Chapter 6
August 14, 1974
"David's running a temperature."
Charles looked up, his expression shocked. Moira stood in the doorway, shifting her feet.
"Is it serious?" he asked.
The concern in his voice was genuine. It was touching.
"Not really," she said, "Just a slight one. A runny nose, that sort of thing. I put him in for a nap. He should be up in about two hours."
"Thank God," Charles said.
He smiled and ran a hand through his hair.
"He does know how to get into trouble, doesn't he?" Charles asked.
Moira smiled and sat down in front of her husband's desk. It felt like a long time since they had sat down alone together. She couldn't even remember the last time that they had eaten dinner alone together.
"Well, he doesn't get it from my side of the family," she said.
"Of course you would say that," Charles said.
He put his pen down and Moira's heart skipped a beat. What they were doing felt so natural, so effortless. She was terrified of losing it.
"We're going to have to get him a real bed soon," Moira said, "I think that he's outgrowing the crib a little."
"Perhaps," Charles said.
He looked down.
"He seems to be getting bigger so fast," Charles said.
A comment about how little time he actually spent with his son formed on Moira's tongue. She forced it away. She wasn't going to be the one who shattered the closest thing she'd had to a real conversation with her husband in ages.
"It seems strange having another baby in the mansion after so long," Charles said.
"You mean noisy," Moira said.
Sharon had made her presence known in the mansion immediately. Moira awoke to hear her cry from further down the floor. For a moment she thought about getting a bottle for David, having to remind herself that it wasn't her child that was crying for its parents, but the child of one of her students.
Hank had seemed beside himself that everything had gone fine in the delivery. Since Sharon had been born Hank had rarely left her side, oftentimes accompanied by Carly. They both seemed taken with their child, and Moira could understand. She remembered how Charles and she had been right after David had been born. The memories were bittersweet, but she hadn't given up hope.
Hank and Carly were planning on leaving in a few days, just as soon as Sharon was ready to travel. They were going to go back to Rhode Island, where Carly's father was going to meet them to see his granddaughter. Moira knew that Carly's father disliked mutants, and she hoped that he would keep his mouth shut about his granddaughter's leonine eyes.
She also knew that Hank intended to continue his political campaign when he got there. Moira wished him well, although she had cautioned him that his daughter would take up a great deal of his time. Hank hadn't seemed too perturbed by the idea. The very idea that he had a daughter seemed to be shocking to him.
"Well, I'm glad that everything went well for them," Charles said.
"As mutant births go, Carly's was apparently on the easy side," Moira said, "Although I think that she might disagree."
"Undoubtedly," Charles said.
"She's strong though," Moira said.
"She is," Charles said.
He looked down at his paperwork. He shifted the papers around before clearing his throat.
"Tell me if David improves."
Moira paused, blinking. Charles picked up his pen again and began to go over the forms.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Just looking to see if we can renovate a few rooms in the east wing," Charles said, "We're getting more students every year. I think that it would have to be done next summer, but still. Taking on more students would also mean more faculty, that sort of thing. It's a time-consuming process. I want to get it done as soon as possible."
Moira stared at him as he continued to fill out the forms. She knew a dismissal when she heard one.
"Charles, can't it wait?" she said.
She knew her voice was only seconds away from cracking. Charles looked up, frowning.
"Why?" he asked.
The word bit into her head. Moira clutched the armrests of her chair.
"Why?" she repeated.
She shook her head.
"Has it occurred to you that this is the first actual conversation that we've had in a month?" Moira said.
"It can't be that long," Charles said.
"It is," Moira said.
"We've talked plenty," he said.
"About work," Moira said, "We've talked about work. We haven't talked about things that actually matter though, like David."
Charles put his pen down.
"The last time we talked about David it was because I was a little late to story time."
"You were an hour late to story time," Moira snapped.
She struggled to regain her composure.
"I'm not talking about that right now though," Moira said, "I'm talking about the fact that we don't talk."
"You're exaggerating," Charles said.
"I'm really not," she said.
Charles sighed and rubbed his temples.
"I don't have time to argue about this Moira," he said.
The words stung.
"You don't have time?" Moira said, "You should make time for something like this."
"I have a school to run," Charles said.
"And people to help you," Moira said, "You think that my job doesn't take up a lot of time? That I don't struggle with everything that's going on?"
"I never said that," Charles said.
"You just did," Moira said.
"You're putting words in my mouth," Charles said.
She ran her hands through her hair.
"Charles, we have to face facts right now," she said, "We need to talk about these things. I don't like arguing with you-"
"That comes as a surprise," he said.
Moira closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again she saw her husband's eyes staring at her. She felt helpless. The situation had spiraled out of control too quickly. Moira had no idea what she was supposed to do, what she could say to repair a dam that seemed to be springing leaks faster than she could see them, let alone patch them.
"Charles," she said, her voice soft, "What happened to us?"
His eyes widened.
"I…what are you talking about?"
"You know what I'm talking about," Moira said, hating the way that her voice caught, "You know."
She swallowed.
"We weren't always like this," Moira said, "But a few years ago something happened and ever since then it's been like we've been on a slippery slope, sliding towards…"
The word 'divorce' burned in her mind but stopped in her throat. She couldn't speak it. It was hard enough to think.
"Charles, what happened?" she asked.
Her husband stared at her, his eyes soft and sad. Despite everything Moira felt hope rise in her. He wasn't ignorant. He had felt their descent as well, been hurt by it. Perhaps all she had needed to do was tell him how she felt, what she had seen. They had done so much together, solved so many problems. They could solve this too.
His face suddenly closed and he looked down.
"You're being too dramatic," he said.
Moira bit the inside of her cheek. She shoved away from his desk, the chair's legs scraping the floor.
"How dare you?"
His eyes stared at her, still sad, but his mouth set into a firm line.
"After everything," Moira said, "I'm the only one fighting for us. You know, maybe I am wrong."
She put her hands on his desk and leaned in.
"Maybe it's always been this way," she hissed.
Turning on her heel she walked out of his office, slamming the door behind her. Moira turned into the next hallway before the tears spilled out of her eyes. She put her hands in front of her face, angry for crying, angry for the fact that her words had meant nothing, angry that, even though she was trying, she was still failing.
The tears continued to trickle down her cheeks, leaving a burning trail. Moira knew that she should stop crying. She would have to go check up on David, and if he was awake she couldn't have him see her crying. However, the pain in her heart was too great. She could have a few minutes to herself.
"Moira, are you alright?"
She looked up. Alex was standing in front of her, his expression shocked and horrified. She swallowed and pushed at her eyes with the heel of her hand, desperate to force the tears away. However, she knew from the expression on Alex's face that it was too late. The damage had already been done.
"I'm fine," she said.
"Moira, you most definitely are not fine," Alex said.
"I'm fine," Moira repeated.
She finished wiping away her tears.
"Excuse me," she said, "I need to…get going."
Alex stared at her as though he considered stopping her. He didn't though, perhaps because the very act of seeing her crying still stunned him. She moved past him and walked to the faculty quarters, desperate to get away. Alex might be twenty-six now, but he was still one of her students. She couldn't talk to him.
Moira bit the inside of her cheek. She couldn't talk to anyone about what she was feeling. The people she was close to couldn't understand what she was feeling. She couldn't even talk to her husband of nearly a decade, a man that she had opened her heart and mind to. She couldn't have anyone find out what was going on. That would make it real.
And now it appeared that she couldn't cry anymore either.
Sinister watched as the droplet of liquid fell into the petri dish. He smiled as it fizzled, the two different liquids combining together into a black goop.
"The reaction is solid," he said.
He looked over at the sample of the lab coat that he had saved. It was absolutely soaked with Scott Summers' blood. He had known that cutting into him during their fight might have mixed results. Sinister had wanted the younger Summer's alive, a specimen to take apart and discover what made the mutant gene tick.
Instead he would have to content himself with the scraps of a marvelous DNA strand. However, at least he was able to confirm his original theories.
"The strain is the lowest level mutation," he said, "It has only one quick in the strand. Everyone else has three in the very least. It might not be the most powerful mutation in the world, but it certainly is the most universal. He does bear the original mutation. A derivative strain. Yes, I quite like that name."
He sealed the petri dish and put it into a freezer. Immediately he saw the steam rise off of it. Sinister smiled and shut the freezer.
"It will need to incubate for about five days," he said, "I want to test it on a small scale first, just one patient. That shouldn't be a problem. After that I would like a large sample to confirm."
He paused, straightening his coat.
"I wonder where I could find such a thing," he said, "But I suppose that it doesn't matter much for the time being."
He hummed to himself as he picked up the blood-soaked fabric.
"It will open such doors," he said, "I promise that. Such doors as the world has never seen before."
A/N: Because tomorrow's Easter I'm going to be posting two chapters today. Happy Easter!