Note: Though the Alcatraz fight is over and with it the part of Shadow Man that overlaps X3, the story itself still has a way to go. For those who were thinking (hopefully not wishing) that the story was nearly over, not quite. I loosely estimate I have about 30K more of 'stuff' to write. Hope everyone is willing to stick through to the end with me.
Disclaimer: As always, I don't own X-men. People with money do.
Chapter Sixteen
Ororo's fingers tightened on the controls as she guided the jet to a vertical landing on the flat roof of one of the city's skyscrapers. Which building, she couldn't tell. The lights of the city had winked out during her approach. For landing, she relied on instruments and a single spotlight fitted to the belly of the Blackbird.
She would rather have been out in the bay with Logan where she could fight the monster for control of that insane storm. Leaving a team member alone in combat went against everything she'd been taught and believed. I can go back as soon as I get the others to safety.
The wind, whipping in from the bay, made landing tricky. The jet wanted to buck and twist. Ororo was glad she's put Hank in the very back with the boy, Jimmy, where the child's nullification power couldn't affect her own abilities. She needed to steady the air around the Blackbird as it descended. Once the landing gear touched down, however, the storm died. Ororo's heart skipped. Was this the end, or just a breath before total annihilation?
"We should go back." Bobby unstrapped himself from his harness and jumped to his feet.
Kitty sat next to Ororo in the copilot's seat. She wasn't certified to fly, but she was good with the readouts, and Hank had wanted to comfort Jimmy. "Logan told us to get out, Bobby. He didn't think it was safe."
"It wasn't," Hank agreed as the women left the cockpit. He had an arm around Jimmy who sat beside him hugging a blanket.
"And it probably still isn't." Ororo studied Hank's very human face. It had been so long since she'd seen that face. Age had pulled his jaw from sharp to fleshy, but she still liked looking at him. He'd managed to close his old uniform too, and looked very content. She didn't want to do what she knew she had to. "I don't want to put any of you back into danger, but we do have to go back for Logan and Scott."
"Which means I have to go with you." Hank uncoiled his arm from around the boy and unzipped his jacket.
It relieved her that she didn't have to ask. "I might need to you fly the jet, Hank."
"What about us?" Bobby stubbornly crossed his arms.
Ororo shook her head. "The three of you stay here. Look after Jimmy. Stay out of sight and don't let anyone take him."
Bobby looked like he might protest, but Peter rested a hand on his shoulder. "A good soldier takes orders."
Hank helped them get Jimmy outside the jet. When he returned a moment later, blue fur once again covered his face, his hands, and ran all the way down his exposed chest.
"I'm sorry," she told him.
"Don't be." His voice was soft and full of secrets she knew he'd never again speak. "Best get back into it."
For an instant old sorrows rose. She pushed them down. He was right. Back to the job was best.
Ororo returned to the pilot's seat and waited for Hank to take his place at co-pilot. The windshield was a black mirror, no lights beyond to guide them, not even the moon. Clouds, drawn in by the unnatural storm that had raged only moments earlier, hid the stars. Ororo could wipe those away with a thought. But, she wanted to get a better sense of what was happening out there before adding her own power into the situation. "Looks like we're still on instruments for now."
"It's going to be hard to see them out there with only the one spotlight."
"That's the other reason I needed you, Hank." Ororo didn't know what had happened to Alcatraz, but the sense she'd gotten from the storm as it raged hadn't been good. "I don't know what we'll find out there."
"Logan is hard to kill."
"Scott isn't." That Hank didn't answer troubled her more than anything he might have said. She kept her eyes on the controls. "You don't think we'll find him again."
"I think it's highly unlikely."
Ororo didn't want to believe him, but as they reached the place were the island should have been her hope sank. Alcatraz was simply gone. Ocean so dark it looked like a void, spread to the horizon. Only the occasional white crests speeding through their search light gave her any sense that there was water down there.
"What happened here?"
"The most powerful mutant ever born happened, Ororo." He sounded solemn. Then, he straightened in his seat, pointing. "There. In the water there."
Logan was in the water, clinging to something dark and lean, but very solid. He held up an arm, signaling. Ororo settled the jet into a hover over the spot while Hank went to the back and tossed down ropes. Within a few moments, they'd hauled up a shivering Logan and a very lifeless Jean.
As soon as the hatch was closed, Ororo put Hank at the controls. Her need to see and touch was emotional, but she indulged the desire anyway. She felt entitled.
"I killed her," Logan whispered when she reached for him. She watched a muscle in his jaw twitch, and he swung his head to the side so he wouldn't meet her gaze. "It's done. But, I wasn't leaving her to sink. I couldn't."
"I know you couldn't." She wanted to hold him, but everything in his stance said he wouldn't appreciate the contact just now. Ororo hugged herself instead.
He had a rough blanket wrapped around his shoulders. A puddle formed around his boots. She couldn't remember ever seeing him shiver before. "The monster just wiped the whole island away. It's all gone. Everyone there."
Scott too. She trembled. Logan stood there, shaky from the chill water and too pale. She didn't want to force him to confirm what she guessed to be true, given what he'd been through.
But, she couldn't leave without making certain. They'd abandoned Scott for dead once. She couldn't do it again. "Logan, did Scott kill the monster? Was he still there at the end? You're the only one who can feel him or help us find him?"
He sank into a seat and lowered his head. "I lost him. There was a calm spot in the storm, up on the island while there still was an island. Now, there's nothing left."
Somehow, she found her way back to the cockpit. After taking the controls back from Hank, Ororo made another swing around the area. She couldn't leave without trying. But, she could see nothing in the darkness. Even after she pulled back the clouds it was too dark. Starlight couldn't illuminate that void.
She supposed it had been too much to hope for that that the whole team would return from this mission.
-----
"This looks like a nice school." The heavy-set woman barely glanced over at Marie, who sat next to her in the passenger seat of the battered Toyota. "That only means you have so much more to live for. You remember what I said. Hitchhiking is dangerous and you could get into trouble very easily. Not every ride you find will be as nice as I am."
"Yes, ma'am," Marie acceded, though she knew she'd never been at risk. Mrs. Halcroft had been nice enough to drive a half an hour out of her way to make sure Marie reached home safely, and the only price was a non-stop lectures on the dangers women faced in the world. "I won't do it again."
"See that you don't." Mrs. Halcroft made a tisking noise in the back of her throat. "Pretty young woman like you out on the road alone at night. With all the news of perverts these days, who knows what could happen?"
"Thanks again." Marie got out of the car and waved. She waited until Mrs. Halcroft turned her car around and headed back to the main road before she turned to face the tall, metal gates.
It's good to be home, she thought. Xaviers was home to the woman she'd become. Her parents' faded mansion, to which she'd so longed to escape just a few days ago, belonged to a frightened girl. Marie was no longer that person. She didn't even miss her long coat and scarf as much as she'd thought she would. The day was warm and it felt good to let the sun touch her skin.
Marie followed the drive a little way then cut across the lawn. She wanted to enter the way she left, through the heavy front doors. The gardens were full of fragrance. 'Summer heavy,' her grandmere would have called it, the blossoms all weighted and hanging down and the grass as thick as it could grow. Marie detoured through past the reflecting pool and maze just to enjoy the richness while it lasted. The route took her by the professor's grave
Emil stood next to the monument, fashioning a second marker. This one was shorter, made only of stone and simple angles. The fresh-turned earth there was raw and brown next to the vivid grass. A new grave. Suddenly the brightness of the day diminished.
Marie had heard the Alcatraz news over the Toyota's scratchy radio. The reporters drone had competed with Mrs. Halcroft's lecture most of the way home. She'd wondered if her friends were in the midst of that, but never once had she considered one of them might die.
She approached cautiously, half afraid to see the marker. Emil looked so stern as he worked.
"Who died?"
"Dr. Grey." He finished engraving the front of the granite slab with his fingers. Just her name and a 'X' above. Then he added, unnecessarily, "At Alcatraz."
She shouldn't feel relieved. Dr. Grey had been a kind person, a good teacher, someone to admire. But, everyone had gotten used to thinking of her as dead after Alkali Lake. They hadn't had time to accept her as alive again. Her death was a healed wound. Then Marie remembered the conversation she'd had with Scott in his room. That wound hadn't healed for everyone. "Scott's going to be so broken again."
"I doubt that," Emil turned from Dr. Grey's grave and began manipulating another small pile of stones between the two graves. "This one is for him."
A grave for Scott? The words didn't connect with meaning for a moment. "No, it can't be for Scott. He's not dead. Dr. Grey didn't kill him up in Canada. He came back here. He's just in a strange state, not quite visible."
Emil continued merging the stones. "Everyone figured that out before going to Alcatraz."
"If everyone knows, then why--?"
"He went on the mission with the X-men. He died there fighting Magneto, or some monster."
"Died…" The word rang around in Marie's skull, colliding with everything she believed like a pin ball. No. She'd had a vision of him alive and well, with her. That hadn't happened yet. She grabbed Emil's hands. "Stop it. You're wrong. They're wrong."
He faced her, pale and shaky, and looked down at her gloved hands locked around his wrists. Marie released him slowly. She hadn't meant to frighten him or threaten to steal his powers.
"Ms. Monroe was there." He rubbed each wrist as if scrapping off any lingering effects of her touch. "She told me what happened and that I had to make a stone for him."
"Well, you can stop! He doesn't need one. He's not dead."
"But, Ms. Monroe told me to make this." It was as much plea as protest. He still looked nervous as he turned back to finish his work. "I have to do it."
Don't frighten Emil, Marie told herself. She backed away, leaving him to his task. He wasn't the one who needed convincing.
-----
Logan normally disliked swimming. The extra mass of his adamantium skeleton coupled with his muscle density meant he couldn't relax and glide through the water as others did. Every stroke was a workout. Today, that's exactly what he wanted. Exertion distracted him from the turmoil rolling inside.
He wasn't used to an excess of emotion. Life was. He didn't try to change the facts of it too much.
So, he swam until his arms and legs burned, until the sun flashing on the surface cut into his eyes and the morning chill in the water numbed his skin. His chest hurt more from holding his breath than from that other pain by the time he finished his laps. After fifty, he pulled himself out of the pool and sat on the lip. With luck, all that exertion had exhausted the troublesome feelings enough to wrestle them into some conveniently dusty corner of his too-empty memory.
He popped his claws and stared at the sheen of sunlight on them. At least the smell of her blood no longer lingered on the blades.
"She doesn't blame you," he muttered to himself. "You can get over this. You did the last time." But, last time he hadn't had to hold her while the life jerked out of her. Last time he'd only had to restrain Scott while the pain lanced. Shared grief -- that had been easier.
That was the real wire cutting his soul while it strangled -- he knew now that sharing pain helped it heal. That was a bad lesson for a loner. It made him dependant. It made him notice how alone he was now that there was no one left who could understand.
"Enough," he growled. And he heard a collective gasp from off to his left. A cluster of younger boys huddled together near the edge of the pool. One clutched a brightly colored beach ball. Apparently, they were afraid to test the water while the Logan-shark swam. He gave the boys a gruff nod and stood. "Go ahead. I'm done."
He was done. The regret chomping on his guts would either go away or keep eating. Let it gorge. Logan healed no matter what the injury. The shrieks and splashes of the boys rose behind him as he walked back toward the house. A case of beer, some sleep, and he'd wake up feeling himself.
It was an indication how much he needed that case that he thought beer would taste better if he could share it with Scott. Good god, he was worse off than he thought if he wanted to spend time with the Boy Scout. But, damn it, Scott understood things he needed to talk about.
He didn't mean the grief and regret so much as the memories that Jean -- or had it been Phoenix -- had shoved into his brain. They memories were a jumbled mess and not even his own, but they must be important. If they weren't, why would she have called him up to Magneto's camp just so she could give them to him?
Scott had a way of seeing through the clutter to the core of things. Fighting and jealousy aside, he and Scott together could cut a problem down to solutions quickly. That's what he needed right now. That's what he couldn't have. Damn bastard always managed to die when it was most inconvenient for Logan. "He probably planned that just to irritate me."
-----
"I can stay on a few weeks, Ororo, until you get things settled here."
"I'd appreciate it, Hank." Ororo knew she couldn't rely on him forever. Sooner or later, politics would seduce him away from her again. But, not just yet. He'd stay a while, comforting and partnering. That fact relaxed her. The simplicity of battle was over. She couldn't focus on just one objective. There were a thousand leaping at her. Transfer of the school's accounts, for one. A different lawyer seemed to call every hour. Then there was the fact that classes were set to start in two weeks and there weren't enough teachers to fill all the posts.
She looked up at Hank from where she'd been sorting records on the floor of Charles' office. "Maybe you could take the professor's science classes for a term? At least you have accreditation."
Hank placed another book in the box he was packing. "Whatever you need."
The sound of determined footsteps in the hallway made them both turn. Rogue appeared in the doorway. At least the face and form looked like Rogue. The stance, the expression belonged to someone Ororo wasn't sure she'd met before.
"Ms. Monroe. The office manager said you were down here. I need to talk to you about Scott--Mr. Summers."
"I'm sorry, Rogue." Ororo said it more to buy time for her mind to review the situation. That Rogue returned at all was a surprise. Ororo had assumed her gone for good after that secretive flight in the middle of the night. Yet, she was back, and not for help getting to her parents' house or to justify taking the cure to her friends, but to talk about… Scott?
Still, Rogue claimed to have seen Scott before she left. Knowing what she now did, Ororo had to admit that might very well have happened. "We should have believed you."
"Probably, but that's not important. We--I need to find him."
Behind her, Ororo heard Hank mutter, "Oh, dear." As if that would help. She uncoiled from the floor. "I wish we could have found him, Rogue. The island just came apart under them. Logan survived, but he does that."
She waited for Rogue to flinch, to hug herself, to start to cry. Instead the girl simply inhaled deeply as if settling into a battle stance. "Then we have to go back. You couldn't find him, but I can."
Hank stepped around Ororo, closer to Rogue. "You have to understand the physics of the situation. With so little mass it was next to impossible for Scott to sustain--"
"He's not dead," Rogue said. "Physics don't matter. Logic doesn't matter. What anyone else saw or knows doesn't matter. I know the truth and he's not dead. We have to get back there and find him."
Hank sent a pleading look over his shoulder, but Ororo could only stare at Rogue. What had turned the girl from insecure and uncertain child to this warrior? Whatever it was, Ororo wanted to find it, nurture it, and administer it to every student who entered the school.
"What makes you so certain he's alive?"
"I met this woman with the power to see the future. I touched her, and I saw Scott--Mr. Summers alive. I know it was the future because we never…" Her voice faltered for the first time, and she blushed. When she finally spoke again, she diverted to, "The vision wasn't something from my memory."
"I see." Ororo had no desire to delve more deeply into whatever that vision might have been. Rogue wouldn't be the first female student to have a fascination with Scott. What mattered more, from Ororo's perspective, was to not shatter the new confidence the girl displayed.
She wanted to ask Rogue if she'd taken the cure. She wanted to ask her for explanations of this remarkable change, which Ororo could not accept happening along with the loss of powers. But, all that would have to wait. Right now, Rogue seemed fixed on the notion of looking for Scott. Would it be more damaging to deny her the chance to look, or to fly the girl all the way out to California and allow her to search fruitlessly for the dead?
"This precognitive mutant, did you verify her powers?" Hank asked. "Scientific research shows that a high degree of subjective elimination occurs in perceptions of such highly problematic abilities. Perhaps this woman you met was merely some form of telepath who misinterpreted her interceptions of plans and desires as future events."
Rogue ignored him to stare at Ororo. "Irene's powers were real. Scott's alive. Are you going to leave him out there in whatever's left of Alcatraz, or are you going to save him?"
Ororo saw the determination in the girl's eyes. Rogue was asking for help, but not relying on it. She would go to Alcatraz whether they flew her or not. She'd walk if necessary. A smile was impossible to avoid.
"I thought so." Rogue nodded. "How long until we leave?"
"It will take about twenty minutes to prepare the jet," Ororo found herself saying. She wasn't sure it was the smart decision. From the stunned expression on Hank's face she could tell he understand what she was doing. She couldn't explain. All she could do was hope that the mission didn't destroy this new Rogue.
-----
If she were ever going to get seasick it would be now, Marie thought. Every time the raft bobbed over a wave she felt her brain slosh in her skull. She fought the resulting queasiness by checking the equipment she carried. A pat confirmed Scott's visor was still Velcroed into the inner pocket of her uniform. Storm and Dr. McCoy had told her Scott had his power back and would need it. She tapped the radio unit tucked in her ear. It also felt secure.
The jet hovered some distance away from the narrow spire of rock she and Dr. McCoy now paddled toward. Marie understood how they'd all missed it in the dark. Even in bright, cloudless daylight the tiny speck of dark stone had been nearly impossible to spot from the air.
As their raft approached, however, the real size of the rock became clear. It might be narrow. Dr. McCoy had estimated the pillar wasn't more than ten feet in diameter. But, it was tall. Marie looked up farther and farther, until her neck stretched, to see the top.
"I'll climb," Dr. McCoy offered. "And send a rope down for you."
"No." She knew she had to be the one to climb that sheer cliff face. "You can't sense Scott. The space up there is so small. You might, I don't know, accidentally step on him or something. What if he's hurt and can't get out of your way? What if you knock him off?"
The big man nodded. He'd already insisted Storm not bring the jet closer as its engine wash might literally blow Scott out to sea, so she hadn't expected him to refute her argument. "You're too logical, young lady."
Marie didn't have an answer for that. She stared at the thirty foot climb ahead of her and swallow hard. This wasn't the Danger Room. A fall here could kill her, especially since they hadn't thought to bring climbing gear.
Dr. McCoy brought the raft up to the base of the stone on the leeward side where the waves were gentler. In the shadow of the pillar the steady breeze stopped ruffling her hair. "Take it slowly," he cautioned. "Test your holds before you put weight on them."
"We did free climbs in training," she said, as much to assure herself as him. Marie wasn't sure she could have taken this risk this last week, but now she didn't hesitate. When a wave pushed the raft against the stone she grabbed hold and hoisted herself up onto the cliff.
"You have your communicator on hands-free?" the doctor asked.
"Yes. And a bit late now if I hadn't." She focused on finding another hold for her gloved hand and then her right foot. "I'll call when I find him. Once he's solid we should be able to pick him up with the jet, right?"
"Yes." The answer came back as a static-filled rattle in her ear. He'd already moved the raft away from the rock.
"Good. Once I make it to the top, I don't think I'll want to crawl back down."
"And don't forget to ask, if you find him. We have to know."
"I know," she shot back, but then she had to concentrate on what she was doing.
The climb was relatively easy near the base. Just twenty-four hours of tidal activity had eaten away the softer mud from the lower structure, leaving plenty of stony terraces and rifts. As she ascended, however, the face grew sheer. She had to work her fingers into tiny fissures. There were places where she could find no hold for her boots at all. She had to pull herself up by her hands alone.
This was a good deal harder than punching an orderly in the nose. More than once she almost looked down, almost retreated. I'm the only one who can do this, she reminded herself. That thought was enough to keep her moving until she pushed herself, sweaty and bruised, onto the top of the rock tower.
The slab of pavement shifted slightly under her weight. It was, Marie realized, part of what had once been the Golden Gate Bridge now balanced atop this remaining finger of Alcatraz. A bright strip of reflective yellow paint marked where the center of the roadway had once been, but what remained of the original slab was barely wide enough for her to lay down across.
A soft but steady breeze scraped her face. She didn't feel the weightiness she associated with Scott anywhere, and she should have given that she sat on a five foot wide plate surrounded by nothing but sky. If he wasn't here, he would have been carried away by the tides and how could he possibly have survived that? Staring at the stark black plateau, Marie faced her first moment of doubt since the clinic. What if her vision of the future was wrong?
Marie crept across the paving, feeling carefully. The slab was empty except for one twisted piece of red-orange girder stabbed the surface. She reached the broken edge and, for a moment, feared what she would see if she peeked over. When she forced herself to look she saw a sloping ledge of sandy soil perhaps four feet below. She felt pulled down toward that ledge as if the air down there were magnetized.
"I'm here," she shouted. Only wind, waves, and a few chattering sea birds replied, but she felt the air grow thicker. Her throat tightened. She ripped off a glove and stretched her hand down as far as she could. At first she felt air. And more air. Then, finally, came a brush of warmth. Fingers closed around hers.
An instant later Scott condensed below her. He'd braced himself into a crevice between the crushed bridge and the island below, probably to keep from being blown away by the wind. He looked as if he'd had a bad night. His T-shirt was nearly shredded. His jeans weren't in much better shape, black with dirt and frayed to white around his bare ankles. She clamped her other hand over his so as not to lose hold.
"Had a little trouble catching a ride out here," she said.
His knuckles whitened, and his grip crushed a bit. Marie didn't mind. She watched him extract himself from the hole. He had to keep his eyes squeezed shut, which slowed his progress. "I knew you'd make it."
His casual confidence stunned her. His voice sounded like sandpaper. Blood caked on his cheek. He'd been left on this rock alone for a day and yet he'd not lost hope. He'd trusted her to come for him.
Marie's vision smeared. She didn't care if he smelled a bit like a stagnant marsh. When he got within reach she wrapped an arm around him and helped him crawl the rest of the way onto the pavement. Once there, he sagged against her. She found she liked his weight, and pressed her face against the gritty fabric of his T-shirt.
A single word hovered in her mind, Mine.
That thought startled her enough that her body tensed.
Scott, who had been resting against her, tried to pull away. "I'm all right, Rogue. Not injured. Just a little tired and chilled."
Stubbornly, she dragged him back, clutching him around the chest. It was just a thought, nothing to be afraid of. Besides, the very word -- mine -- warmed her.
"Rogue, I'm fine." He apparently felt only uncomfortable. He still tried to put space between them.
"I'm glad." She refused to release him. "You can get back to giving orders when we're in the jet. But, I've been laughed at, manhandled, chased, and lectured. I climbed all the way up this rock to get you. So, for now, you will lay here and let me hold you. Hear?"
"Yes, ma'am." There was laughter in his voice.
It felt natural to add, "And call me Marie."
"Marie." He seemed to be tasting the sound. She liked that too.
Cold wind and rough rock, too much salt smell mixed with the tang of old blood -- all those unpleasant things shattered any connection between her shadow lover fantasies and this moment. The vision of her future she'd stolen from Irene disconnected too. There was no romance here. And yet, the harsh starkness of this instant had its own sweetness. It was the shared struggle she savored, but only for a moment. They still needed to get off this rock.
She fished Scott's visor out of her pocket and put it in his hands. He murmured thanks. Then, she called the Blackbird, telling Storm they were both safe. Only then did she think to ask the question Dr. McCoy had drilled into her if case she found him. "The Eater, is it dead?"
"Yes," he told her. But, he shivered when he said it.
"What?"
"It is dead. But, before I killed it, it looked into my mind and I saw into its. It was laughing."