Note: I hope everyone continues to enjoy the story. I want to thank everyone who reviewed so far. It means a lot.
I'm posting this one, but likely will have a week gap before I get 12 up. First, next week in Thanksgiving. Second, I have a terrible cold and haven't been able to write for several days. So, it'll probably be 2 weeks before the next one goes up. Thanks for understanding. I do know where the story is going, so I will get 12 up as soon as I feel better.
Chapter Eleven
Morning fog enclosed the smells of Magneto's camp -- pine resin mixed with the acid of campfires and the raw, too-personal stench of poor sanitation. Jean made no effort to escape the melange. She stood on a hill above the camp, afraid if she moved to far or too fast she might end this moment of freedom.
The Eater and Phoenix both slept after the ordeal in her parents' home. So, Jean was alone in her body and being very quiet about it. She felt almost normal with all the illusions of life and health in place. If she didn't know better, she would think she could simply walk out of this insanity, find a phone, call Scott for a ride home….
The thought snagged her joy like a thorn. There was no home anymore. Charles was dead. Scott too, maybe. And when The Eater completed its plans for Magneto's army, the rest of her friends would also die.
Army? She looked out over the sea of recruits. These weren't soldiers. There were some thugs among the horde, a few gang members, but many were no more than runaway teens full glory dreams and lacking sense. Fodder is what they were. Magneto cared no more for them than he'd cared for Rogue's life when he locked her in his infernal contraption in the Statue of Liberty.
Her pulse raced, remembering that fight. She'd been so afraid in those moments because she had so much to lose -- a life, a purpose, a love. She'd been just Jean and happy. Now she was a crowded, dead being. The only pleasure she could find was in being no longer afraid. Of anything.
"Do you remember when we first met?" Magneto said behind her shoulder. "You know what I saw when I looked at you? I saw the next stage in evolution. What Charles and I dreamt of finding."
You saw fodder, you old liar, Jean thought. You think I'll win your war for you, make you dictator of the world.
"I thought to myself why should Charles want to turn this goddess into a mortal?"
Goddess? She supposed she was that now, a goddess of death. That's what she would bring to all those people gathering among the pines. They weren't truly Magneto's fodder. They were hers, or rather The Eaters.
A lump lodged in her throat. Regret tasted foul. Jean didn't want to be a goddess. She didn't want to be the destroyer or the savior of the world. All she wanted was to be what she'd been before Liberty Island. A doctor. A woman. A lover. A friend.
You'll never understand, Lensherr. Being mortal is a gift. But, those people milling among the multi-colored tents would understand, all too soon, the pain of The Eater's godhead.
An oddly squared off pistol floated into her field of vision. "I can manipulate the metal in this," Lensherr was saying, "But you can do anything. Anything you can think of."
The awe in his voice grated. Jean couldn't do anything. She couldn't save Charles. She couldn't save Scott -- and the uncertainty of his fate stabbed deeper than the other losses. Rogue or no Rogue, Jean still loved him.
But Magneto couldn't understand that either. He couldn't comprehend why, if she had the choice, she would have returned to the mansion just to know what happened to someone she loved, even if the people there hated her for what happened to Charles. Lensherr was such a fool.
Suddenly, all she could think about what how gloating he'd been in the Statue of Liberty. You were so sure of yourself, so sanctimonious and aggrandizing. Logan was right. You are full of shit. The profanity felt good, powerful. Jean risked reaching down into the pool of sleeping Phoenix's power and used telekinesis to separate the gun, then the case containing the cure darts.
It would be so easy to end Lensherr's belief in his own divinity. It would only take a tiny thought. She wanted to do it.
"Jean?" Was that panic in his voice? She liked the thought that it was. "Enough. Enough!"
Jean closed her eyes. She couldn't do it. Whatever monster lived in her, it was not her. She was still a doctor, sworn to heal not hurt. And mutation was not a disease. Weak, a deep, evil voice inside her said. But, the voice was wrong. It was strength, not weakness, to remain herself when the titans inside her grappled to consume her.
She turned toward Magneto. "You sound just like him."
"Jean, he wanted to hold you back."
He would think she meant Charles. "What do you want?"
Just one time tell the truth.
"I want you to be what you are, as nature intended."
And what would I be if you'd had your way from the beginning? Would I have had any of the happiness that touched my life? She saw Christmases at the mansion, and late nights of tea and silly secrets with Ororo. She remembered arms that belonged to a man who didn't care if her power was weak or strong, and the knowledge she was loved. The memories were like scraps of tissue, fragile and fleeting. But, even lost they were better than anything Magneto could have given her.
"That cure is meant for all of us. If we want freedom, we must fight for it. And the fight begins now." On that speech Magneto strode away. He thought he'd made a significant point.
He had, though not the one he intended. She didn't fear the cure. Jean wished she had the strength to pick up one of those darts and drive it into her own arm. At least that would deprive The Eater of power. But, she knew the monster would never allow her to do that. It rested, but it was ever ready to steal back control of their body.
Still, Lensherr was right. If she wanted freedom for her friends, for those innocent fools below in the forest, she had to fight for it. She would have to fight subtly, however. She couldn't take the cure dart, but she could access Phoenix's power. She'd proven that when she deconstructed the weapon. With that power she could call for help.
Phoenix was the key. She's torn control from The Eater once. She could do it again, if she would revive. Only one person could wake the princess.
Jean drew power slowly, but strongly. When she had enough to bridge the miles to Westchester, she sent out a psychic call. Logan!
-----
It was the noon sun warming his face that woke Scott. His T-shirt was damp and gritty. The fabric ground against his skin when he moved. When he stood, his damp jeans dragged on his waist as if they weighed ten extra pounds and the shirt sagged as well. He felt his surroundings with his hands, slowly, testing. The familiar pressure behind his eyelids warned him not to open his eyes.
Yet, how much damage would his optic blasts do in this folded state? It was possible he could do something, now, that he never thought he would ever do again -- open his eyes on the world and simply look.
Scott trusted his logic, but he still turned his face down toward the ground before opening his eyes fully. A cricket darted, its body pressing heavily than it should have, over his toes and continued undamaged on its way. The blasts didn't so much as flatten the grass at his feet.
As strange an adjustment as living folded had been, this was stranger. He'd grown accustomed to the blasts deflecting back against his eyes when he looked at things. To not feel that slight discomfort, while at the same time sensing the power flow, unsettled him. He caught himself wanting to shield his gaze with his hands. He hesitated before opening his eyes every time he blinked.
Scott forced himself to accept the sensation. He lifted his head slowly and stared out at the grounds. His he saw the full oaks, bathed in afternoon sun, and the grass, and the hazy forests beyond, all filtered through the shimmer of his blasts. What struck him more than the freedom was his relief over the power's return. Without it, he'd felt less than whole, less himself.
He noticed the shriveled husk of The Eater's limb lying in the grass nearby. The fang rested next to the limb where he'd dropped it after pulling it from his arm. Instinctively, he rubbed the spot where the point had pierced his skin. The flesh was whole and smooth. He studied the vanished wound. No trace remained.
Shoving a hand under his T-shirt, he felt his ribs. The gashes from Logan's claws had healed to thin scars he might not have felt if he weren't searching for them. He'd already figured out that the poison had restored his power, but had it healed him as well.
He thought back on what Jean had told him about The Eater of Souls. Its young latched on to a dying soul and then controlled the body. But, that meant the body couldn't actually die. Scott stared at the fang. Vicious as it looked, its purpose had not been to poison. Whatever the fang had injected into his body restored him to full health and repaired recent wounds.
The growl of an engine caught Scott's attention. He knew that particular rhythm instantly. The team must have made it back from the confrontation with Jean, but Logan was preparing to leave again. There was no time to speculate as to why. He had to catch Logan before the gate.
Scott rushed across the lawn, faster than he'd run in a while. Lack of mass shouldn't give him that sort of assist, so it had to be something else. Simple adrenaline maybe. He jumped the hedge and reached the paving right beside the speeding motorcycle. The turbulence off the frame knocked him back into the shrubs. And all Scott could do was stare at Logan's back as he speeded away.
"Logan!" he shouted, though he knew it was useless.
Except, the bike slowed. It stopped. The man on it pivoted and looked behind him, hand rubbing the back of his neck. Then, Logan kicked the stand down and got off the bike. He started to walk back down the drive. "You there? You really there?"
"I'm here," Scott said. But, Logan didn't seem to hear that. He stopped barely an arm's length from Scott and then reached out.
Scott stood his ground, though he caught himself wanting to duck away from that hand. Logan might not be trying to punch him, but Scott remembered the crushing feel of his hands pushing downward. He had no desire to go another few rounds with Wolverine.
Logan merely passed his hand in front of Scott's face. It was the beams. He'd felt the beams. "You're here, aren't you? Right here. I can feel the pressure from your eyes."
"Yes." Scott said. And then bellowed, "Yes!"
Logan's eyes widened. That, he'd heard. "What the hell happened to you?"
He couldn't possibly shout out the whole answer. He had to keep this short or he'd lose his voice too fast. "Jean!"
A wince from Logan, that couldn't mean good things. The man stretched out a hand again and this time tapped Scott's shoulder with his fingers. His nostrils flared. "You're wet."
"Dew, I think," Scott muttered. His shirt and jeans had already dried considerably in the sun, though they still felt scratchy from imbedded dirt. There was no time for that. He shouted, "What happened to Jean?"
"Jean left with Magneto. She's calling me and I've got to go while I can still find her."
Why the hell would Jean -- no, not Jean, The Eater had chosen to follow Magneto. And whatever that meant it would be worse even than having the thing at the school. "She's not what you think, Logan. She's … possessed I guess is the best word for it."
"She killed the professor." Logan continued to talk right over him. He seemed to only be picking up a few words even when Scott screamed. Which meant --
"She what?" Scott's brain caught up with the import of Logan's too calm statement. Charles was dead. He meant dead, not missing or injured or some other state of danger. Dead. Gone. His gut knotted and a wash of icy sorrow cascaded down his spine. Good God. Logan meant dead.
He couldn't move. He couldn't think. No, he had to think. Logan was going to leave in a moment, if he didn't do something. This was not the time for grief. The Eater was out there, with Magneto. He had to make his mind function.
"We're in trouble here, Scott," Logan told him. "I haven't got time to hang around and explain things, but Ororo can't handle it. She might manage the school all right, but the team needs you. Magneto is planning something big about this cure, I'm sure of it. And we've got to do something."
The team needed him. Logan could get Jean. He seemed to know where she was, but Scott needed to handle the team. He forced himself to concentrate on that problem. Folded he couldn't do much good. He had to find -- "Rogue!"
"That is weird," Logan muttered. "And I can almost see you, like you're a haze of dust or something. What are you, a ghost?"
"Rogue!" Scott shouted again.
Logan shook his head. "You want to know about Rogue? She left. Probably should have stopped her, but didn't think I had the right. She went for the cure."
"Cure?" What the hell was he talking about? Scott wished he could grab the man and shake him.
"Take care of the team, however you can. Whatever you are." Logan looked him up and down. Then headed back to the bike, revved the engine, and was gone.
-----
"Rogue, I know you're doing this for me, and I'm sorry for ignoring you. I don't want you cure yourself just to be able to touch me," Bobby rehearsed the speech to himself as he parked the borrowed car about a block and a half from the clinic in White Plains. The streets were insane even though it was only eleven on a weekday. Traffic had slowed to a crawl as soon as he got close to the place. He hoped he wasn't too late. "I'm sorry for paying so much attention to Kitty. I'm sorry for everything. Please still be in line. Please."
He'd never forgive himself if he couldn't stop Rogue. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he couldn't find her. For a moment, he just sat in the driver's seat gripping the steering wheel.
He'd been drawn to Rogue the first time he saw her. Partly, it was her beauty he had to admit. She had an innate sensuality, and the fact she seemed unaware of it only intensified its effect. He loved the heart-shaped bend of her lips. But what he liked best was the way she ducked her head when she first talked to him, as if not quite sure she wanted to meet his eyes. When she did look at him, it felt like she was trusting him with a special secret. And he wanted, from that first meeting of gazes, to be her hero.
Only he'd never quite managed to be a hero for her. Logan saved her from Magneto before Bobby even learned what was happening at the Statue of Liberty. Later, when the mansion was attacked, he'd had his chance. And he'd been too frightened to do anything but run. She'd had to remind him to use his powers. He hasn't stopped John from torching the cop cars even though it was all happening in front of his own parents' house. He hadn't even had the guts to try to fly the jet when they were all trying to escape Alkali Lake. He'd left that to her. Some hero.
He noticed his breath frosting the interior of the car. Slowly, he pried his fingers off the wheel, snapping ice crystals that had formed on the leather cover. What was he doing wasting time musing in the car? He could have already missed Rogue.
Around the clinic, the noise was so loud the shouts rattled the thoughts in Bobby's skull. Protestors lined one side of the street. On the other side, a row of cops protected those waiting in line. Even when he found Marie, how was he supposed to get past the police to talk to her? He didn't want to be barricaded into the line and forced to take a cure shot.
Bobby pushed through the edge of the crowd of protestors, searching. He couldn't go home without Rogue. It was his fault she was here.
If only he'd paid more attention to her. She'd been angry after the Danger Room session where he paired with Kitty. To be honest, she'd been angry ever since Kitty joined the team and Bobby took her under his wing. He should have paid attention to his girl being jealous. He'd been such an idiot.
It wasn't as if he preferred Kitty. Bobby liked her well enough, but he didn't want to date her. He just enjoyed how she looked up to him, leaned on him. She made him feel important while with Rogue always seemed to be one step too late. God, he'd been stupid.
"Want the cure so you can go back home to mommy and daddy?"
John's presence surprised Bobby until he thought about it. This protest was probably a good recruiting ground for Magneto and his hangers-on. He would have ignored Pyro's taunt, but John might have seen Rogue enter the clinic.
"I'm looking for someone."
"Oh, I get it. Your girlfriend." John nodded, self-satisfied. "Figures she'd want the cure. She's pathetic."
The jab was intended to get him mad. Bobby knew that. Not for the first time, he thought it would be nice to be Pyro and ignore the consequences of what you chose to do. If he didn't care, maybe he wouldn't feel so guilty about pushing Rogue toward the cure, or about leading Kitty on just to enjoy her adoration. He felt his fist tighten and chill.
The response was immediate -- a handful of fire and a challenge, "Come on, Iceman. Make a move."
He wanted to. He really did. But, he wasn't John. He did feel guilty about Rogue, and Kitty. And he'd feel a lot guiltier if anything happened to the people crowding the street because he was in a mood to fight. Bobby shook his head and turned away.
"Same old Bobby, Still afraid of a fight."
Lame, Bobby thought as he turned his attention back to the processing line. Then the clinic exploded.
Rogue! Bobby dove across the street toward the burning building only to be grabbed by two policemen.
"Stay back son."
"But, my girlfriend. She could be in there." He struggled helplessly as they pulled him back from the flames. "You don't understand. I can stop the fire."
-----
For a long time after Logan drove off, Scott could only stand in the drive staring at the now closed gates. The sun had heated his shoulders leaving the fabric of his shirt scratchy and stiff. Charles was dead. And Rogue had gone to be cured.
He hadn't paid much attention to the conversations he'd overheard in the hallways about a cure for mutation. He'd been too focused on saving Jean, and on unfolding. It was past time he learned what was really going on in his world.
He entered the mansion and was headed toward the stairs when he heard the news broadcast blaring from inside the lounge. "So long as the cure exists, our war will rage. Your cities will not be safe. Your streets will not be safe. You will not be safe…"
What was Magneto's voice doing on the television? Scott detoured that direction. Most of the students had crowded into the lounge along with Ororo and Hank McCoy. All eyes were focused on the Fox5 newscast and Magneto.
"That's the third time through. Turn it off," McCoy said. Kitty pointed a remote at the screen and ended the threats. Everyone in the room seemed dumbstruck.
"They blew up the White Plains clinic," Peter said at last. "It's aimed at us."
Scott agreed with Peter's assessment. Magneto was warning the X-men to stay out of his plans this time. They couldn't do that, of course. He looked at Ororo, expecting her to take charge, give an order, something. She twitched a bit, as if bothered by a fly. Then she glanced at McCoy.
"Do something," Scott tried shouting at Ororo. But, she didn't have Logan's hearing. It wasn't surprising that she didn't respond, though the way she was fluttering her hand in front of her face he suspected she felt his optic blasts.
Logan was right. They were collapsing. Ororo was stagnant, the kids, leaderless. And Charles was dead. Scott remembered how he'd sworn to take care of them all if Charles died. He trusted me to be here for them all, to carry one. I promised I would. And I'm failing him.
Kitty fidgeted on the couch. "Bobby's there."
"What?" That got Ororo to move. She knelt beside the girl. "Why would he go to the clinic?"
"To look for Rogue. She left to take the cure. Neither of them are back yet." Kitty had Scott's full attention with that statement. He wanted the television back on. He wanted pictures, details. He wanted to know that people made it out of that clinic alive. He wanted to know what had happened to Rogue.
"No." The static charge around Ororo lifted both her hair and Kitty's. "I can't lose them both. I'm driving to White Plains. Hank, can you watch the children?"
"Kitty and I have the kids covered," Peter volunteered.
Ororo nodded. She looked grim but determined as she stood and headed straight for the door. Hank stepped in her way. "I can accompany you since the children are cared for."
For a moment, Scott thought she might refuse, but she didn't stop McCoy from falling into step beside her.
"You might need me," Hank's tone of his voice suggested he thought they'd find the missing team members dead.
In that instant, Scott decided he'd go with her to White Plains. He might be little help, but he'd be even less use here at the school. He refused to leap to the conclusions Hank did. Somehow, he'd find a way to make sure both of his X-men came back alive.
----
It was mid afternoon by the time Marie's bus reached the clinic. The whole thing would have been over if she'd gone to the one in White Plains, but she still had this silly idea someone from the school might try to stop her. So, she'd ridden farther into the city, and wound up spending the night in an overcrowded bus terminal.
She'd already bought her ticket South, for after the shot, but she hadn't called her parents yet. She knew they'd be happy to hear from her. Well, she was pretty sure they would be. It wasn't like they'd actually thrown her out. She'd run away for fear of hurting them.
Marie imagined her parent's house. The architecture had aspired to glory once. But now the porch creaked and the furniture was all hand-downs that seemed out of place in the once elegant parlors. The ceiling in her room had water marks and one big crack from when dad had tried to repair the roof himself. Like Marie herself, the house wasn't as heroic or beautiful as it wanted to be. Maybe that's why going home felt right.
The bus ground to a halt and the doors hissed open. Marie hurried to be among the first ones out, not because she was eager but because she didn't want to be trapped in by those who were. She looked up at the sky, bracketed as it was by tall buildings and hoped for strength.
This was the right choice. It might even be a happy choice if the fantasy she really wanted hadn't died so very recently.
She managed to move one foot forward, then the other, until she'd found a spot in the line behind a tall man wearing a woolen cap. Soldiers crowded the street and on the far side protested bellowed and screamed. "We don't need a cure."
"Fine," Marie muttered. "Then go home."
The man in the cap chuckled.
"Do you know what the soldiers are doing here?" she asked him.
"Made some noise an hour ago about shutting down, but they're still taking people inside." He shrugged his shoulders and the gesture wasn't quite human. "I guess they can't make up their minds."
"Someone said the doctors are arguing to stay open," a woman farther up the line suggested. "We haven't moved much in the last thirty minutes, though."
"They can't do that, can they? Shut down, I mean." Marie wasn't sure she could work up the nerve to come back again tomorrow if they closed today. She wanted this part of her journey done.
"Honey," the woman called back, "They're the government. They can do anything they want."
Marie folded her arms around herself. She could wait this out. She would not bolt.
The rear of the line moved forward suddenly, pushing a young woman into Marie's back. Both of them leapt at the contact. The young woman yelped as if in pain.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." How had she hurt the woman? Marie had carefully covered herself from neck to ankles in cloth. They shouldn't have touched flesh to flesh.
"It's not you. It's me," the woman said. "I don't like to touch people."
"Me either." Marie turned to face her, feeling an instant kinship.
"Absorption," the woman guessed. She had delicate features, dark eyes, and wore a remarkably ugly hat. "I know how painful that can be."
"You too? I mean, you have the same problem?"
"Precognition. I read people's futures if I touch them." The woman didn't offer a handshake, but she did smile. "My name is Irene."
"Marie." The wait was going to be unbearable without some conversation, so she added, "Is that really bad? Reading futures, I mean. I'd think a lot of people would like to know what's going to happen."
"They think they would." Irene shivered visibly though it was anything but cold. "But, I get one vision for each person I touch, and they are almost always awful."
Marie wanted to ask if Irene had seen a future for her when they bumped into each other, but she suspected that would be rude. "I guess I can understand that."
From up at the front of the line, they heard angry shouting. Several burly men in lab coats began working their way down the line. The crowd across the street cheered and shook their signs as if in victory.
"They're closing," someone up line said. "Something to do with terrorism."
Marie groaned. Was this fate trying to tell her to go back to Xavier's, that she'd made a mistake? She thought about home again, but the image wavered now.
Tentatively, Irene tapped Marie's arm. "Don't you have anywhere to go?"
"If I go to the only place I have, I won't be coming back." Marie wasn't sure if that was sorrow or relief she heard in her own voice.
"Come with me then. I'm staying at a shelter downtown. The bus will bring us back in the morning."
Marie hesitated. A shelter hardly sounded better than the bus terminal.
Irene studied her. The woman couldn't have been more than twenty-five, yet her eyes looked much older. She must have seen a lot of pain. "Marie, come with me and I'll tell you what I saw."