Requiem
Setting: Three years after PD Season 2. A few years back in the 'corrected' post-DOFP universe.
Summary: Ned discovered his mutation when he was nine. He was lucky enough to find a partner that thought his power was a gift, not an abomination - even more so when his powers brought back his childhood sweetheart. But nothing lasts forever. There's nothing left for him in Papen County. This is the end. Or is it?
Warnings: Angst like whoa. Character death. Suicide and overall dark themes at the beginning.
en pressant
hurrying onward
The door to the study clicked shut.
Ned sagged against a cushy armchair. He took a deep breath, rubbing his hands together to rid them of nervous tension. At long last, he picked up the reciever and dialed.
The line rang once. Twice. Four times.
Voices in the background. "Emerson Cod."
"It's me." Ned stated, toneless.
The detective's voice became high and cooing. "Yes, Mrs. Cooper! I appreciate you returning my call. One moment, please." He made muffled excuses to the party in the room with him. Footsteps and the sound of a door closing. Then Emerson's voice became clear once more. "Boy, is that you?"
He nodded automatically, although his friend would have no way of seeing it. "It's me, Emerson. I've been told this is a safe line."
The private investigator let out a relieved sigh. "I ain't heard from you in months. You scared the hell outta me. I was startin' to think Minneapolis was happenin' all over again."
An involuntary shudder as Ned thought back to the abandoned mill and the coldest winter of his life. Merciless gusts of wind had swept through corridors lurid with graffiti, clearing the air of the caustic scent of sickness laced with rust. The blaze of fever. The gnaw of hunger. It was a miracle he'd survived.
Flush with sudden gratitude, Ned stood from the armchair and moved to stand in front of the radiator. Anywhere was better than Minneapolis in the wintertime. "Sorry about that. Some mutual friends caught up with me. I heard you made a reservation for me at that place in New York?"
"Yeah, I heard good things about it. Figured if anyone could cater to your- dietary needs, it'd be them."
Ned scoffed lightly at Emerson's choice of words, the corners of his mouth turning slightly.
Over the line, the voice pressed further. "How 'bout it, kid? Does it live up to the hype?"
Shrugging, Ned paced a slow line across the study in borrowed sneakers. "It's treating me pretty well so far. Had some trouble getting in the door."
Emerson grunted. Then - "How's Dead Girl?"
He stopped. "Dead."
Silence over the line. The private investigator drew in a sharp breath. "Man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up like that- "
His gut twisted as Ned realized that Emerson's nickname for Chuck had taken on a new meaning. "I know. I get it."
A brief pause as his friend fought for words. "How did she- was it-?"
"Me. Yes." He breathed. "Around four weeks ago. Just before Xavier's people found me."
Something heavy impacted wood in Emerson's office. The detective let out a frustrated sound. "I'm sorry, kid. If I'd reached out to your kin a little sooner, maybe-"
Ned bowed his head, recognizing bargaining when he heard it. "Emerson, stop. We didn't know who to trust back then. You did everything you could. You're the reason they got me out, and that's what she would've-" His voice broke and he shut his eyes.
"Yeah. You're probably right."
A pregnant pause while both men considered their mutual loss, how grief was defined as much by the lack of relationship as the relationship itself. "Do me a favor - can you have Olive break the news to Lily and Vivian? This is going to kill them, losing her twice. Olive knows them best; if anyone can break the news gently, it's her."
"Sure thing." Emerson rumbled. An intake of breath followed by a beat. Then he spoke again. "And what about you? Four weeks gone by, you lookin' after yourself?"
Ned scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I don't have to worry about food here, if that's what you're asking."
An unimpressed grunt in his ear.
"I'm trying, honest." Shoulders drooping, he huffed out a breath. Remembering to care for himself was a daily struggle, but not one that he was ready to unload on Emerson. Conscious of how self-centered the coversation had been thus far, Ned feigned an overly-bright tone. "Anyway, how are things in your neck of the woods?
"You know, workin' the old-fashioned way. Itty Bitty helps me out now and again, but her shop and her new hubby keep her pretty busy."
The corners of his lips turned up slightly. "She got married?"
"Yeah, Itty Bitty shacked up with the taxidermist. The Pie Hole got foreclosed on and she bought it when it went on the market again. Wanted the space for her macaroni place and figured you wouldn't mind."
At least a couple of them had come out of this mess relatively unscathed. Ned attempted a wavering smile, resolute in his decision that staying away from Papen County had been the best thing for his friends. "Of course. That's great. At least it's in good hands."
"Your boys are doing alright. They came to my office three times now, tryin' to hire me to find you."
He let out a surprised laugh, swelling with a bit of pride. Apparently 'Frere Pie Maker' had made a stronger impression on his half-brothers than he'd expected. "Really?"
"Those boys need to learn that they poking they noses in places where no noses need pokin'." Emerson said with stern annoyance. His tone shifted suddenly, taking on a sudden grimness. "But they're not the only ones pokin' around."
The amusement drained from Ned's face.
"Folk are still comin' round asking about you. I been running counter-intel on them and I keep hearing the same word thrown around."
His grip on the receiver tightened, pupils dilating slightly. "What's that?"
"Genesis. Mean anything to you?"
Searching his memory, Ned came up with nothing beyond the book and a Star Trek movie he'd seen long ago. "Nothing significant."
"Sounds like the name of a case or an operation to me. There's a pack of nosy suits and people tryin' to not look like suits sniffing around town for somebody can bring dead things back to life. If I was you, I'd keep my head down until Genesis became history." Emerson said in his 'I'm-in-charge-so-stop-ignoring-the-gun-in-my-hand' voice.
"I'll keep that in mind." Ned replied. Perhaps he could run it by the professor later on. Having such a limited circle of confidence was occasionally a hassle. He'd always preferred keeping his secrets close to the vest, but it was frustrating when he couldn't inquire of anyone on a massive campus besides the busiest person there. That question would have to wait until their next meeting, though. "How's Digby doing? It can't be easy for a live dog to share an apartment with Randy."
An image flashed into his head of his lovable retriever hiding from the taxidermist and attempting to chase stuffed squirrels.
The line went quiet a moment too long.
Ned glanced at the phone. "Emerson? You still there?"
"Yeah. Uh, Ned, I hate to be the one to tell you this-"
His stomach clenched. No, no, Digby couldn't be dead - not after all these years-
"Digby ran away. Maybe three weeks ago or so."
The knot in his stomach loosened. Missing beat dead - if only by the tiniest amount. "How did that happen? Why now, why after all this time?"
"I don't know. Olive said he hadn't been doing nothing different. He was there one night and gone by morning."
He resumed pacing the study, long legs crossing swiftly the distance afforded him by the phone cord. Ned's voice raised in pitch. "Well, have you checked-"
"Your apartment, your building, your old house, Chuck's old house, your old school, and every shelter, clinic, and vet's office in between? Course I did. More'n once. If anybody sees anything, they'll let me know. Ned, I'm an investigator. Trackin' things down is what I'm good at. Digby's just.. gone. I'm sorry."
He backed up against the wall and slid to the floor, overcome with a sense of powerlessness.
Emerson was talking again.
"Ned? You alright?"
"Hmm? Yeah," The pie maker replied, by which he meant, 'No.' He considered the amount of time it had been since he'd spoken to Emerson, then thought of the time his no-nonsense friend had spent trying to hunt down Digby. He forced his expression into a smile made of spun glass. "He's just a dog, right?"
Never one to accept deception, Emerson's voice rumbled, "No, not really."
"Not really." The glass shattered into invisible fragments on the floor. He felt vacant again. Like the desolate mill, with icy wind whistling through broken windows. "Thanks for looking."
Outside the study, he could survey the entire courtyard. A group of kids was celebrating the day's end with a snowball fight. The front pond had frozen over at last, though he had an inkling of who might have helped the process along. A pair of bundled figures wobbled in circles around its edges, mitten clasped in mitten.
Twisting the phone cord around his finger, Ned stared out at the courtyard from his position on the floor. "I was gonna marry her, you know. That was always the plan. I just couldn't quite figure out.. We could never.."
He didn't want to talk anymore. His throat hurt and his voice was starting to break. Still, Ned swallowed heavily, leaned his head back against the wall and finished his thought. "Now I know. There's no future- there's no happy ending with me."
Emerson's concern radiated over the line. "You take care of yourself, okay kid?"
Dusk fell.
The small hours of the morning found Ned staring holes into the ceiling, hands folded behind his head. Errant thoughts buzzed through his mind like mosquitoes. When he closed his eyes, the incessant drone of his worries pressed closer, growing ever louder and more urgent.
Where had Digby gone?
Why now? Had something driven him away? What could he be up to?
Was he safe? Had he been spirited away by masked dognappers? Had he been struck by a car crossing a highway? Had he been attacked by wild animals?
Had one of the observers noticed that Digby had been Ned's companion for nearly twenty-five years without a grey hair flecking his auburn snout?
Had he been dragged off to a lab for product testing or experimentation?
His stomach gurgled unpleasantly. A dull, burning pain lodged itself behind his breastbone, a bitter taste on his tongue. Pushing his blanket aside, Ned sat up and scrubbed his face with one hand. There would be no sleep this evening.
What he wanted - besides his loved ones alive and safe - was for life to go back to normal. Ned was a creature of habit. He found comfort in routines. Even on the run they had been able to establish some normalcy in the day-to-day. There were things they had to do to survive. Make sure the safehouse was secure. Determine if the neighbours were trustworthy enough to use as a source of info. Find food to wake for Chuck. Barter for food for himself. Make sure there was emergency cash to get to the next city. Stay warm. Stay anonymous. Stay alive.
Here at the Institute, when he woke up in the morning all of the boxes on his task list were checked off - except the last one. Cut off from the imperatives of the road and the coping mechanisms of home, it was difficult to muster the will to do much of anything.
Well, now that his splint had been removed, there was one thing he could do at this hour of the night.
Ned slipped on a hoodie emblazoned with the Institute's logo and padded down the hallway in striped pajama bottoms and bare feet. He let out a pained grunt and pressed a palm against his sternum, wishing vainly for an antacid.
And then he heard it. A muffled sound, like someone gasping into their hands.
Quiet sobs coming from the darkened sitting room outside the kitchen. At first Ned thought it might be the insomniac technopath that occupied the front room most nights. No, these noises sounded younger, more feminine. He poked his head into the sitting room slowly, not wanting to intrude on a private moment.
Sure enough, the light streaming in from the hallway revealed a little girl - she couldn't have been more than twelve- with her back against the deep scarlet couch and her knees pulled to her chest. She wore a lilac robe over a pale blue nightgown. Jet black hair draped over her knees, her face hidden behind pale fingers.
He shifted his weight from one foot to another, digging his hands into the hoodie's pouch. Perhaps he should get someone. Who was he to comfort a crying girl?
...apparently, the only one present. Conscience nudged him forwards and he stepped closer, hunching his shoulders.
Ned cleared his throat slightly, his words tumbling loose. "Um, hi there. I don't mean to pry if you're in a wound-up-and-locked-tight kind of state, but- are you alright?"
The girl's sobs slowed into hiccoughs. She gave an exaggerated shrug, not lifting her head. Still, she hadn't shooed him away, which was a sign.
"I'm Ned. What's your name?" He asked, taking gentle steps toward her, wondering if she'd startle.
She hiccoughed again. "Ruth."
"Ruth, that's a nice name." The school nurse had been named Ruth. Some of the less terrible memories he'd had of boarding school had taken place in the nurse's office. When homesickness for a home that didn't exist had struck him, she'd given him cherry suckers and let him linger instead of sending him back to class. "What's the matter, Ruth?" Ned asked, turning on a lamp on a side table.
Ruth didn't react to the light. She pulled her hands from her face and looked up at him, lower lip trembling. Her eyes were covered with a strip of white cloth. "I can't see, sorry."
He furrowed his brow. Mutant teenagers were still teenagers; bullying had to be universal, but this was cruel. "You don't have to be sorry. Let's take that blindfold off you."
Ned reached out with hands that dwarfed hers, but her reflexes were quicker. She gently batted his wrist away. "Don't, thank you. Don't take it off. Please, you'll get upset."
"Why would I get upset?" Ned asked, tilting his head to the side. He sat down on the floor beside her. "I just want to help."
She nibbled on a fingernail coated with chipped lavender polish, shaking her head slowly. "I don't see like you." She reached back and pulled loose the blindfold, revealing two sunken indents of flesh where her eyes ought to be.
Ned's stomach flip-flopped, but he did his best to keep his expression neutral. Most of the mutants he'd seen thus far didn't have drastic physical mutations. Alright, there was the walking blue lion man and the tattooed German guy with the tail, but this one had caught him off guard.
Ruth quirked an eyebrow and made a face. "Told you so. I see too much. I can see behind you, ahead of you, yes, all around me. But I can't see what m-matters." Her breath hitched again and she sniffed, cheeks flushed. But there were no tears - for obvious reasons.
"What matters? What can't you see?" asked Ned.
She lowered her dark head despondently. "The end."
Ruth turned to him suddenly, wrapping slender arms around his chest as she burst into not-tears.
Paralyzed, but not cold-hearted enough to push her away, Ned carefully patted Ruth's back. He was really out of his depth in the hug department.
Her shoulders heaved and she sobbed incoherently into his shoulder. Then, after a minute she turned slightly and he was able to catch her words. She was murmuring apologies into his arm. "'M not a nurse, no, I can't fix it with cherries and a kiss. I'm sorry, Genesis - I'm so sorry."
His hand froze on her shoulder.
"What did you say?" Ned asked, his breath caught in his throat.
The dark-haired girl looked up at him with empty eye sockets, her face crumpled with despair. "Please, things are only gonna get worse. I don't know how it ends."
Anxiety pooled in his stomach. Mind-reading was one thing - but picking salient details from his memories was different from knowing how to use them. "What did you say, Ruth? What's Genesis?"
Some of her anguish faded into confusion. She pulled back from him. "That's your name."
His mouth fell open.
"Ruthie!" An older teenage girl in a magenta scoop-necked shirt called from the doorway. She heaved a sigh of relief and stepped into the sitting room. Her short, sleep-tousled hair fell in black waves against her golden complexion. "I've been looking for you."
Ruth jolted to her feet and darted to the older girl's side. "Didn't want to wake you, Jubilee."
"Then don't go running off on me, brat." The teen replied, affectionately ruffling Ruth's hair. "Did you have another vision?"
The girl nodded.
From his position on the floor, Ned's throat might have closed over.
Jubilee rubbed soothing circles into her young friend's back. "You wanna talk about it?"
She shook her head.
"Alright. Then it's back to bed, troublemaker, or I won't fix your nails." Jubilee said, giving Ruth a tight squeeze before ushering her towards the door. "Be there in a sec."
Ruth pulled her robe tight and slipped out of the room, her fingertips ghosting along the wall.
The burning in his chest had doubled. Ned slowed his breathing with an effort, looking up at Jubilee with a mixture of dread and disbelief. "It'd be too much to ask for her to be a shapeshifter, wouldn't it?"
Jubilee wrinkled her nose and nodded sympathetically. "Sorry. Ruthie's a genuine precog."
He sank back against the couch, clasping his hands together as they started to tremble.
"What is this," Ned asked in a faint voice, "a police state?"
notes.
Whoop, there's an update!
Oh man. There is one chapter of this act to go, then a brief intermission before we enter act two. This was supposed to be a cute little fic with the plot wrapped up sweetly in a bow at the end of next chapter. I took a long time struggling with whether to pursue the plot bunnies or to end the fic, but plot bunnies took hold of me (as did Ruth Aldine, Blindfold in the X-Men comics) and I rewrote this section to set up the second act.
So yes, Ned should be worried. Something wicked this way comes. It's called the author.
Reminder. This is AU set in the X-Men universe. I don't claim perfect knowledge of the comic continuity, but I do want to include some of those characters as well as favorites from the movies.
Familiar faces are coming next chapter.
Tally ho!
Don't write the story. Live the story.