm not worth the lives of every mutant on the planet."
"There's no guarantee that exposing Stark will stop the program. Do you really believe that it would gain enough traction in a climate like this?" Charles questioned her, a brow pointedly raised.
"With the Avengers out there, our faces on every news station while they call us heroes? This is the perfect time to bring this forward!" Cassandra countered. "We're being viewed more positively than we ever have before. And with Tony's history? You'd be an absolute fool not to seize this opportunity and, what do you know? You pissed it away!"
"Only a fool would think so low of humanity and then make themself a hypocrite selling what they themselves believe to be false hope. What's done is done."
"I'm done," Cassandra forced her voice into a normal octave. "I'm leaving and, if I ever come back, it will be when you aren't in charge. I'm not the only one who hates your dangerous leadership and I'll be damned if you make me the scapegoat for your selfish and ignorant choices again. This is the last time you will ever make a decision on my behalf. As far as I'm concerned, you can rot in hell with Tony Stark."
Her feet turned and carried her out of the room once more—although, this time, she teleported away after three strides. Where to, none left behind was sure of. Charles sat still in his wheelchair with his lips pulled thin, but otherwise neutral in his expression as he mulled over what she'd said, pondering the validity of its weight. Perhaps she was simply frustrated and acting childishly? Or, was this the sign of a deeper issue?
It should be obvious by now. The many years he'd spent interacting with Cassandra should give him an idea, and common sense should do the rest. But it didn't. And that was the problem with Charles Xavier. He was selfish and ignorant and, for a man in his position, that was more than dangerous. Most importantly, he refused to see reason and change based on someone else's perspective thanks to his stubbornness and a good, old-fashioned ego.
Yes, he'd done much good for the mutant community and he'd had a hand—indirectly or otherwise—in saving many young mutant's lives. But he'd been on a frozen lake for some time, and now the ice was beginning to crack. The people that once idolized him for the sake of debt, guilt, or youth were now adults who could see through the veil of his intellectual facade. He wasn't infallible, as he'd have them believe. He was human like the rest of them.
It was a startling thing to realize. Though it started slowly, noticing it became an everyday occurrence, and now it was more than clear. It put them all in a tense situation difficult to navigate. After all, Charles did genuinely help most of them. He rescued them in some way, gave them a place to live, clothes on their backs and food on their tables. It was hard not to still feel so incredibly indebted to the point of compliance.
Still, the main group of younger X-Men began to file out of the hall, dispersing quietly with nothing left to be said. Scott, Logan, Storm, and Charles were eventually the only ones remaining. But, even then, Logan gave one last disgruntled glance at the others before departing as well. He sauntered off down the hall to the elevator, disappearing inside as the door hissed shit behind him.
Storm and Scott shared a concerned but defeated look. "Well...now what?" Scott questioned. He looked down at Charles pointedly, the movement catching the professor's eye as it seemed to pull him from deep thought.
Charles exhaled. "We move on."
He turned his chair and started down the hall toward his office. The professor was oddly quiet and his expression only furthered the vacancy of his irises. In a way, he didn't need to say much more. It was visible. But Scott was dissatisfied with the answer, and the reaction as a whole—the entire day had been mishandled. His eyes were narrowed as he watched Charles disappear behind the door to his office, the wood thudding softly after him.
Storm sighed as she allowed her arms to fall to her sides, shaking her head. "Someone needs to talk to him and find out what's going on," she told Scott. "I need a break."
With that, she stepped around Scott and walked down the hall, turning left into a sitting room with outdoor access. She needed some fresh air to calm down and collect her thoughts before she could say anything of use, she knew. However, Scott wasn't about to go talk to Charles, either. So, he turned on his heels and walked away.
Beneath the building, Logan walked the silver halls of their headquarters until he found the danger room. When he entered the room, he saw what he expected—Cassandra, sat crossed legged on the silver floor, with her back to the exit. She held her hands up in front of her with palms facing, and a vibrant, translucent lavender sparked and swirled between them. It emitted a light that fluctuated with the color's movement.
Cassandra sat slightly hunched, hiding behind her shoulders as she remained fixed on the energy between her hands. Her skin hummed and she could feel the excess energy she'd built up being expelled into the small cloud. Logan came to stand a foot to her left as he eyed the purple substance. "Have to do that a lot, huh?"
"Only when it starts to hurt," she replied.
The stoic, emotionlessness to her voice surprised him. Her hair hid her face, blurring any indicators to her mood, but he hadn't expected something quite so empty. With a small exhale, Logan lowered himself to sit, his legs out in front of him as his boots braced against the silver, and he rested his arms over his knees. "Did Jean teach you how to do that?" he asked, in an effort to reel her back in.
Cassandra nodded vaguely. "Yeah. She thought it was the best way to control it when it felt like I was gonna explode," she answered. Then, quietly, she mumbled under her breath, "I wish I could ask her what to do now."
The words fluttered through his ears and straight to his chest. He knew that feeling all too well. Jean didn't have all the answers, but she always seemed to know what to do in times like these. Logan ached for Cassandra—his daughter—but he knew nothing he could say would help quite as much. Still, he inhaled a deep breath, and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "I think she'd tell you to follow your gut. Do what you need to do."
"And if that's never coming back?"
"Do it. Too much shit has happened here for you to be happy—that's okay. We'll be alright," he assured her, his hand a warm weight on her shoulder.
It was easy to become detached when she expelled energy, thoughts, feelings. Letting it out and holding it in her hands was often an out-of-body experience hard to describe. It was like holding her own heart in her hand while it continued to beat, continued to pump blood and keep her alive. But something about the warmth of the touch there on her shoulder refocused her eyes. She recentered.
Her mind locked back into place, allowing the energy to truly begin to dispel. Wisps fluttered and curled, crackling like sparklers as they became off-chutes, dancing away into the space around until they dissolved completely. It was a slow, methodical process. If she were to let go too soon, too fast, someone could get hurt. It was a delicate balance to maintain. She took in a deep breath and exhaled it to further calm herself.
"Knowing what I do now...it's frustrating I have to leave again," she vented. "I wanted it to work—even just temporarily—but it can't."
Logan understood. He'd wanted it to work out more than anyone else at the school. To be able to see her every day as he once did, this time both having the knowledge of their relation and the closeness that could bring. But they were cut from the same cloth in all the wrong ways. Their stubbornness and rage were too much for group settings, and it drove them both to extreme independence, isolation.
He gave a small nod, a gentle squeeze to her shoulder. "I know, kid. I know."
